5 am is too damn early!

Every morning my alarm goes off at 5 am. Most days I hit the snooze button in the desperate hope that I can go back to bed and stay asleep forever. Never wake up, never wait in line at the corporate coffee spot for overpriced coffee and in a cup that they’ll spell my name incorrectly on – I’m not special and it’s not: Krystyna. Never spend an overly exorbitant amount of time in traffic because some douche is multitasking by playing candy crush or swiping left or right or some nitwit is putting on her eyeliner. Never take that first phone call at work and immediately want to throat punch someone. This is of course assuming that my bastard cat hasn’t already done me the favor of crawling across my chest and head to wake me ever so gently. Usually there are claws involved. It takes everything in my power to not toss his ass across the room and into the wall. I think this is considered animal abuse. I already verbally abuse humans daily and derive great joy from it, this seems excessive and unnecessary. Most days, as I’ve said, I try desperately to go back to bed when the alarm goes off; but ultimately guilt gets the best of me and I haul my ass out of bed.

At 5:30 I am on the road and running. I do this to stay in good physical health, to afford myself the ability to occasionally splurge (daily) on moderately sugary (hella sugary shit) snacks, and to feel completely superior to you. I go on these runs in the morning for 3 reasons. 1) It’s brisk and the air isn’t so polluted that it’s hard to breathe 2) The streets are relatively empty – I can’t see you, you can’t see me 3) It’s just light enough for me to see the pavement ensuring that I don’t take a nasty spill on this run. There’s only one thing worse than eating shit on concrete: being seen doing it. The first 1.5 miles are breezy. By mile 2.5 I am a hot, sweaty and wheezing mess. Fuck that cat! Fuck those gummy worms I ate last night! Metabolism is bullshit! I’m just going to get fat, collect cats and drive myself off a cliff at 70 wearing a hot pink jumpsuit bumping some Gap Band on the radio. Mile three is complete and I hate everyone and everything. I’m home, showered and off to work. I’m better than you and singing again. Right as rain again and it’s time for Tiffany at Starbucks to screw up my name again! Perfect.

I walk through the doors to my office at appx 8:30am with my theme song playing in my head “You’re simply the best…better than all the rest” *Not really, I hate myself - this is just positive affirmations. I’ll also spend the next three minutes in the bathroom mirror telling myself “you’re good enough, smart enough and gosh darn it, people like you”* The damage is deep with this one. I’m pretty fucked up. I fully believe I will end up being found dead surrounded by cats, a large collection of vinyl records and books. Lots of books. It’s going to suck though because cats aren’t like dogs, they won’t warn the neighbors that there is danger. They aren’t Lassie; they’ll eventually just eat me. Welcome to the where funny and morbid intersect.

I spend the next 6 to 8 hours doing I what consider to be very delicate balancing act. Work, smile, laugh, and restrain myself. Do some more work, look busy, ok now I’m doing your work too, and restrain myself from punching you. Smile, work, try not to roll my eyes and do your work again. Stretch my legs, contemplate choking you and then get spiritual. Quitting time, wait … who the hell touched my stapler?! You dickheads know how I hate it when you re-arrange the stuff on my desk!! Here we go again, I have to start this whole process all over again or I can’t go home!! What? No! I AM NOT OCD!!! I get up at 5 am and run 3 miles a day and do all your work too, and I am just fucking tired!! Asshat! I hate this place and you too. See you tomorrow. I love my job and I truly live a very blessed life. Tiffany – you make a great cup of coffee, but I swear to god – get my name right or I’ll cut you. Thanks, honey. See ya tomorrow.