My morning: wake up (without alarm!) at 5:30. Feel so proud of self for getting up so early (body obviously getting used to early morning productivity as result of new job and efforts to cultivate sculpted abdominals) that decide to award self an extra five minutes. Five turn into ten. Ten into twenty, and suddenly 6:10 gives way to 6:30 and—DAT dat dah dah dat DAH!—alarm sounds.
Scratch plans to head up to roof deck for edifying, enlightening, ab sculpting sunrise yoga. Yoga (and sculpted abs) will have to wait.
Decide against reading paper also, as paper is still downstairs (three flights) and dogs are still asleep. Do not want to wake dogs. Dogs nice; love dogs, but dogs not terribly understanding about neighbors still sleeping. Also self not very understanding about dogs demanding food before self has been fed.
Check email. Utter several expletives (and quite possibly slam things) upon receiving request from conference proceedings guru of the Society of Dance History Scholars; paper must be reformatted. Again (as in “again” for third time; stupid margins).
Feel better upon reviewing list of fellow Unable to Follow Directions academics. Recognize names from graduate school reading lists. At least am in good company.
Locate “Important Stuff” flash drive, as have decided, in new early morning productive lifestyle, to deal with emails immediately. Even annoying, pesky ones. Open SDHS file. Fiddle with margins. Swear and sigh and slam more things (revising of margins f*cks up structural analysis charts imbedded in text. Why? Why?).
Give up on reformatting. Obviously too hurried to do properly.
Reconsider plans for reading newspaper. Might have time for headlines at least, if can sneak past dogs silently. Imagine nice cup of coffee. Nice newspaper reading outfit. Nice boyfriend to drink coffee with. Nice mugs to drink coffee out of.
Pause to rewind and add Date #9 to coffee drinking/newspaper reading fantasy. Wonder if Date #9 has coffee drinking/newspaper reading fantasies. Wonder if Date #9 has coffee drinking/newspaper reading fantasies involving me. Wonder what am wearing in said fantasies. Wonder if is normal to sit around thinking about drinking coffee when should actually be drinking miso soup as am still slightly sniffly. Wonder if—
No, no! Is 7:00.
Newspaper will have to wait. Unfortunate as am meeting Date #9 for dinner. Was hoping to find edifying, enlightening, can-you-believe-they’re-going-to-put-in-a-high-speed-rail-line-to-New-York?-sort-of-things to discuss. (Have discovered, during previous week’s correspondence, that feminism, post-structuralism and French literary criticism do not equal good conversation. Not sure why am attempting to discuss such things with Date #9 anyway; not as if can remember lectures on French, feminist, poststructuralist literary criticism —never even really understood to begin with.)
Nonetheless, wonder how Date #9 feels about Foucault. And discursive—
Enough! No Foucault.
No time for Foucault. Nor anti-cellulite, pre-shower dry-brush regimen. (Suspect is having no effect anyway.)
Decide to get dressed. Inspect feet. Blisters heeling nicely (long time no date, haha).
Hmm… toenails almost long enough to clip again. Splendid! (Love clipping toenails. Hope is dancer thing and not insane thing. Clipped entire toenail off while studying in Spain. In defense, offending nail was already dangling due to Flamenco Intensivo ourse and too much zapateado; had to be done. Put nail out of misery.)
(Note: Toenail has grown back. Am not horrid nine-toed freak.)
Clip toenails. Clip first toe on left foot too short. Curse self for overzealous toenail clipping. Toe now bleeding.
Glance at phone. Panic.
Now will have to run for bus (with bleeding toenail).
Realize have adopted pronoun-less, article-less approach to writing, a la Bridget Jones.
Example: Is problem often have. Did same after reading Marian’s Keyes’s last. And Sophie Kinsella’s. No good. Had to re-write entire chapters of own work (rendered narration inconsistent). Do not want to be literary chameleon.
Must stop now.
Really will stop now.
Here, complete sentence- sorry, a complete sentence: I am off to work, then to meet Date #9 for dinner, and I do hope my toe stops bleeding by then because it’s a shame to wear flats on a date and still end up with wounded feet.