10:45 – Decide to finally get up. I don’t recall having any especially noteworthy dreams. Yesterday morning I woke from a dream in which I was at my sister’s house for a brief visit before heading off for a trip the UK. In the dream I had stayed up virtually all night, and had then overslept, missing my flight. I was in the middle of trying to figure out the best way to book a new flight when I realized that I don’t actually have a passport, so taking a trip to another country was pretty much out of the question. This led me to wonder why, exactly, I hadn’t considered the passport issue before buying my ticket. In any case, this morning I didn’t have any memorable dreams this morning.
10:46 – 12:00 – Spend a significant amount of time debating whether or not I should venture out into the world to get a few things, such as possible side dishes/dessert materials for dinner. Check to see what I took out of the freezer yesterday; find that I have three skinless, boneless, split chicken breasts thawing. Consider looking up a new chicken recipe. Decide against it. Check my account balance online; spend fifteen minutes trying to make sure there aren’t any additional charges that are going to take me by surprise, determine that there are none, and that the balance I’ve calculated is correct. I’m now certain that I have enough money remaining to pick up a few things today, spend some money at work over the weekend, and pick up any additional miscellaneous items I may need next week before payday. I put in a half-hearted effort at working out without actually going to the weight room. I do some ab exercises and some lifting with my dumbbells.
12:01 – 12:40 – Place chicken breasts in a bowl with a store-bought chipotle marinade. Scratch my head in puzzlement when my phone rings, as that marks four days in a row of phone calls, which is a new record. On Sunday, my brother-in-law Dean called to say goodbye, as he deployed on Monday. He will be gone for two years, though hopefully, since he will apparently be in an area secured by 15,000 troops, he will be safe, or at least as safe as anyone can be in Iraq. On Monday my mother and Kathleen called. Yesterday “The Men’s Wearhouse” called to inform me that their winter sale is now underway. Later in the day I received a promotional mailer informing me of the same thing. A year ago I bought a suit there, and have apparently ended up on their mailing/phone list. It’s unlikely that I’ll buy anything else from there anytime soon; I've only worn the suit once. Today’s phone call is once again my mother. While on the phone I try to accomplish as many of the remaining tasks that need to be accomplished before venturing out, such as getting the recalcitrant lid on the bowl containing the chicken, and cleaning my contacts. My mother, however, has already accomplished everything she needs to for the day, and so she has time to kill before my dad gets home for lunch, which is why she called.
12:41 – 1:05 – I put my contacts in, shave, and take a quick shower. I always shave before showering, as it seems to be a little easier on my face that way. I first shaved in 1985, and began shaving on a regular basis (at least 2 times a week) in late 1986. In the intervening time, my skin has not become any more accustomed to it than it was in 1985. Every time I drag a razor across my face my skin becomes just as irritated as it did the first time. Often I find that shaving irritates the skin on my face in places that I didn’t even shave. For example, what’s up with my forehead getting irritated? I never bring the razor anywhere near there. I get out of the shower, towel off and put some gel in my hair. I head to my dresser to decide what to wear. As I usually do whenever I go out into the world, I consider wearing some of my nicer clothing, but today I decide that it’s pointless, so I simply grab a dark gray T-shirt and the pair of jeans lying on the floor.
1:06 – 1:10 – Finish dressing, spray on some Axe (Just in case, even though, like wearing something nice, it’s fairly pointless), do what I can to shape my heavily-gelled hair into an approximation of how I’d like for it to look, and head out the door.
1:11 – 1:26 – I decide to head to Giant to pick up what I need. While I’m there I see exactly one attractive woman. She is married and has three kids. She looks in my direction once, but looks away quickly in order to avoid making eye contact with me. For a change, I manage to avoid having to stand in line. The cashier is a middle-aged, heavyset Hispanic woman. I pay for my things, walk out to my car, and head home.
1:27 – 1:32 – I arrive home and see that, amazingly, my parking space in front of my building is still open. Notice also that the mail has arrived early.
1:33 – And just like that I'm home again. I grabbed the mail on the way in, so I'm unlikely to have any reason to leave my apartment again until I get the mail tomorrow. It’s fairly likely that I will not encounter another human being again until Friday morning at work.
Now, if you look at the above timeline you can start to see why I really hate having to bother venturing out into the world. I mean consider all of the wasted effort. I had to clean my contacts and put them in, shave, take a shower, and get dressed. I actually spent more time getting ready to go out into the world than I did doing the things that I went out to do.As mentioned, I toyed with the notion of making some additional effort to look nice, or at least what passes for “nice” for me, though this time I decided against it. Sometimes, though, I decide in favor of it, and usually it changes nothing, since the actual trip into the world invariably goes exactly the same as today’s did.
So it’s not like I’m going to bump into some attractive woman, and even if I did it wouldn’t make any difference how I’m dressed or whether or not I’ve shaved. After all, any attractive woman I do see will undoubtedly be married and/or will simply avoid contact with me anyway, just as the married mom I saw today did, regardless of how I look.
So, who am I trying to impress? The middle-aged, overweight Hispanic lady, or, more typically, the Middle Eastern man whose line I go through?
Every day that I go out into the world it's essentially the same thing, though I keep thinking "Maybe this time will be different." It never is.
How does that definition of insanity go? Something like "doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results each time." Sounds about right.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to go out into the world unshaven and unwashed either, so at least a certain amount of bother is required no matter what, even if I don't bother getting my hopes up (though I always do).
So, since ultimately the metaphorical rock is going to roll back down the hill again, I'm really not sure why I bother pushing it up in the first place.
But hey, at least it passes the time...
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