Todays

I wake up, my dreams lost in the frantic search for my cheap Nokia working to disturb the whole house. Of all the features this phone does not have, I only miss the option to turn down the alarm volume. Only when successful, I open one eye to double-check that I’m not pressing the “TURN OFF” button as I ram the snooze. Too often has that gone wrong.
A couple more of these later, I roll myself out of bed and hear the rain. I stand and stare out in space while my brain submerges from its sleeping state, and the need to hurry it up becomes obvious. I reach out and grab my pants, the coarse material scratching over the bruises from the day before, accidents laughed away and only remembered by my shins.
Perhaps I should have taken the time to shower last night. I compensate with excessive amounts of deodorant and collect my gear.

I wake up and reach for my phone. My hand hits the wall, telling me this isn’t my room. Come to think of it, that isn’t my phone, either. She finds the thing and turns it off, I don’t know why she bothers with it. Trying to wake up early on a free day; in thought I mock her mercilessly, and then a peacock feathered penguin gets fussy and I continue my dream.
Like the surf by the North Sea, I slide in and out of sleep, lured into reality by her presence. I reach out and grab, impossibly soft skin sliding under my fingers. Hungrily, I pull it and its contents closer, and try to doze off once more with her hair in my face and her scent in my thoughts.
I fail of course, although I only reach full awareness when my arm pushes me up and on her. I open my eyes for the first time now, and thank the stars that she sleeps naked. I’m not a morning fucker, but on this day, I will gladly make an exception.

Cell phone, Leatherman, Wallet, Keys. Hammer and ring, climbing gear, helmet. Two minutes ahead of schedule, good. I prop my feet up to do my laces and head out the door. It’s dark and rainy, and I realize that I forgot to wear a vest. Too late now, I decide and pick up the pace to get warm. Automobilists are perceived as assholes and drunk students, laggards from the night before, all the more so; I conclude that I’m in a bad mood. I’ll have to work on that if I want today not to suck.
Moments before arrival at the meeting spot, I get a call. “Good Morning,” my colleague offers, followed by an inquisitive silence.
– “There in a minute.”
He goes “Aight” and hangs up. I check the time and wonder where those precious minutes went, I am late once again.
I climb into the car and we shoot off. I mumble an apology and put my head down in hope of catching some sleep, painfully aware of the female presence beside me. God damn my hormones, I can never get some rest with women around.

“You call me a pig, but you’re the one carrying the bacon,” I joke, smugly kissing her tummy and walking away from her shocked face. Cell phone, Leatherman, Wallet, Keys. Her retort falls on deaf ears while I repeat my mantra so that whatever else I’m forgetting, at least a zombie apocalypse won’t be an issue.
A breakfast of bread, fruit and procrastination delays my departure, but I do head out eventually. I check my booklet if I should be giving a good goddamn about anything, and the answer is no. Looking into the sun as I get on my bike, it is exactly what I decide to do. What a privilege it is, to have a job that doesn’t require much attention outside working hours.

“Fucking chairs,” I grumble for the twelfth time today, as I nearly twist my ankle descending the bleachers. Two scaff pipes in hand, drenched in beer, Red Bull, alcohol and God knows what else. I wish I hadn’t forgotten my gloves this morning.
A colleague shouts a warning and throws a timber beam horizontally through the scaffolding, not far from me. I know what can happen and expect the unexpected, he does not and gets quite the surprise when the timber rams the middle of a pipe. It bounces right back at him, hitting him in the leg. I point and laugh without checking if he’s okay, I find that sort of thing hilarious.
I crush fingers, bump knees, hit my head. We all do, but I seem more bothered by it. I state theatrically, “Scaff jobs always feel a bit like dying,” but my colleague disagrees.
In the car ride home, I fall asleep like a stone no more than 3 dirty jokes in.

“So what did you do today?” I think about it, and then raise my arms in a wide, clueless gesture.
-”… You? Oh and I went to the store.” All true. Even though I woke up relatively early, the day flew by. I watched people play Dungeons and Dragons 2nd Edition on Youtube, edited a few photos, established yet another space colony, and got me some junk food for the next couple days. The dinner in front of me is far from that, though- she is a remarkable cook. I consider how that relates to the age-old gender stereotypes I’ve been trying to escape, as I cop a feel in passing.
We learn a few things about each other’s work, and casually share a shower. But when the subject changes to politics, my mind drifts and while I’m talking, mentally I am choosing which wall I will be pinning her to in less than 30 minutes.
She’ll be gone soon, so if I can, I will both have my cake and eat it.

My backpack lands harshly in the nearest convenient space and stays there for the next couple of days. I wash my hands and decide to take that overdue shower, but not right now. My face is dirty because I tend to rub my eyes a lot when I’m tired, but I don’t care. Roommates say hi, I say hi back.
The chair groans when I plop down heavily and turn on my computer. All the shits given melt away as I check email (no news), Facebook (no news), and a couple news sites (news: ice bear cubs in the Munich zoo). I browse my favorite channels but fall asleep halfway through the first video. Upon jerking awake, I do the armpit check to see if I can get away with not showering. A bit aggressively, my senses tell me no.
After a dinner of microwave lasagna, I awkwardly relieve myself of the inexplicable post-workday horniness and dive in bed. It’s only 8.30, I will probably wake up around 3am for a couple hours but at this point, I passionately don’t care. I set the alarm on my cheap Nokia with a somewhat bitter sigh, same time as yesterday. With my cookie monster’s foot substituting for a human touch, I am asleep within minutes.

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2 responses

  1. Dieter

    Damn Maarten, je zou echt iets moeten doen met je schrijven. ‘t is écht goed.

    20 April 2014 at 18:00

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