Good Morning

My eyes are burning from the light. I can’t open them, I can’t close them, and I turn over to try and block out the light coming in through the window with the drapes half pulled down from the broken curtain rod. I pull myself up, the covers slide off of me and onto the floor, and I lean over and push the button on the alarm clock, but it won’t turn off. I stand up and walk over the various clothes and items strewn about the floor. So many items in fact, that I can barely feel the carpet below. I reach the bathroom door and attempt to grab the door knob only to find a small circular hole where it used to be. I then remembered that I had to remove the knobs yesterday, because I had managed to lock myself out of the bathroom. I push the door open and stop, when I topple a few beer bottles over that were lying behind it. I then push the door further open until it hits the towel rack causing one of the screws to fall out of the door mount, tip the rack sideways, and dump the last of my clean, fresh towels into the bathtub, still full of water from the previous night. I reach forward and turn the handle for the water faucet and let the water run so that it will heat up before I’m ready to shave. I pull out my razor and search for the shaving cream, find it and my toothpaste and set them both down onto the sink’s counter top. I try to focus on the blur in the mirror that I think is my face and reach down to check the temperature of the water, which is now starting to warm up. Still half asleep, I grab the tube of toothpaste, squeeze the contents of it into my hand, set down the tube, spread the paste into both hands and then smear it onto my face, not realizing the difference in texture. I dip the razor under lewk-warm running water, raise it to my cheek and proceed with shaving. Once I finish shaving, I lower my head to the sink and splash the water up to my face while cupping it in my hands. It feels remarkably cool this time compared to the other times I shave, and a thought crossed my mind for a moment “I wonder if shaving cream gets better when it ages. Maybe it matures like…like…Champagne.” I quickly shake the thought from my head and reach down to turn off the hot water and turn on the cold water. I pick up my toothbrush and, without looking, reach for the canister of shaving cream and begin to expel the contents of it onto my toothbrush, again without looking. I raise my toothbrush up to my mouth and press the shaving cream covered bristles onto my front teeth, and this time, immediately realize my mistake. I lean over quickly to spit out the shaving cream, but I move so fast that I bang my head onto the faucet, causing me to react by pulling myself back, as my feet to step into a puddle of beer, causing me to lose my footing and slip backwards, slam myself into the bathroom door and slide down until I come to rest on the tile floor. The last screw on the towel rack then gives way and it comes crashing down onto my head. I try to pull myself up, but slip again, in the puddle and crash into the door, forcing it closed. I hear the latch catch and realize that I am now, locked in. I pull myself up, again, this time, slowly and taking care not to slip. I try to twist the interior of the lock, with my fingers, but to no avail. It won’t budge and I can’t get my fingers into the tiny notch, to even begin to turn the mechanism. I had used a screwdriver, yesterday, to open the door, but that was now, on the other side of the door. I figure that I must have SOMETHING in my bathroom, that I can use in lieu of a screwdriver, so I begin searching the drawers, under my sink. After a few minutes of scrounging around, I find nothing of any use and, in anger, I slam the last drawer shut. I turn back toward the door and take 0ne step back, in anticipation of attempting to kick through the door. After readying myself, I mentally count up to 3 and begin the mad rush forward, but slip, yet again, on the puddle, plummet backward and land halfway onto the toilet with such a force, that it broke the seat cover, seat and the front portion of the toilet itself, on the way down. The racket of it all, I’m certain, could be heard downstairs, so I thought it would only be a matter of time, before one of my roommates responded to the commotion. As it turns out…nobody would even question the noise or my absence, before the evening.

Good Morning


Seaside, United States

  • Artist

Artist's Description

Just a description of a typically, bad morning, in the life of an obvious bachelor.

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