Every day, I Espresso, Make Bed, Pop Allergy Pill, & Curse NJ Transit

I’m addicted to caffeine. I did a clean-eating diet (no caffeine, sugar, or processed foods) once for a mere week and had such severe headaches that I nearly killed myself by way of wall head-banging. Needless to say, caffeine keeps me alive. Therefore, the first thing I do in the morning – without fail – is make espresso.

Make Bed
For as long as I can remember I made my bed in the mornings. This mere morning task meant, initially, keeping my mother at the door rather than in my room. Not that I had much to hide from her, but you never knew (back then) what would be a bad teenager red flag. She was right, though, it only took a few minutes out of the morning to make your evening more enjoyable. To this very OCD day I make my bed in the mornings, and when I come home from work there is less weight on my shoulders and more time to do something like watch Real Housewives. And, as my mom says, “Making the bed is just plain good housekeeping.”

Pop Allergy Pill
Since I’m basically allergic to everything from grass, pollen, bees, most insect bites, dairy, dust, seasons, mold, honey, feathers, and my own damn cat and dogs, I must take a rather large dosage of Allegra in the mornings (180mg) just to have every day experiences. According to google health, An allergy is an exaggerated immune response or reaction to substances that are generally not harmful. Google makes it sound more like another psychiatric issue, huh?

Curse NJ Transit
A $48 fare hike a couple months ago, but yet no train is ever on time. I pay $208 a month ($416 total with my wife’s pass) to catch a train that can never keep to a schedule. From the above ‘things’ you can tell that schedules and routine are pretty much who I am. NJ Transit, I curse the day I met you.

Start Over, reset.

I was on the train…it’s where I do most of my thinking, nowadays.  The memory reel, turned and turned, revealing  beginnings and endings.  There were many, all types, really.  At any moment, and sometimes you know when it comes but most times you don’t, everything resets.  Yesterday you were this and today you’re that.  Then again, maybe we just catologue by beginnings and ends?  My journals, all twelve or so, are filed away by size but each and every one, a chapter in my life, catologued by who I was when it was started and ends in a shedding of skin into another life. 

If we’re stories, books made up of chapters that are made up of paragraphs that make up sentences out of words that have a literal and also an intended meaning, then every single word connects to have meaning.  I’ve been thinking of words a lot lately, which makes sense as I’m a writer, yeah I know.  Moreover, words–writen and spoken–which express a connection.  If we’re souls, what we do is made up of  intentions that have different meanings depending upon how it’s funneled to us (the mind or the heart), so every moment is made of choice.  I’ve been thinking a lot about choices lately,which typically means I’m over thinking, yeah I know. Moreover, choices–from the mind or heart–affect connection.  So much connection that you would think it would be impossible to get lonely and become isolated, but you do.  Alone, it’s how we die (see, I do talk about it a lot), but also it’s how we know the value of connection.  There is a comfortableness in loneliness that at times lets you be exactly who you are without influence, and often times what comes out of it is a great understanding.  I did my best writing during those times, I confess.

Concrete, okay I’m moving away from the abstracts now….

My first journal starts around the time I dropped out of college, went to New York with $60 bucks in my pocket, ended up in Dallas, Texas with my tail between my legs, and after all the fun ended I headed back to the beginning (college, which I DID graduate from with a B.A. in Journalism & Broadcasting).  I do want to mention that I was actually the singer/bass player in a psychedelic band during this time…psychedelic because we didn’t truly know how to play (and trust me, you don’t want to hear the demos of me singing).  Just a little tidbit that not many of you know.

Another journal is spot-on college life, sporadic ramblings that are either too philosophical to read less than twice or too many pages devoted to confusion, and funny to read about how I thought I had it all figured out.  I was the most foolish, but yet my mind was the sharpest. 

There’s the tragic journal, the one I still can’t go back and read for fear of wanting a do-over, that I probably worked the hardest on so that I could, start a new journal (start over).

You get the point, I have a lot of journals and they all symbolize a beginning and a beginning’s end, start over, reset, just like the reel-to-reels in my head.

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