minalisms


    Creatures of habit?

    First, there’s my tendency to sleep until about 7:30 a.m. every work day, even though my alarm goes off at 6:50.

    Then, after dressing, there’s the check and re-check of the dark nooks within the master closet to make sure none of the cats snuck in to dance on the clothes.

    Then there’s the parting kiss that my husband never forgets to give.

    There’s also makeup application: a spot of creme blush and a shade of lipstick — which ends up being the same one out of 15.

    Then there’s the rush to get in my car by 8:05, except that it’s always closer to 8:15.

    Then I see the security guard dozed off again in the tower in the employee parking lot and think, “Life is unfair.”

    There’s, of course, the man at work who dumps canned tuna on a whole-wheat tortilla and eats it for lunch Every. Single. Day.

    There’s the blogging (lately, anyway).

    There’s definitely the slowing of time once the clock strikes 3 p.m. on a weekday.

    And then there’s Gizmo, sweet, cantankerous Gizmo, who waits and meows on the other side of the door as I unlock it upon my arrival home.

    From about 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Friday, these are the markers of my life. These occurences orient me in a space-time sort of way; they provide context and, as a result, spur decisions. Yet, interestingly enough, those daily decisions are never the same.

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