Morning person my ass

I had to be at Pea's house a full hour earlier today. Please allow my earlier poetic waxings of camp nostalgia to conflate with the episode below:


This morning I woke up before any of my roommates, which is a feat. Jake gets up mighty early to work demolition or the early valet shift at the Ritz. Today was his day off, and I hoped my face-washing wouldn't wake him or his bladder. I had already determined not to take a shower, afraid I'd be tired enough to try to shave my eye or something as strange.

I heard someone bumping around over the sound of the water. I prayed it wasn't Becca, because she has the tendency to knock on the door while I'm in the bathroom and attempt full philisophical conversations through the door. Things like, "How long do you think you'll be?" My reply is an audible, "Go the fuck away!" But really, if I were less inhibited, I believe I'd say, "Hmm. How long have any of us BEEN? Are we here at all? These are all good questions."

Anyway, I think she's been suitably trained by now and didn't knock on the door. All the better for her.

Dressing for the day, I tried to imagine how I could possibly get my breakfast without sharing air with Becca. Y'see, it's partially because I hate EVERYBODY in the morning. People are so repulsive before the sun's up, aren't they? I harbor a more specific hatred for the way Becca operates in the world. To narrow the focus once more, I hate the way she operates in the kitchen.

As I tried, and failed, to invisibly slip to my pantry, the fridge, and the spoon drawer, Becca managed to position herself in exactly the wrong place for each movement. Now, when other people are holding a box of cereal, a bowl full of it, and a jug of milk, you might think to yourself, "Aha! That girl means to EAT that cereal! She may need an implement of some kind. Saaay, I'm right here by the spoon drawer. I could supply the spoon myself! Or, since I'm feeling a little lazy, I could just move myself out of the way. Zip! The way is cleared."

This is not how Becca operates. She stands there. Her mouth is moving. It's too early for me to know what she's saying. Something about an exterminator? Who is she calling at this time of day? Is that MY phone? And how has she dirtied four bowls within the ten minutes of wakefulness she's had in the kitchen?

I approach the drawer from the side. She's still yapping. I lunge. Useless. The path is blocked. She's talking. What is she talking about?

"... and I can't believe Stan sent a landscaper guy to kill the bushes instead of sending someone to rip up the carpet. Like we needed the bushes trimmed! I sent him that email... Oh yeah, I CC'd it to you... saying that we had to have something done about the carpet or I'm calling the Board of Health and I said that we needed to hear from him by this Friday or else..."

"BECCA!"

"... yah?"

"I don't speak English before... what time is it?" The clock read 5 past 7. I couldn't formulate the words, proving my point. "Before hours from nowish."

"What?"

"Spoon!"

"Okay."

"RARR."

"OkAY."

I think that's what happened. But I was tired. I could have dreamed it.