Groundhog Day

 

Opened my eyes and it is dark. The radio is telling me the day is still going from the night before. Take a moment and listen to whether the news is British or American. Tumble back the fitted sheet that is a great cocoon and swing the legs over the side. Take a breath before putting the feet on the floor in case they don’t hold up. Stand tall and rub the cobwebs from the eyes. The weird Technicolor dream is over with no screenwriters list. Follow the routine of walking down the hall to the loo to empty whatever liquid has compiled in the belly. Wash the fingertips and look at the old man in the mirror. Shuffle into the kitchen while checking the outside world of who is parked here and who is not, then fill the little pot of water and flip the knob to heat it up. Bump around and put on your eyes and press the button to connect with the world. The viewing machines don’t focus as well but it might be the dust on the screen or the age of the viewer. Click the automated connection links, and then wander back to the kitchen to fill porcelain with powders than combine is called ‘coffee’. Settle back down and scroll what has been reported as information I might need to know from last we visited. There is no conversation. There are fewer notifications. It will be the same routine tomorrow.

This is Groundhog Day.

The next decision is to check the weather and figure a time to put on clothing that is acceptable to the world and wander outside. Stop and look up. Breath in the morning air and listen. What is the yard telling you?

Step into the sunshine and pause. Feel what the day can present before you continue with your daily chore.

Bring your pony out and then go back inside to put on dirty shades and lip gloss before a last view of where to spend the afternoon. Look up to the tall pines while putting on gloves and helmet then turn to leave, but wait. Take another look around to where you live as it maybe the last time.

Depending on the traffic, the coast to my destination can be almost enjoyable or anxiety avoidance. Lock up the pony at the available hitching post and gather my mask and bag before entering the Tummy Temple.

Move right pass the Chinese through the ‘prepared’ food then the bakery and sweet cakes. Bypass the dead meat and turn at the third aisle for a can of unsalted cocktail peanuts (only the best).

If the need for seed is necessary, turn left at the light bulbs.

Then it is a wander about to comprehend what will the meal-of-the-day be? Contemplate the weather for the next few days. Soups? Pasta? Pizza? Salad? Eggs? Just wander about flavoring all the options in your mouth without loading the cart. Sometimes the cart is filled. Sometimes the cart is empty.

After a brief conversation with a blue apron to release me with adult beverages, leave society and proceed back to the isolation of the forest.

Relieved to return, the yard is fed and enjoyed while hydrating.

This is Groundhog Day.

There is nothing else that needs my attention. There is nowhere else that needs to be visited. There is nowhere else that provides excitement. There is nowhere else that will entertain me.

So the routine happens everyday. This is the routine I’m satisfied with. This is probably my last routine.

This is Groundhog Day.

Watch the geezers. After the motor skills start slowing there are routines that are settled for. Your grandmother does not want to go dancing. Your grandfather will nap during a movie.

There is only time. Time to think. Time to remember. The old becomes new again and the new is forgettable. Current cultural interests seem uninteresting. Books, movies, television, music all seem to repeat a time before. No one has created a new denomination or written a new version of The book. We elect these folks who argue over how to spend our money by the billions only to ask for more the next year.

This is Groundhog Day.

Think about the chores that should be done but can wait. Think about the possible anxiety no one else will know. Think about what to eat tomorrow and wonder what you ate yesterday. Think about times gone by and the possibilities that never happened.

Once the midnight hour strikes the brain is empty and ready to rest awaiting the next dream.

This is Groundhog Day.