Let me tell you about my morning routine. Yay!, I hear you rejoice from here. How I love to be loved.
Morning routine, what a horrible term, right? I hate to be predictable but this is just the waking-up thing to do. So basically I wake up at 6.40 with the radio, listen to the sports news (girlie all the way), get up at 6.45, stumble into the kitchen to put the kettle on (instant coffee, how cool can I get?), switch on the computer, spend a good 30 minutes generally waking up and building the energy to go to work by listening to the news, having my brekkie, and browsing the international web spun by you lot while I sleep the sleep of the just and the unperturbed (not even remotely close to the truth) and then get on with the business of making myself presentable to the outside world. Read take a shower and grab whatever clothes are clean. I usually leave the flat at around 8.15.
Every now and again, I slip. As in I go to bed at an indecent hour, only to wake up a mere 5 hours later; sleep isn't so good and I take forever really waking up; or I get completely engrossed in the many things the world has to offer, and totally lose track of the time. Which, let me tell you right out, flies, in such cases.
This morning was a case in point, where all of the above was applicable. I realised at 8.00 that I really needed to put my arse in gear if I wanted to be at work before lunch time. Which I wouldn't mind, but my work mates might think I'm pushing it a bit.
From then I had to hurry. And I hate rushing in the morning. Which is why I need all this time to do sweet fuck-all.
Hurrying means not being sure that all windows are closed before I leave (and it's still kind of cold in Paris just now), taking the much-dreaded metro at rush hour, and not being completely ready to politely face the teeming barbarian crowds that populate this particular environment.
You'll have concluded on your own that this screams "foul mood", which text must also have been adorning the top of my head in big bright capital letters and lightning flashes.
Well, get this. Despite my best efforts, I'm in a good mood.
I don't know. Metro and metro people were bearable, sky is kind of bluish, I managed to get to work nearly on time (by what miracle I'm not sure) and I'm actually more presentable than usual. I haven't yet screamed at anybody on the phone (despite being said "Et merde" to in lieu of "hello there" - and I laughed).
So what d'you think: positive karma or lurking disaster waiting to pounce?