Accomplishments

Sometimes I take great pride in miniscule achievements. Like getting ready. I think about each step and smugly nod my head when it's completed. Yep, washed my arms. Arms are good to go. Wash my feet? Oh yes, we'll get there. There it is. There it is now. Clean as a whistle. Freshly showered, bitches.

Talcum powder below? Check. Deodorant? It's applied. Borderline gay face lotion? Smoothed on. Can't even see the white anymore. This guy right here is very close to being completely ready to go outside. Won't be long now.

Boxers, slid those bitches right on. Same goes for the jeans. Once the shirt slips on, that's when you know you're close. The feel of the shirt on your above-waist skin, that's like rounding third and heading for home. I mean hell if someone broke in right now at least I'd have a shirt on. You can't deny me that. I'm ready for action, technically. At this point socks and shoes are gravy. Socks and shoes mean my feet won't hurt on the pavement outside. That's a good place to be. Secure in your walking capacities.

I also like to look in the mirror after I'm ready and think about how far I've come. The before and after. Just 30 minutes ago that guy was disheveled, pointy hair in the back, borderline greasy. Now? Shit. Smooth as silk.

When I get outside I half expect strangers to grab my arm--"Hey man you look really ready! Did you forget anything? No dude, you look clean as hell. Damn! Everyone out here better step off!" Soon the crowds part and they stare, wondering how, how did this erstwhile sleeper get to this point? Is there any part of him that isn't refreshed? Doubt it. Then some rap music comes on.