The hardest thing I do every morning is getting up, and the most difficult thing I do every morning is getting out of bed.

The clock radio is stuck between two stations, and I don't know how to fix it.

I'm trapped in this half-dream state, listening to Rush Limbaugh arguing with Gloria Estefan, and he's bitching that feminists keep trying to steal his job, and Gloria just keeps repeating, "Rhythm is gonna get ya. Rhythm is gonna get ya. Rhythm is gonna get ya. Rush!"

And, suddenly I'm a member of this subversive guerilla organization called the rhythm, headed by a ferocious version of Gloria Estefan - Sort of like Prince's "The New Power Generation," but more commercial, less sexual, and much more violent. We are planning to pirate the satellite which is transmitting Rush Limbaugh's radio show. We keep saying things like "check" and "roger that" over big, green walkie-talkies. And, I wonder how the military could've come up with such a cutesy name for these things. I mean, it's like calling guns "bangie-killies" or calling bombs "droppie boomies"?

I hear my brain in the background saying "OK, that's enough".

And, suddenly I'm awake - sweaty, shaking, a little scared, but with a comfortable feeling of liberal justice and an intoxicating Latin rhythm.

The clock radio finally goes off after I smash it against the corner of my plastic-laminated, particle-board nightstand and scream, "shut up shut up shut up!

"I've had a pretty good night's sleep.

I get up, I go to the bathroom. I can't pee because I have a BNR. Then I get in the shower.

I wash my hair and my face. Then I shave. I proceed to scrub myself all over with a loofah, and while talking to myself in the shower I repeat the word loofah several times. Loofah. Loofah. Loofah!

This takes precisely eleven minutes.

Yet, somehow, thirty-five minutes pass between the time I pop open the top of the shampoo bottle and the time I start brushing my teeth.

Now, I sat down one day and thought about this. I thought and thought, and I came to what is the only answer:

It is that my shower is travelling at approximately ninety percent of the speed of light! And, I am experiencing and Einsteinian time-dilation effect.

It's the only possible solution!

This depresses me for two reasons: A: It makes me late to work every day. And, B: not even travelling at relativistic speeds while naked and wet is enough to wake me up in the morning!

And, I wonder if I'm the only person who gets more tired when they drink coffee. I'm standing in front of my mirror, alternating between brushing my teeth and gargling instant coffee because I've been drinking the stuff for so long that if I don't consume it every day, I'll get a week-long headache. And I can't decide if I'm getting more and more angry, or if I'm getting angrier and angrier because I'm thinking, "what possible evolutionary advantage could I have by being addicted to this evil brown stuff? I mean, it's bitter, it makes me angry, it makes my teeth look like 1970's wallpaper-flavored-chiclets, It gives me breath like a warm summer day in a cow's rectum, and it's probably liquefying my organs as I speak!

I'm talking to myself again

And, while we're on the subject of evolution, what good are these thirteen wiry hairs that I have sticking straight up from my shoulders?

I smell pancakes. She made pancakes

She's glad I woke up. She loudly sneaks up behind me, appears over my shoulder, just as naked as I am, and says "boo". I make a raspberry with my tongue, and I say to her reflection, "so which side do you think we're on today, Alice"

"Both", she replies plainly.

Her soft brown eyes remind me why I am awake at 6:45. She turns me around, kisses me and I'm reminded why I'm up at 6:45.

6:45?! Oh crap! I'm going to be late again!

I bust through the back door and as I whack my elbow on the doorjamb a jangling, nickel-plated starfish that is my keys tumbles through the air like a jangling nickel-plated starfish.

Simile-metaphor - I couldn't decide.

I run to my car, scoop up my keys (with my good arm), leap inside through the keyhole, and speed away nearly choking because my seatbelt is so damn sensitive.

After nearly running over every dog, pedestrian and child in my way I finally make it to the on-ramp to the highway. It looks like Shamballah, Nirvana, the promised land! It's like... And, I look to my right, and what do I see? A sub-compact car, COMPLETELY ENGULPHED IN FLAMES!

Then I drive for an hour.

After I turn onto the exit ramp I look to my right, and what do I see? Another sub-compact car, COMPLETELY ENGULPHED IN FLAMES!

I say, out loud, "This is not a good sign".

As I'm about to pull into the parking lot where I work I pass this guy outside his apartment-building and he's putting trash into a trash-can. As he presses it down a perfectly good looking orange pops out and drops down by his feet.

And, he just stands there for a moment, staring at the orange with an expression on his face that seems to say "Why you little...", and sighs.

I park my car. I run inside, partly because I'm late - partly because I want to hide from this freakish world, and I punch in. I'm six minutes late. One more minute and I would have been docked for a quarter hour. I rule.

I descend into the fluorescent maze of employment that I just worked so hard to get to. And, I make it to my desk.

And, I work for this advertising company and it's called Maximum Advertising Potential, AAAHHH! I answer the phone and I have to say "Thank you for calling Maximum Advertising Potential, AAAHH! How may I direct your call?" Now, for some reason, they won't let me play my Talking Heads tapes there.

And, we got this new cappuccino machine, cause we gotta be this artsy, trendy advertising company and we need to impress all our clients with our new cappuccino machine. "Would you like an espresso, Mr. Whatever?" And, they call me a week later and say, "Where's my artwork?" And, I say, "I don't know. The whole art department's asleep cause they all drank like 50 cappuccino's this morning and crashed. I mean I had like 50 cappuccinos today too, but, lucky for me, I can handle it." Then, I say, "THANK YOU FOR CALLING MAXIMUM ADVERTISING POTENTIAL, AAAHH!" And, quick, I hang up the phone.

And, there's this guy who retired. And, his job is open. And, I could do his job. And it pays really well. And, I need the money. And I have to stop thinking about it, because goddammit, I've got work to do!

And, I'm training this guy, this fucking stupid guy, so I don't have to answer the phones anymore. And, he answers the phone and he says, "Thank you for calling, um..." And he looks at me and says, "dude, line?" And, I scream, "MAXIMUM ADVERTISING POTENTIAL, AAAHH! You idiot!" So, he says "MAXIMUM ADVERTISING POTENTIAL, AAAHH! You idiot!" And, I bang my head on the desk. He says, Dude, you shouldn't do that." Then he remembers he's on the phone and a light bulb goes off in his head. He says, "How may I direct your call?" He smiles at me and gives me the thumbs-up sign. I start to cry.

And, then it's lunchtime. And, the fucking stupid guy sits next to me and starts talking to me like I'm his best friend in the whole goddamn world, even though I want to kill him. And, he says "Dude, you know that guy who retired and his job was open?" And, I say, "Oh God, no." And, he says, "Dude, they want you to train me for it." So, to keep from killing him, I stabbed the back of my hand with my spork!

Now I've taken to just ignoring him, which is worse. Now he follows me around all day saying, "Dude, Dude c'mon, dude. Dude, Dude c'mon, dude." Now people come up to me and say, "Dude." And, I say fuck you! I am not your dude!" And, they say, "Chill out, dude." And I say, "Aaahh!" And, the fucking stupid guy yells out, "How may I direct your call?" And, I say, "Shut up!." And, he says, "C'mon dude." And, I say, "This is all your fault!" And, he begins to open his mouth again. And, I say, "Don't say 'dude' again! Say chap. Say chum. Say fella. Say friend. Say brother. Say bobo. Say hey shithead. Say anything. Just don't say 'dude' again, please." He says, "Relax, dude." So, I leap through the air like Spiderman, grab him by the back of his hair and began bashing his face against the concrete floor!

And, I got fired?

So, I guess I don't work there anymore.

So I leave.

As I push my way out of the pale, panel-lighted dungeon to the exit, I notice something brand new. The Sun!

My car gleams through a layer of dust - my chariot to freedom - to unemployment! And, when I turn the key, the radio station plays the end of the day whistle from the Flinstones Theme Song and Fred yells Yabba Dabba Doo! It's my new favorite song.

On the ride home the highway seems to stretch on ahead in front of me much farther than usual. And, maybe they'll play enough of my favorite songs so I can get somewhere I've never been before.

I drive until I smell the ocean. From my windshield I can see a beach on the right and a candy shop on the left, both wrapped in gaudy colors and puffy-cloud perforated sunshine.

Candy!

I parallel park and after losing my last hubcap to the hungry sidewalk, I decide that it looks better without hubcaps - sort of a road warrior kind of thing.

I dodge vacation-influenced traffic to reach the candy shop and I notice two signs on the door.

One says "Fudge", and one says "Help Wanted".

Can you see where I'm going with this?

Now I work in the fudge shop. I work in the fudge shop.

Everyone is glad to see me, and I get free fudge.

The tourists walk in and ask me, "So how long have you worked here?" And, I say "not nearly long enough"

Now, you might think going from advertising to fudge sales is a bad career move, but you obviously haven't tasted the double-Dutch-chocolate orange-sherbet swirl deluxe.

The owner, Lilly, an old lady with long silver hair wound up in a hair net, says she likes my work ethic, says she might teach me how to make the fudge.

I'm happy.

We close the cash register and usher out the last hangers-on. No more fudge for you. Come back tomorrow.

Lilly locks the door just in time for me to walk across the street and sit, and watch the clouds turn yellow, then orange, then red; each one reflected loosely in the waves below. I feel the surface of the sand cool under my palms. The horizon blurs, then disappears. Nearly identical twin stars mirror themselves, some twinkling, some rippling. And, I wonder how I'm going to explain all this.

My car looks like it's been waiting for me. I turn off the radio before I start the car. The road shines black. The yellow center line runs off forever. And, I'm relieved I don't have to follow all of it.

How am I going to explain all this?

And this is why my eyes are closed

It's just as well for all I've seen

And so it goes, and so it goes

And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you

That's if the choice were mine to make

But you can make decisions too

And you can have this heart to break

The front door clicks open as the magnetic strip lets go. I follow the low lighting through the house into the bedroom. She's asleep. The remains of the clock radio are gone. The dent in the nightstand is covered with a brushful of white paint.

I lay down beside her, put my arm around her waist and say "I lost my job today, but I got a new one in a candy store. They make the best fudge there."

She sleepily responds, "ooh, I like fudge. Do they have that orangey-chocolate kind?"

I say "yes they do, and I'm switching to decaf... but if you make pancakes again tomorrow, I promise I'll wake up."