I slept in this morning. Normally, this would not have been a bad thing, but today? Oh, it was a bad thing.
Typically, I start my day by 6:30 a.m. in order to be somewhat functional by 8:30 a.m. when my job begins. Today, I started my day at 7:20 a.m. and it’s there, where the bad began to creep in.
My mornings go a little like this:
6:30 – Roll over, wake up, hit snooze.
6:35 – Roll over, try waking up again.
6:37 – I’m on my feet.
6:42 – I’ve made it in the shower.
6:55 – Enjoying the hot water in the shower.
7:05 – Done showering.
7:25 – Applying a heavy amount of mascara.
7:35 – Finished applying mascara.
7:40 – Dressed and hair moisturized.
7:45 – Dog out. Dog peed. Dog pooped.
7:50 – Putting together a makeshift breakfast consisting of eggs and turkey sausage.
7:52 – Taking a bite out of the of cheese.
8:00 – Adding more cheese.
8:05 – Putting my shoes on, filling water bottle, adding lemon juice and stuffing my purse with fruit. Usually strawberries, but bananas get action some mornings too.
8:10 – Kissing my dog goodbye, piling my arms with stuff and heading on my merry way.
8:20 – At work and ready to kick ass, that is, after I finish my eggs and turkey sausage.
Now, I don’t completely have it all together, but I do have enough time to drag my feet and to enjoy the waking up process.
Today, my morning went a little like this:
6:30 – Roll over, wake up, hit snooze.
6:35 – I can’t remember, but I’m sure I hit snooze.
6:45 – Still hitting snooze.
7:00 – I gave up on myself right around this time.
7:15 – Snooooozzzeee.
7:20 – Shit!
7:27 – In the shower. Where’s my wash cloth?
7:35 – This water feels so good.
7:45 – Can I stay naked forever?
7:50 – Where’s my mascara?
7:55 – Clothes on, dog out, shoes on.
8:00 – Turkey sausage in pan. Hair down, hair not done, water bottle needs filling, lemon needs to be cut.
8:10 – Turkey sausage burning, English muffin in the toaster, grabbed eggs from fridge.
8:15 – Sausage on muffin, water in bottle, cheese on sausage, fruits stuffed in purse, laptop stuffed in bag.
8:18 – Dropped the entire carton of 11 eggs on the floor.
8:18 – Hell has broken loose.
I never knew cleaning eggs off of the kitchen floor was a skill and it is a skill I have not mastered. I stood there glaring at the pile of shell and goo. I kept quietly uttering the words, “Oh. My. Gosh,” as I used an entire roll of paper towels to sop up the mess. It didn’t seem to be working as well as I had hoped it would. The yolk dripped everywhere on it’s way from the fridge to the trashcan. As soon as I reached the end of the roll, I quickly scrambled for the mop. See what I did there? I’m sure you do.
Moving along. I was beyond mortified. Not by just the mess, but by the time. I was going to be late for the first time at my fairly new job and I was having a hard time swallowing the reality of it.
I made it out of the door by 8:23. I hopped into my car; flinging everything I had in hand onto the passengers seat. I was so frustrated at this point and as I started to make my way to work, I noticed how beautiful the day was and how I didn’t want to disregard the morning. I exhaled deeply, turned on my radio and moved like Jagger along with Maroon 5. I’m sure it’s a thrill to watch me at a stoplight.
Here’s the thing. I may be fetching far on this realization, but this morning seemed to be telling me something.
My life in this moment of time, to me, seemed to resemble that pile of mess on the kitchen floor. I have felt shattered for a very long time now. Interesting enough, one egg from the batch of ten that decorated the kitchen floor wasn’t completely ruined. I had picked it up and considered throwing it away until I saw that, although cracked, it wasn’t broken. I put it back in the carton and into the fridge.
When I feel broken, I feel useless to myself and to the people around me. Even when I’m constantly shuffling and trying to figure out ways to glue back the pieces, I still feel useless. Some way, some how, the universe has shown me that I am still of use, just like the cracked egg that is now sitting alone in that carton. I’m not completely broken and I don’t have to fix the cracks. I just have to embrace them. Breathe. Let go. And embrace the very thing that scares me; being a broken mess.