Friday, May 4, 2012

Möbius Morning

6:30. Time to get up. 
Rub eyes. Clothes on. Bathroom. 

Kitchen.

In my bowl I chop together a mixture of GoLean Crunch and Marshmallow Oats (the biggest cereal oxymoron on the planet: healthy Lucky Charms). Then comes the milk, to both cereal bowl and coffee cup. The same spoon stirs both. 

I sit down at the table with Christian, careful to avoid a famished and boisterous Red. I know how Red can be before he's been fed; the claw mark down my shin serves as constant reminder. I gulp my coffee, eager to get that caffeine to my brain so I can form complete sentences. Christian and I enjoy each other's company, and talk about today's race. It's a Time Trial. Sixteen miles out-and-back, one stout little hill. Just me and the road against the clock. He asks me technical questions about gearing and number placement, and then we take turns teasing Red. "You wanna eat your FOOD Red? Is it time to eat some DOG FOOD?" Underneath his coat, Red turns a shade of brilliant purple, and loses his doggy mind. He oscillates between bouncing around like a grasshopper on a skillet, and staring at his owner, motionless and laser-focused, willing him to rise and walk towards the food dish. Christian and Red engage in a staring contest. Red's eyes don't flinch, but a high-pitched, nuanced yowl escapes from his voice-box. A hunger song. Christian submits. Red back-flips, overjoyed. 

Christian wishes me good luck and walks out the door to his truck, and eventually to the copper mine where he works. Alone in the kitchen, now with a soggy bowl of marshmallows and fresh cup of coffee, I grab my laptop, and type the following: 


6:30. Time to get up. 
Rub eyes. Clothes on. Bathroom. 

Kitchen.

In my bowl I chop together a mixture of GoLean Crunch and Marshmallow Oats (the biggest cereal oxymoron on the planet: healthy Lucky Charms). Then comes the milk, to both cereal bowl and coffee cup. The same spoon stirs both. 

I sit down at the table with Christian, careful to avoid a famished and boisterous Red. I know how Red can be before he's been fed; the claw mark down my shin serves as constant reminder. I gulp my coffee, eager to get that caffeine to my brain so I can form complete sentences. Christian and I enjoy each other's company, and talk about today's race. It's a Time Trial. Sixteen miles out-and-back, one stout little hill. Just me and the road against the clock. He asks me technical questions about gearing and number placement, and then we take turns teasing Red. "You wanna eat your FOOD Red? Is it time to eat some DOG FOOD?" Underneath his coat, Red turns a shade of brilliant purple, and loses his doggy mind. He oscillates between bouncing around like a grasshopper on a skillet, and staring at his owner, motionless and laser-focused, willing him to rise and walk towards the food dish. Christian and Red engage in a staring contest. Red's eyes don't flinch, but a high-pitched, nuanced yowl escapes from his voice-box. A hunger song. Christian submits. Red back-flips, overjoyed. 

Christian wishes me good luck and walks out the door to his truck, and eventually to the copper mine where he works. Alone in the kitchen, now with a soggy bowl of marshmallows and fresh cup of coffee, I grab my laptop, and type the following: 


...and onward to infinity. 

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