No Ordinary Morning

by beneaththesurfaces

“Yet another morning,” he said to himself.  He laughed with the realization of the repetitive, ritualistic pattern these mornings had taken.  It seemed far less than twenty four hours ago that he was standing in that same spot, saying the same thing to himself, the same motions.  Saying the words out loud had become a morning mantra. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.  Alternating actions, smoke, sip, smoke and sip. Repetitive actions, life had become all too  repetitive.

He looked at the sculpture that sat in his garden, something he had crafted with his own hand two decades prior. He had been a different person then; full of confidence, so sure of himself.  Though he had made a six figure salary for sometime now, he missed those bygone, innocent times. Anything, everything seemed possible. He created with his hands and mind, with total disregard as to where the cards fell. Not really caring if fortune smiled upon him, if he’d be able to afford to eat that week, as that had only seemed a small part of the equation.

Now he worried about second mortgages, retirement accounts, if his teenage daughter had been fucking the young man who cleaned his pool, his wife’s most recent face lift recovery, what that meant for his sex life, getting his BMW washed every Monday morning, alternate pool cleaning services, should call off his meeting with his secretary at a motel room in the valley on Saturday afternoon, her naked form in the afternoon light, her incessant inquisitions if he’d ever leave his wife, leave his life?

He took another drag from his cigarette, glaring at his sculpture, his creation.  Was this the path he should have traveled?. True, he wouldn’t have had the toys he had now; the trophy wife, the house, the car, his whore daughter, the whore he had become; a different reality, possibly a more fulfilling reality would have taken its place. What could have been?

He threw his cigarette in the garden, something he had never done in the past. It’s never too late.  It was time to live again.

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