Routine

 

I open my eyes, the break of dawn staring back. My weiner dog that I’d won off a drunken tourist in downtown Los Angeles is barking at me to take him to the park. He’s already laced up his running shoes, just like mine, and is ready to set out for a nice morning jog. (Just kidding about the drunken tourist thing, I purchased him from a Breeder). As we motored slowly toward our destination the morning sun was rising, giving a hint of the glorious heat and brightness to come.

We hit the steamy grassy hills and both of us bound around the miniature lakes like excited puppies. My dog is beside himself today, so full of excitement and energy as he yelps with joy and I take in a deep breath of the morning air. We sprint, jog and stop to explore every single mole hill and unusual blade of grass. My lungs burn but it feels good or at least I convince myself that it does.

The sun begins to rise and I catch a glimpse of a familiar face. It’s my friend Dan, the Vietnam veteran I’d met over the past year, we share small updates and stories and complain like old men do about how awful things have become. He walks his Siberian Husky every morning too, around the same time my dog and I do and it’s become a nice habit of sorts as we meet briefly and go our own way. We both give a wave and I prepare to head back home.

As I leave my dog climbs into his usual spot on my lap, his head sticking out the window. We join the morning rush of cars, packed with people off to their corporate jobs. What was usually a 10 minute drive turns into a 30-minute snarl of horn honking, anxiety-filled eyes, and gridlock.

Finally, we make it back home. As my dog scampers off, ready to tackle another day I take an ice cold shower before curling up with a mug of coffee. I open the balcony doors and sit back, sipping the dark elixir of life. As the world comes alive, I’m reminded of how grateful I am to start another day.