My usual routine for the morning is to wake up at 5:30am, get the coffee maker ready, turn it on, and go for a 20 min run or walk. Then the coffee is ready to go when I get back, I drink my coffee, get in the shower and get ready. The following is a long run on paragraph.
So this morning I was apparently especially delerious when I was getting the coffee pot ready. Put the grounds in, a tiny shake of salt, and a shake of cinnamon (something my mother always did). Had 'er all ready to go, turned it on, and left for my run. Not 20 feet of jogging later, I tripped and had this theatrical should-have-been-in-slow-motion fall, luckily, in the grass. I sat there and stared hard at what I could have tripped on. I was embarrassed, even though I was the only one around. Got up, brushed myself off and pretended like it didn't happen. I then came across a cat who had the same very unique markings of the cat on the 10 million "Missing Cat" posters that are all over my apartment complex. Said cat came up to me and happy-danced around my legs. I figured I'd snag him and keep him in my bathroom until I could get ahold of the owner. I picked the cat up, cat immediately freaks out and manages to claw my face. I drop the cat. Run back to my house to disinfect my bleeding face and lament over the fact that I now have three bloody lines on my cheek and I have to give a speech in class this afternoon. So I text the number on the missing cat poster, and said "I saw your cat from the poster, feel free to text or call, my name is Megan." I realized it was early, but it was kind of a time-sensitive matter. The cat wouldn't be in the same spot a few hours later. I get a text back a few minutes later that said "f*** off, it's 6am." And I replied "I saw your missing cat, sorry for disturbing you." I get a text again that said "you have the wrong number." I went out to double check the number I was texting with the number on the poster, and it was indeed correct. So I gave up on the damn cat. Flash forward to 10 minutes ago, 6:30, and I figure I'll finally get to relax with my trusty cup of Joe. Pour my coffee, settle down, take a sip, and spewed it out. My coffee is disgusting. I went to find the source of the foulness and realize that instead of grabbing cinnamon, I grabbed the cajun seasoning. I had cajun-seasoned coffee.
So it's only 6:45am, I have already busted my butt, had my face disfigured, been cussed out, failed to do a good deed, and I still can't get the taste of cajun-seasoned coffee out of my mouth.
Bring it on, Wednesday, it can't get much better.
