cycle

5:55 am: The radio alarm clock sounds off. The sun trickles through the blinds. The final song before Howard Stern draws to a close. I got five hours of sleep, but I knew that when I shut off my light at 12:47. I wipe drool from the corner of my mouth and try to figure out in what peculiar universe I currently exist.

6:00 am: I'm out of bed, sleepwalking. I forget to turn off the cell phone backup alarm, so as that brays, I fumble at the buttons to find "disable" through sleep-blur vision. After that I fire up my computer.

6:01 am: In the kitchen at the coffeemaker. Must insert filter, scoop in coffee, fill pot with cold water to the "4" line, and start the brewing process. This procedure takes a great deal of coordination when I'm in this morning zombie funk.

6:03 am: The computer is up and running with far more vigor than me. I check e-mail. I look at a few news headlines to see if the world ended overnight. Nope. Damn. That means I have to go to work.

6:07 am: The high-pitched "the coffee is ready, schmuck" beeps sound in the kitchen. I arise from the desk and meander out.

6:09: Mug, coffee, sugar, half & half, the futon couch, Howard Stern. I begin to wake up. Howard or Artie says something puerile and I chuckle. It's the best part of waking up.

6:17 am: I am still on the couch, finished with the coffee. I need it in my bloodstream and swirling around my numbed synapses now, dammit. Alas, I have to be out the door in a half hour, so it's shower time.

6:18 am - 6:26 am: Despite the protestations of my higher brain function, I begin to fully awaken beneath the stream of super-hot water. However, I simultaneously fight the desire to lay down on the tub floor and snooze.

6:32 am - 6:35 am: Dried off, back in my bedroom, putting on the workday clothes. I'm grateful that work is casual. No ties and no tucking necessary. Just a decent button shirt, black pants, and the Doc Martens.

6:36 am: Back at the coffee pot I try to eke out what little java remains. I add sugar and half & half appropriate to the amount of remaining coffee. This is where ratios and mathematics play a role in my day. Unless it's a quarterly billing cycle at the law office.

6:39 am - 6:44 am: While I finish off the coffee I style my hair. Ya' see, if I don't add goop to my noggin, I tend to resemble a Monkee or a Beatle. And all of my friends know I don't like the Beatles. It's a little spiky, a little messy, a little crunchy - it's good enough. Then I brush my teeth and rinse with Listerine, provided I got to the drugstore and have Listerine on hand.

6:45 am: Yes, I am far too organized and efficient. The clothes in my dresser are all perfectly folded. I keep the dirty dishes out of the sink. My DVD collection is in alphabetical order and neatly aligned. So, in keeping with this practiced and purposeful pattern, I make sure I have what I need in my messenger bag. This includes the sandwich I prepared last night for today's lunch. I strap on my watch, put on my rings (two rings, silver, on the right hand), and inspect my hair. I know... vanity.

6:47 am: I know it might come as a shock, but I'm slightly O.C.D. I double-check (and occasionally triple-check) to ensure that the coffeemaker is off, the toilet is flushed, and the refrigerator doors are closed. I set the alarm clock for tomorrow morning in preparation for the same routine.

6:48 am: I slide into my coat (it's still cool out there), hoist up the messenger bag, grab my cell phone and iPod, turn off the radio in the living room, and head out the door.

Somewhere along the way, I managed to wake up.

seclusion

The subject line might be misleading. It's seclusion only in a relative sense. Of course, the alarm rattles me into the waking world five days a week, whereupon I drag my sleep-deprived self to the N/W Train and to the office, but in my off-time, I have generally been holed up here at the Queens Compund.

No, there's no lamentation here - I enjoy these bouts of solitude. I am surrounded by diversity - all walks of life - here in New York, and I never feel truly alone in this metropolis. Across the East River, I see the lights of the Manhattan skyline from my window and those lights keep me company.

Some of my time has been spent watching DVDs as the film geek in me must me satisfied with regular fixes of movie viewing. I am still putting in time on my feature commercial screenplay. Yes, it is commercial, being written for sale, and hopefully Hollywood production. Despite my disdain for formulaic claptrap, I want to imbue this script with a degree of originality and intelligence, but still make it attractive to the average movie-goer. I suppose the "art house cinema" ideas instilled in film school can be actualized after I have achieved a modicum of success. That assumes I can sell this script (and I have a viable contact for its potential sale), but it's coming together well at this point. Then there is my second novel, which I continue to edit and rewrite. And, finally, the full manuscript of my first novel ("Ache") is in the hands of an independent publisher, so I await word on its fate as far as that publishing possibility is concerned.

Otherwise, it's not like I haven't had the opportunity to get out of the house and socialize. Had I not been sick, I would have played billiards with a best friend last Saturday. The sickness was my fault - I was too generous with the vodka on Friday night (oh, there was a splash of orange juice mixed in). But the altered state of mind can lead to some intriguing writing, even if it has to be molded into passages that fit plotline congruity the next day.

Tonight there is nothing on the agenda, so I am here at the keyboard as stormy weather descends. Dark skies have split to release a barrage of thunder and lightning, and the rain spills down. I thoroughly enjoy thunderstorms. It somehow feels analeptic - a revivifying childlike sense of security - to be sheltered from the downpour, and to gaze out at nature's momentary commotion.

Next weekend brings two parties on Friday night and one on Saturday night, and presently I plan to attend all three. I look forward to it. But for now, here I am, pleased to be inside this evening, soon to make dinner and watch a DVD, and accomplish some more writing. After last weekend's debacle, I haven't had a drink in a week, so I might crack a couple of beers, as well.

Inside or out, here's to your evening, as well.