The Breakfast and the Furious

You may have heard that I like things that are acidic. And I do. However, it is a proven fact that if I drink orange juice my stomach convulses itself into an angry, jagged acid bag and I crumple to the floor with groans that Prince Hamlet would find enviable.  I think it is telling that if you google the phrase "death by orange juice" a picture of O.J. Simpson shows up.

So anyway, breakfast. I've never been good at breakfast. When I was in high school I had to catch a bus down the street that arrived at around 7:00 in the morning. So, I would set all three of my alarms for about 6:20. Inevitably though, I would snooze it like pro and then have to BOLT from bed at 6:51.

I would scurry to the bathroom and brush my teeth while simultaneously peeing, putting on my clothes, and trying to remember where my backpack was. It was cold and hazardous. I sustained many bruises thanks to artfully sharpened corners on our furniture. Also, I would trip over the cat who would zealously charge about me, eager for an early morning snack and a fun game of KILL YOUR OWNER.

This is a picture of my cat. His name is Caligula. He enjoys killing things, snuggling, and sleeping in coat hangers:

It took almost exactly 3 minutes and 20 seconds to run like a maniac to my bus stop down the street. With little variance, my morning journey from sleepy bed to graffiti-worn bus seat would elapse in the space of 10-12 minutes. Looking back it's funny to realize just how crazed I must have appeared to any early risers. Imagine for yourself (or maybe you were there) that self-satisfied aura of Suburbia at daybreak and then myself erratically careening through an otherwise quiet street, singing Nirvana songs at the top of my lungs to disperse whatever antlered creatures might be hanging around in the fog. 

You may not know this about deer but their natural habit is not in the forest. Instead, they exist exclusively in the ethereal world of mist and darkness. If you are ever walking down the road and suddenly experience low visibility, be assured that swarms of deer are just floating around you, waiting to poke their wet fuzzy faces from out behind a nearby tree to generate some kind of strained guttural warning at you and stomp their hooves at you as if to say, "I AM A DEER. I AM VERY LARGE AND STUPID AND MIGHT, AS A DEFENSE MEASURE, CRASH MY ENTIRE BODY INTO YOURS. DON'T EVEN LOOK AT MY FEMALES." To which I say, "Pfffft. As if. Up your fluffy white tail, man."

A minor side effect of all this was that I never ate breakfast. Or, not in the normal sense of the word anyway. A couple of pickles and a chocolate flavored vitamin pill were usually the only accompanying nourishment I took to my morning classes. Maybe this is why I wasn't a very alert or interested student. Or why I hated gym class. Or maybe that was everyone.