Pointless Pontificating

It seems to happen on a regular basis any more. The clock metaphorically strikes four and my eyes pop open.  I turn the pillow searching in vain for the cool side. I try not to thrash about too much in consideration of my fair spouse sleeping one-half of a queen-sized mattress away. I try in vain to re-enter the sweet arms of Morpheus. After thirty minutes or so of squeezing my eyes shut I give up. I roll out of bed and strip off the gym shorts and old stretched-out and faded Chicago Cubs T-shirt I wear as pajamas.  I slip on my jeans and yesterday's sweatshirt. I close the bedroom door and sit on the top of the stairs to pull on my socks. It is O'dark thirty and once again I am up for the day. I offer a prayer of thanks for a new day. I pad downstairs and slip my phone into my left front pocket and a trusty Chapstick into the right. I perch my glasses onto my nose. 

In the kitchen I fill the Keurig with water and pop in a pod. In a minute or two I have coffee. While I wait I check and delete the overnight junk mail in my email accounts.  I glance at the digital clock on the microwave oven mounted above the stove and sigh at the blue numbers. I snap the lid onto the ceramic travel mug filled with black coffee and trudge up the stairs.

I sit in the unreclined recliner and pick up my iPad. USA Today is first, then the local news station app. Dilbert, a look at the Kindle daily deals and then I start perusing the political news sites and blogs. Only then do I turn to this little piece of the blogosphere. I have been up an hour. The neighborhood is dark through the window at my right elbow. After I type this entry I will glance at my stats, delete the spam from my comment folder and see if anyone bothered to read yesterday's drivel. I will get more coffee. Then I will check out most of the blogs on the sidebar before I walk across the hall to my office to begin another work day.  Maybe I will spend thirty minutes with the Russians first.

As I type, I realize this entry is a far cry from Lennon's McCartney's understated eloquence when he penned "Woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb, across my head...".  Like most of the minutiae spewed in black squiggles on an electronic background at this blog, this post has no value to you. It is no different than most diaries in that sense. I just don't bother to hide my journal under the mattress. 

edit: fixed attribution