He Wakes Up In The Morning, Does His Teeth, Bite To Eat, And He's Rolling, Never Changes A Thing, The Week Ends, The Week Begins
Normally on a Sunday morning I'm fast asleep. I don't know what it is about the weekend. Whether it's just staying out too late or the fact that we don't have to come into work the next morning, but there's a lot of hours that I waste sleeping when I could be doing something more productive. Of course, it could be the fact that I'm a horrible insomniac and normally don't get to sleep till two or three in the morning, even when I do stay home. Normally on a Sunday morning the furthest thing from my mind is waking up early to accomplish anything. However, this morning for some inexplicable reason I bolted awake at five in the morning, even after hitting the hay only two hours prior. I'm not going to lie; there are some nights where the thought of being alone in the condo, with Amber away for the holidays, that I get to thinking that I may be re-visited by that pesky ghost I saw a few months ago. Maybe that was the thought skulking my mind that awoke me. Whatever the reason I got up and couldn't get back to sleep.
Because of this, I did what any crazy person like myself does. I started ruminating about what I could do at such an early hour. I couldn't go back to sleep. There was nothing great on television at that time. And I try not to write that early because I know there'd be no falling asleep for hours after that. Consequently, my mind turned towards possibly going out to eat.
Being a self-proclaimed foodie, breakfast has got to be my guilty pleasure. From Uncle Bill's Pancake House in Manhattan Beach, to Gaffey Street Diner in San Pedro, I have a whole list of places that I love going for breakfast. It's just that, as aforementioned, I never seem to wake up in time to actually do so. Or, even when I do wake up in time, I always convince myself that sleep is more important. I usually end up falling right back asleep.
This morning was different. This morning I started thinking about how often it is I actually get to go to breakfast and that to not go when I was already awake and kicking would be a travesty. I called Miss Nancy Drew to come meet me out for breakfast, waking her up in the process, and set about getting ready. By seven, after a brief drive and wait for her to show up, I was ready to enter King's Hawaiian Restaurant and Bakery in Torrance for some of their famous French Toast made from their unique Hawaiian bread, with a side of Portuguese sausage and eggs.
It wasn't the company that really had me jazzed about the morning, though Ilessa was surprisingly conversational for being basically dragged out of bed during her holiday break. And it wasn't that the food that had me buzzing either, though their French toast is quite simply delish--at nine bucks a plate and three bucks for apple juice, it better be. It was the simple fact that I was doing something I love which I never had a chance to do anymore. It was the idea that I had a chance to revisit a simple pleasure that I hadn't been able to engage in regularly since my high school days.
and remembers being small
playing under the table and dreaming
At the table next to us, an elderly couple was seated about five minutes after we arrived there at just after seven. Next to them were seated two officers and one cadet. And next to them was seated another gentlemen. They all looked tired, but the amazing thing was they all knew each other. They all greeted each other as if Sunday breakfast were a weekly ritual. I remarked to my friend how awesome that was, to be able to frequent a place so much that not only did you get to know the wait staff, but you got to know the other patrons as well. Short of suggesting that we make the meal a weekly ritual ourselves, I just about gushed about how I wished for a place like that.
I've always wanted a restaurant to call my own, someplace where I could go to on a regular basis and be accepted in as one of their special guests.
It's a shame that my life has become such that I don't think that will ever be possible. If I'm not rushing to work, then I'm rushing home from work to try and unwind. If I'm not stressing about how hectic the next day is going to be, then I'm stressing about the small foul-ups that plagued me the day before. Very rarely do I stop to think about the small pleasures, like taking an hour out of my week to enjoy breakfast with a friend. It's no wonder I'm stressed out so much and so often. I think the closest I come to unwinding is when I'm writing here or possibly sprawled out with a good book. Otherwise, the daily grind of merely being me prevents all superfluous activities. It's even worse now because I've added the extra task of going to the gym four times a week to my "To Do" list. It's a wonder I can even think about trying to pile another hour of random breakfasting atop that.
Yet I believe I'm going to make a mental picture of how happy and full of energy everybody was at that breakfast that morning. I'm going to try to remember how relaxed I felt, even while my eyes were dragging down across my face. I'm going to try to hold the feeling of being satisfied for once for as long as possible. With my vacation coming to an end on Wednesday, I know it's going to be a long time before I can just skip out for breakfast again.
It's like I was telling her as we were leaving to our separate cars, I really do miss when we were younger and having a slow, leisurely breakfast was the norm for the day and the having to stop by a drive-through for McMuffin or scarfing donuts and coffee when we got to work was the exception. There's something to be said about starting your day with good food and plenty of time to enjoy it.
Hell, there's something to be said about starting your day simply doing anything you enjoy and having all the time in the world to revel in it.