Today, the morning of this day, I woke up quite early, without reason, I started cooking grits and sausage. Tends to happen when you are in bed by 830. About 0400, with the cat staring me in the face, I decided to awaken from a slumber induced by great physical labor associated with the production aspect of my awesome job.
When country folk get up early, I mean super early, before the birds start chirping, I can almost in most instances certainly guarantee that maybe those people will be wanting, cooking and eating breakfast. If you know any country folks, you damn well know what I am talking about. If not, come give me a holler I will show you or find a family to take you in for a few weeks. Because that’s something else country folk do, take people in.
As my eyes regained regular uncorrected blurry vision, my hope was that the discombobulated mess of numbers I saw on my watch was going to be in the 5-530 range. But it wasn’t. In an attempt to re-sleep, I left my glasses off and hoped to drift back away into a dream that I can not remember.
You see, there are always incidents that turn the most well prepared plans awry, having to pee while sleeping can make for the utmost of early mornings. Upon being allowed the knowledge of not being able to think about anything besides going potty, because my body had a superfluous amount of water, I awoke out of bed in a thunderous uproar of slow haste. At work we have been doing quite a bit of walking. As an unfortunate result, I have acquired an utterly disgusting case of “turf toe”. The shit hurts, if you have no idea what I am talking about, do this. Be barefoot, walk up to a brick wall, kick brick wall four or five times with big toe without breaking big toe. That still will not be as bad as turf toe.
Enough about my downtrodden body of 31 years, I know you’re ready to hear bout some grits. Grits make the best of morning better and the worst of mornings not worser, er. The warm creamy bliss of ground corn cooked in water, salt, pepper, a little milk and seasonings. Add breakfast pork of the ground, patti sausage type and you create a meal that makes any other meal only seem like a lacklusterly prepared McDonalds meal.
As I sit here drinking my coffee which has been cooled by the unseasonably warm tropical weather that has swept through the South Carolina region, I know that my day can only get worse. Because of my inherent desire to cook grits and sausage, because of an early morning potty call and unattainable attempt to go back to bed, I have created a utopia.
As well, today, I get to go set more shit on fire outside in the woods.
No Shave Never