Sunday, January 17, 2010

Sacred Breakfast

Breakfast, to me, is sacred. And every single of my closest friends knows. Breakfast is generally what's gonna determine if my day is gonna be good or bad, if i'm gonna be in a good mood or not. Nothing can should interrupt me when i'm having breakfast otherwise, it interrupts the process of making a decent person out of the human being i barely am when i wake up. There is a whole determined routine i'm following every single morning: i wake up, hop in my sweat pants and tennis shoes, go walk the dog for 30 minutes, come back home, feed the dog, feed the fish, and get started on my breakfast. And when my tea is poured in the bowl then there is only one thought going through my head: "finally".
It doesnt matter at what time i wake up, nor at what time i need to be at work, breakfast will take at least 30 minutes of my time no matter what. And since i tend to feel guilty as hell if i dont walk my dog every morning (and know she will be a pain of hyperactivity during sacred breakfast), i wake up 2 hours before i need to be at work just to make sure i have this reserved sacred hour for myself. Well, 30 minutes for the dog, 30 minutes for me.
Breakfast is a ritual. I have the same breakfast every single day, nothing very fancy: tea (in a liter bowl), toasts with butter and jam, laptop on the breakfast table connected on the latest news. And that's it.

So needless to say, SUNDAY breakfast is the absolute breakfast experience. And even if i generally have 3 days off a week, Sundays are special because they're quieter days with almost no traffic passing in the street, no gaz truck, no water truck, no fruit truck, no everything-you-think-about truck. And since i wake up pretty early, i dont hear the neighbor's kids or the neighbors as a matter of fact, they tend to go to church on Sundays. If it's not perfection, a sunday breakfast surely gets close to it.
So when i have, for the third sunday in a row, Jehovah witnesses knocking at my door, right in the middle of my perfect until you came breakfast, i tend to be nasty. Last time, i was plain rude with them and felt terrible in the aftermath. This morning, i just tell them to go away and stop harassing me. No i dont have a minute for you, no i dont want your litterature, no i dont want to talk to you: it's sunday, it's my day for being asocial, leave me alone.
I really need to put up the sign on the door of my fence. It says:


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