Daily Routine: Religion and Grid Iron Metaphors – 1 November 2032

I wake up and stare at the pale blue ceiling, wishing I had slept more. I drag myself to the shower and stare at the half-used bottles of this and that cover a third of the shower floor. Its spring so I need the body wash but decide I can forgo the shampoo – I’m not seeing anyone today. Towel around my waist I sneak out into the kitchen – my own kitchen – to make sure no one is there before I start my day. I didn’t expect to see anyone there, but if there’s one thing I hate, it is being talked to in the morning. Everyone can fuck right off. Leave me alone and let me wake up. add something about family relationship.

I pull some green juice I made last night out of the fridge. Green juice is an odd thing. Like red sauce, it is something you call by what it looks like. In that sense, it is a thing you can very be wrong about identifying – the old proverb, “do not judge a book by its cover” does not apply here. You can be assured of your correctness* each time you identify something as a green juice or a red sauce. In the swirling chaos, these anomalies are constants which we tether ourselves to, to keep from falling off the life-raft we are put on, and live on until we fall off – usually around 80. need to talk about actual green juice before talking about concept and ethos of green juice

I go out onto the open balcony and put the plastic canister and straw to my lips, taking a drag, and breathing out heavily between sips. No one likes the taste of either cigarettes or green juice. In that and one more respect, I think they’re pretty similar. Both acknowledge your mortality and both are prayers. One is a hope that peace might come sooner, and the other is a push, a stiff-arm which allows you run just a few yards deeper into the belly of existence. For that reason, every morning, I wake up and drink a glass of green juice. explain NFL.

Once the routine is complete, I get ready to leave – ensuring that I take that right train, the right path to work – one that will get me there 20 minutes late. By the time I’m sitting on the train, halfway through a book, I’m already thinking about my afternoon cigarette. unclear, re-structure.

*Visual impairment/colour-blindness notwithstanding.