The Bud

This morning I got up at four for my usual routine. I don't try to wake up at that time. It comes naturally. Some meditation, some pranayama, some qi-gong, a buttered coffee.

Soon, the kids are awake, pretend to be some sort of creature they call The Bud. When we've asked our older daughter what kind of animal it is, she says it's a mystery. What isn't a mystery is that The Bud can get into all sorts of mischief for which he or she will be blamed. Some type of scapegoat. When The Bud is awake at 5 a.m., we know it's going to be a rough morning. I won't miss The Bud when its forgotten. It is by turns whiny, hysterical, and disruptive. Nothing like The Bud could exist in nature because the other animals would consume it out of sheer annoyance.

I drive to Lawrence for a medical clearance for my new job. No one tells me anything about it. Turns out to be a drug test. For what? No idea. A man stands outside the door as I piss into a cup. I'm not allowed to wash my hands. I don't do any recreational drugs, and don't drink alcohol. Yet there's always uncertainty. Nothing has been signed yet.

After leaving the bathroom, I'm expecting them to take my blood pressure or have me step on the scale, but that was it.

I drop off
paperwork in downtown Lawrence. Most of the shops are boarded up. The weather is gray and slightly chilly. I'm not wearing a coat. A few times I slide and almost fall on patches of ice.

The distinct and, to my senses, lovely smell of chicharron comes from an open market. No one seems to be outside.

I drive home taking my time. No rush to meet The Bud.


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