Java, Jams & the Jump-Off

This morning I did what I always do..rolled out of bed like somebody shot the starter pistol, put my coffee on drip, and let the music blast before my brain had a chance to complain. I had Usher on repeat (don’t judge me, it’s a 2005 mood), and I’m sliding through the house like I’ve got backup dancers hiding in the pantry.

By the time the caffeine hits, I’m feeling myself so much that I grab the hairbrush mic and decide Beyoncé’s not the only diva in this subdivision. I’m running scales in the mirror, looking like a one-woman TRL special. The drama, the hand motions, the fake crowd screams...it was giving Madison Square Garden at 8 AM, okay?

Right when I hit my imaginary encore, I hear it: BANG BANG BANG on my door. I freeze mid-note like somebody caught me lip-syncing for my life. At first I’m thinking: “Girl, you’re hallucinating.” But then it comes again, louder.

So I tiptoe to the peephole, ready to read whoever it is for disturbing the concert, and baby,,,it’s FedEx. My whole attitude flips. One second I’m “Who the hell,,,,” and the next I’m “Oh hi sir, how you doin’?”

Now, here’s the gag: I am still in my silk robe, hair clipped up, coffee mug in hand, serving “tired housewife in a soap opera” energy. He hands me the little scanner thingy, and while I’m signing my name, my robe is trying to betray me...slipping like it got plans of its own. I catch it just in time and give him a smile that says, “Mind your business but also notice me.”

He chuckles, asks me if I’m “always this energetic in the morning.” I laugh like a cartoon character and tell him, “Baby, this ain’t energy, this is survival.”

Package in hand, I close the door, set it on the counter, and then it hits me: I’m late. Again. My whole morning show turned into a matinee, and now the day is running me instead of the other way around.

Moral of the story? Coffee first, concerts second, FedEx third. Because apparently, my life can’t even let me sing in peace.

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