Unorderly Days

Two stories with stipulation that they must be about a person whose routine has gone amiss.

Lion's

Morning Wake

He wasn’t normally like this, maybe there was a higher power intervening. The late start was followed up with his coffee maker being prevented from its duties, a fresh filter and beans weren’t put in last night. So, this morning the only thing he got was the hollow buzz of the grinder and hot water. For him, that was the pits because his early morning bathroom break didn’t have any; well you get the point. All stopped up. That pretty much sums up the morning.
It wasn’t just that his coffee maker lacked coffee; the alarm fell under similar circumstances. The alarm loaded for 6:30 A.M, he was expected to appear at 8:00 A.M., didn’t go off. Tired before bed because of all that had been happening; he set the time rather then the alarm. Awake at 7:30A.M., the morning session of habitual activities to activate life went missing.
He would normally pour some coffee in a Hoosier mug reading “Bobbie is MY Knight.” And read an article or two out of the Economist, and take his trip into the commode and S.S.S. Eat breakfast afterwards, nude ― air drying — and suit up. Today he got through the bathroom routine minus one S., used a towel to dry, but left his house unfurled and flat.
Down the stairs and out at 7:45. He walked two blocks up, past the intersection with no stop signs, kids, and past the other with the convenience store, kids. His car was at the end of this block: not tagged or stolen — booted. All stopped up. He looked up at sky, or maybe the sky looked down at him, and they both smiled. He walked back to the convenience store and called a cab. Now, 8:00A.M.
He got to the church and everyone was leaving, sad looking and throwing disappointed looks at him. He walked up the stairs in the front through depressed dispersing crowd. At about the third pew in the attendees were few and he made his way freely to the front. He looked into the casket and grabbed the painted and wrinkled hand of his father and said, “You just wanted to get some alone time, eh, Dad?”

Ceahorse's

The day after

I was walking through a field of purple daisies. They touched my heart in ways I could never tell the buddies. I bent over to catch a sniff of one of the larger more vibrant ones when, suddenly, it turned into the face of Metallica’s lead singer, James Hetfield. He stuck out his tongue, in the Kiss fashion, and then started to sing.
Frightened by the abruptness of the transformation and the hideousness of the facial pose, I recoiled back tripping over something and fell. I hit my head and everything went black.
I don’t know how long I was out, but I woke up in a bed. There was the sound of “Unforgiven” pelting out of my alarm clock. I swung my right arm over to turn it off, but I missed. As reality started to become clear, I realized that I was mistaken and that the music was coming from my left. I peered over at the clock. It read 8:04. I tapped the snooze so I could get five more minutes of sleep. I cozied myself back under the blankets and adjusted my head deep into my pillow. My eyes closed by their own will and I was back asleep after the final thought that I didn’t remember changing the clock setting from buzz to radio.
This time I woke up again, on my own, and looked over. The clock read 8:36. I was instantly furious. Why had my snooze failed me? I snatched the clock and peered at the snooze button, but it didn’t say snooze, it had the word “OFF” imbedded in bold black letters.
I put the clock down and slid my feet off the bed: one of my feet went straight into a slipper and the other came up empty. I had put my right foot in my left slipper, and the left foot had to reach over the right foot to find a slipper. Crossing my legs in this manner made me feel like a coquettish widow trying to pretend she didn’t want the pervert to snatch a peak up her mini skirt.
I stood up but it felt strange, I felt like I was standing in a place I had never been before, the same feeling you get when you find you have just walked into the lady’s room. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I looked across the bed to the other side, the side I should be getting up on.
I ran my fingers through my hair in an effort to ease my mind, but what I found was more startling. All I felt was skin. A bald head.
I bolted across the room toward the bathroom. I had to see it with my eyes. I yanked the bathroom door open and went in. I was jammed in the eye by a clothes hanger.
I grasped my watery eye and peered in with the other. I was in the closest. Panic stricken, I scanned the room for another door. As I scanned my panic rose because I began to notice things that were misplaced.
The bed was on the wrong side of my bachelor’s apartment. But it was in the best place considering where the closet was. The sheets on the bed were green, I could’ve sworn that I had blue. There was NO kitchen. And where was my dog. Little Techo was gone, no barks, no wags, not even a whimper to be taken out to piss.
I put my hand against the wall to keep from fainting. Then I noticed the other door. It had to be the bathroom. I staggered over to it and opened it. It was ok. The shower on the left, as it should be. The sink and mirror straight ahead and the toilet nestled between.
I closed the door, locking it. With my back against the door, and my chest gasping for air I sank down to the floor.
“What in the hell is going on?” I repeated out loud several times.
I just couldn’t put my mind on it. What had happened to me, what was with all the changes? Then I fell silent.
DING DONG…DING DONG…
“What the hell?” I yelled. I never had a door bell. Just a knocker, and the door buzzer.
Then I heard the main door open and a voice yell out.
“What the hell, Pete? Where are you?”
I kept silent.
Then I heard the bathroom door knob wiggle.
“Pete? Are you in there? What the hell are you doing? It’s Max. You’re supposed to meet me downstairs.”
Max! I knew Max. He was my buddy. The dude I carpooled with everyday to work. He was my best friend. He was Pete’s best friend. Pete was me. I am Pete. This is my bathroom. This is my home. This is my life. And today is the day after I forgot who I was.