Greg’s Morning Régime

WHACK! There goes Greg’s head, as it thuds furiously to the counter. He really needs to stop dozing off at his desk so often. He’s sat there, staring like a head- hollow zombie at the job search site for an hour now. And he is showing no signs of moving anytime soon. His doped out eyeballs swell red as his music app bellows out a song he has grown to hate. This was the fourth time he promised himself he’d change his playlist setup. But he always seems to forget, leading to more annoying shuffles of the same ten damn songs.

Greg never seemed to be able to adjust to mornings, especially when he’s been digging into his hash stash the night before. On this occasion, he mined much deeper to the bottom of the see-through, greenhouse odoured sandwich bag, he smoked the lot. This was a difficult day for Greg, this was make or break, he needed to find a job. This would seem like a typical and fairly straight forward task to a lament with ambition, but for Greg it was much more of a challenge, especially this time around. Time was almost up, this wasn’t a typical job hunt, he needed to find a job in two and a half hours.

Greg was a simple, humble slacker, running his peers patience dry with his inability to turn up or tune in to a well intentioned interaction. This time it was his welfare office that were starved of tolerance for Greg’s nonsense. The last meeting didn’t go well, even by Greg’s very low standards he sets himself. The snooty work coach seemed genuinely offended at his apathetic shrug as a response to the simple question of “ how long have you been signing on for?”. Add to the fact he was chewing green apple bubblegum, donning an opened Hawaiian shirt, bare, hairy chested, and sporting flip flops with bare, unclipped feet. It was a particularly potent, sweltering time in June, although that excuse didn’t go down well.

Any attempts to rebut the snooty coach’s arguments towards Greg’s work-shy, slobbish, loafer behaviour were not taken in jest, the woman was no now red faced with rage. The ultimatum was stamped onto his livelihood with vicious glee from the big nosed battle axe. “Find an interview in two weeks or we’re puncturing your financial float. Show you care, or we won’t again”. She grunted each word through gritted teeth like administrating venom to grappled prey. Greg felt every syllable, she really meant it.

“Now’s the time to get into action”, Greg thought with determination. “Two weeks to get an interview, I can do that in a day!”. Now two weeks have passed, and he barely remembers the password to sign in.

Although Greg had a fine physique, his body never performed well when subjected to harsh physical labour that only extorted sweat shop workers are use to. At least this is what he’d tell himself in defence of his own bone idle existence. Greg’s moist, bloodshot gazers wonder the room in a slack fashion, he peers across the room to find a wizard’s hat placed on his scruffy armchair near the door leading in to his hallway.

“It’s time to get into action now”, says the voice in his head, with no strength of enthusiasm. “It’s not your fault mate, you’re just not use to it” he thinks with a more encouraging tone. Early mornings didn’t exist to Greg, he would wake in a daze in the late PMs most days, and this was something he had grown accustomed too ever since Lily had left him a year or so ago.

Greg slowly arises like a tranquillised Orangutang, stumbling clumsily down through the hallway with a thousand thoughts racing within his head. “Is it wrong to be annoyed with a life so privileged?”. “Does a man without purpose deserve as much as the one with a path?”. “Is the randomness of the universe and life a miracle gift or an unwanted curse? Maybe both...”. These were just some of the questions which cycled his mind at these trying times.

Greg snaps out of deep thought to find himself staring blankly at his reflection through the bathroom mirror. The sink fills with boiling water, shaving cream smothers his lower face, his toothbrush rests on his tongue with a foamy consistency of toothpaste running from his mouth. “How long have I been here?” “What time is it?”, Greg asks himself with bewilderment.

Greg swipes his phone to watch the time, 30 minutes has passed since he last checked! “Right no fooling around now” he mutters in an attempt to get himself into gear. Unfortunately, the only gear he was adjusted to recently was reverse.

He frantically wipes away the creamy mess from his face. Greg had never even intended to shave his beard, he had been growing it for interviews to impress the employers with his masculinity. But then again Lily always mentioned he looked like a scruffy bastard with it, and Lily knew her fashion. “A more manly complexion gets your foot in the door of most jobs”, he’d theorise. But Lily would come back with “Nobody want’s to hire a slob”. Lily had an answer for everything. Greg then realised that he was attempting to suppress any thoughts about Lily, as that just made his shakes worse. “She’s gone, get over it. She left cause she couldn’t handle ‘being my crutch’, who the hell even cares”.

Greg continued to brush his teeth whilst preparing his face wash, he starts running a bath with the taps aggressively spurting out water. He must put his face wash on and allow it to sit for 20 minutes, he will then bathe himself whilst washing his hair soothingly, this is his ideal morning wash régime he’d convince himself he followed. But truthfully, Greg has no wash régime. He’d wash differently everyday depending on his ever changing mood, which is not the only sign to show his life lacks any routine or structure. There’s plenty more where that came from...

Soaking among the mountains of suds he’s cleverly created using a whole bottle of muscle relax formula, he thinks to himself on how he got to this indigestible position. Rushing around to find unfulfilling jobs just to satisfy an unreasonable, dead eyed job centre zombie named Carol. “Surely my 3 years working on an art degree should count for more than this!” he’d occasionally say to his peers with bitterness and resentment. Greg then recalls that most great artists die undiscovered and in obscurity. He starts pandering to himself on what he’d rather die of, poverty or exploitive labour?

“I guess to satisfy the job centre zombie and get my benefits, any type of exploitive labour is better than nothing. After all, starvation is a bit too much of a nasty way to die”, he’d say reassuringly to himself…

SNAP!! Greg jumps at the sound of the toaster bursting out some rather overcooked toast from its metal compartments. The smoke from the blackened bread causes an unpleasant charred odour which, accompanied with the image of the blackened mess puts Greg off from eating all together. Greg then notices he’s only half dressed and didn’t even fancy toast in the first place! How long has he been here? How many times will he do this? Why can't he just stay focussed?!

He checks his phone again in a panic to find another 40 minutes has passed! He darts through his hallway and up the stairs to his computer. Struggling to keep focus in real life is one thing, but on the computer is a much trickier task. Before Greg can even make it through a suitable search request for local grunt jobs, he is bombarded by suggested links for pranks gone wrong videos, and the top 10 best Simpsons moments. 25 minutes in, he’s already forgotten the mission.

Fully absorbed into his online entertainment, Greg hears a gruffly voice behind him. “You know you can do this Greg” the voice cries, Greg turns suddenly to find the wizard hat from his living room chair to now be sitting upon the head of a grand wizard!

“Who the hell are you ?” Greg asks suspiciously. “I am you fairy god father Greg” replies the wizard with a voice of great wisdom. “Really?”m questions Greg, this time more fascinated in the response than with the spectacle. “No, of course I’m bloody not, I am your hangover wizard! Seriously Greg, when are you going to learn to focus and stop smoking heavily and dozing off. Why do you do this to yourself?”.

Greg expresses dissatisfaction at how meta the situation was. The fact a daydream is telling him to stop daydreaming was a step in the right direction though he thought to himself. Maybe this was his way of telling himself to stay on track. “Greg why are you doing this?” Asks the wizard judgementally. Greg struggles to push the words out as his throats clogs up in a nervous manor. “I just feel trapped is all, I can’t escape the bad feelings. It’s never really worked for me” replies Greg, flustered and upset. The wizard leans forward with empathy, “you must have the confidence to face this Greg, you are a lot better than you think you are”.

Greg looks down to his feet with sadness, his body feels a shivering dread within him. He doesn’t know where to look, his eyes dart around the room attempting not to make contact with his mystical visitor. “No one will want me, I’m not good enough... I need more time” cries Greg. “It’s not your fault mate... You’re not use to it… But it will get better” replies the wizard soothingly. Greg interrupts harshly with uncontrollable frustration “How can I possibly get better now? I’ve got no time to look for an interview, my meeting is soon, I'll loose my benefits! I’ll have no money and I'll be forced to do jobs that will ruin my self esteem even further!”.

The elderly wizard glares at Greg. “Oh but Greg, you’re not late for any meeting, it’s already happened.” Greg with shocked realisation glances down to his phone. He notices the date of the meeting was in fact three days ago. Greg panics with worried shivers. “But then what am I late for?!” shouts Greg. The wizard stands up and overshadows Greg with great confidence. “You’re late for your interview” says the wizard with a low, glowing tone.

Greg shuts his eyes hard, attempting to concentrate on his memories of the last few days. He envisions himself on a 3 days pot smoking binge, attempting to overcome the sick, anxious feeling of missing what he viewed as a sacred interview. Greg remembers that upon waking from a stoned sleep and a heavy weight of depression he tried to calm himself by scouting the wide net for jobs.

Greg pops back into real time, he jumps to his computer to view his search history. He finds hours worth of searches on various job search engines with many applications submitted. An email alert pops up on his computer warning him of his 40 minute window to arrive to his interview. It’s for the position of mural designer for various offices and public buildings, a six month contract to do what he had always wanted to do!

Greg’s overpowering sadness fades with a glimpse of happiness. The anxious feelings remain, but starts drowning in a sea of bliss in his body. “They were impressed with your portfolio remember?, you impressed them, now go and impress them some more” instructs the wizard with a soft voice as he fades away from Greg’s vision. Greg sprints to his wardrobe, he grabs various garments with quick succession and sprints again to the bathroom with a nervous smile stapled to his face.

He places his best clothes on to his toilet seat and begins his so called “régime”. Scrubbing and brushing in a frantic multitask motion only women are supposedly capable of. Greg prepares himself, looking into the mirror to set his ideal appearance. He stops suddenly as his stomach feels a kick of adrenaline. His smile drops from his face. He leans in as his arms weaken. He attempts to grab ahold of the sink, holding his whole body weight up.

He looks up and catches himself struggling through the mirror. He clenches his muscles and firmly says “No! You will not beat me, not today. I have a chance here and you’ve held me back for so long! I’m not listening to you anymore, you’ve always stopped me, but now its time for you to go! I have the strength to do this! So just get lost!” Greg gains his strength back through his body. He rises up and catches a glimpse of his full self through the mirror, he stares blankly for a minute and then leaves the room with a serious expression. He grabs his portfolio folder and heads down to the front door trying to hold back any nervousness. He puts on his formal shoes with a frustrated struggle, trying to firmly shove his heel in to the newly moulded shape.

As he walks to the door he is greeted with the dreaded feeling once again, which like a virus, spreads fear throughout his body. “What if it all goes wrong?” “What if you mess it up?” “What if it’s a misunderstanding and they replied by accident?” “What if you are humiliated?” asks the questions, exploding within Greg’s dizzying head.

”What if this feeling never leaves me? What if I can never get better?…

WHAT IF I’M THE MOST USELESS PERSON IN THE WORLD?”

“No!

What did I say?...

Not today... Piss Off!” He yells with ferociousness.

Greg exhales deeply. Suddenly the sunlight glimmers through the glass on the door, shining elegantly onto his face. The warmth through the door brings great pleasure to him during this enchanted moment. Greg stares through the light and reflects to himself “The autumn months can bring darkness and damp, but every once in a while there is warmth and beauty with blue skies” . Greg opens the door with overwhelmed shivers. He shoots his head up to the gleaming sun that buzzes in the clear, blue ocean sky.

The wind plays pleasurable symphonies like an invisible orchestra. Greg smiles gleefully, he slams the door of his grotty flat. The gloominess fades away from behind him, the sunlight engulfs him. He looks down to his phone and sees another alert for a now 20 minute window. The place was just a few blocks away, “I haven”t gotten this far in ages” he whispers. “What a nice little victory…” The warm light glazes his body. The wizards voice returns once more to see him off.

“It’s okay Greg, embrace it. Own the moment. This is your time, take the chance, get use to it”.