Wake up at 6. Sit up, hit the snooze button.
Pull blankie over shoulder and slump back to bed.
Hit snooze again at 6:09.
Then again at 6:18.
And then again at 6:27.
Freshen up, down a big glass of water to flush the system from yesterday, change, make up, feed hamsters, do the morning dump, wash hands, step out.
8 mins walk to the LRT (light rapid transit) station past the basketball court where the middle age ladies do their morning taichi. Up the elevator to the entrance of LRT station, walk up the stairs to the platform.
Smell the stale morning air.
Welcome to Punggol.
Step into the small freezer of a car, wait 3 stops. Alight and plunge down the escalator to B1 – MRT platform. Get into train, find a seat – never the reserved seat (meant for the needy) if you can help it. The MRT. The tube. The subway. Same-ish architecture every station. For the familiarity. Or maybe budget cut on artistic commission. Every station so similar, you gotta keep an eye on the LED/diode sign that shows which one you’re at especially when it’s crowded so you can alight at the right stop – if you can squeeze past the unrelenting men and women who have trouble letting you pass.
Once out at Dhoby Gaut, up the escalator, cross over to the other MRT line on travellator and down again on another escalator to wait for the 3rd train of the morning to hit Orchard. At this point, you tend to notice the different scents of men and women (cheap deodorant – eww; floral scents – bleah; freshly shampooed still-wet hair & no perfume – *shudder*; musky or citrus – hell yea) who walk past.
Notice also how 3-inch heels are often coupled with overly muscled calves and pencil skirts with visible panty lines – so not sexy. Neither are fat ankles. Or Crocs shoes.
The next train finally takes me to Orchard MRT station and into the loving arms of Ion Orchard. En route to Wheelock Place, I usually pass by the occasional morning eye-candy, but I never make direct eye contact. I can’t do the walk-past-and-check-out-stranger thing. My eyes are too dry and I blink too much. And I dunno when I should look away when the eye-candy in subject looks back. Frisson that ends up in nothingness in the morning is too much. Especially when it happens on too many days.
Thankfully, I pace towards Bread Society for my occasional freshly-baked morning bun and white coffee, bought to go. Then up to street level past the big screen across the road with never ending advertisements and movie trailers.
On some days when I get out early, I sit at Coffee Club outside Wheelock for a quick breaky (remember Blueberry Pancake?) before entering the hotel building to be greeted with many hellos and good mornings before starting the day at my aquarium seat
All this, will stop at the end of next week. Sigh?