Part I
Perfection
1
Iclose my eyes for just a second. Not a moment longer. I inhale a deep breath. I tap my mug three times with the tip of my manicured nail.
Then I drink.
My morning coffee is a ritual I can’t do without. It’s my ON switch. Without it, I can’t forge ahead. Lots to do today: daybooks and ledgers await me. They call out to me with a welcoming smile.Sort us out,they plead.Make us look pretty. Make everything fit. Just as it should.
I have a few dozen clients, but today, only two will fill my day. I glance over at my TO DO list: it’s full and precise, everything is accounted for. I like numbers. I get off on order. Nothing turns me on more than balancing an Income Statement.
I enjoy my coffee while I peruse my list.
7:30 AMMorning Routine
8:30 AMBreakfast/Tidy (Avocado toast, six pecans, almond milk, apple, medication)
9:00 AM Coffee
9:05 AM Forgers account
11:05 AM Gym
12:30 PM Lunch with the girls (Ruth’s — BLT and Caesar salad, coffee and water)
2:00 PM Romano Account
3:00 PM Mollie
3:15 PM Tidy/snack (raspberries, ten cashews, one slice of cheese)
4:00 PM account overviews/organize/list
5:00 PM Prepare Dinner /homework
6:00 PM Dinner (Lasagna, bread, salad, vitamins)
7:00 PM Clean/make T and T’s lunches
8:00 PM TV/laundry
9:00 PM Free time
11:00 PM Bedtime routine
11:15 PM Bed
I cross ‘Coffee’ off the list. I set out my books, laptop, and pencils at perfect angles. Just so. My cell phone is nestled in my purse, a few feet away, lest it distract me.
I get to work.
About an hour in, I rise to stretch, as is usually the routine. I cock my head to the left, then to the right, and all around. I arch, hands on my lower back. I pace my office, check out the going-ons outside. Wicker Park is a bustling neighborhood — there are always people to watch. And here in Orchard Heights, we’re smack in the middle of it all. With its spacious lofts and old world charm; brick walls, high ceilings and vintage touches, Orchard Heights is one of the most in-demand condo residences in this neighborhood. It used to be a candy factory in the old days, but was refurbished into residential lofts in the seventies.
I stare at the art on my walls; vibrant abstracts on large canvases done by a local artist. Brian and I spent a small fortune on them, but I just had to have them. I loved the clean lines and meticulous strokes. The seventies-style sofa in my office is streamlined and adorned with two matching cushions at either end. They are positioned just so, and when they’re not, I know one of the boys have sat on my sofa. Mollie also likes to curl up on it, always nestled in the same spot, right next to the left cushion.
The books on my spotless glass coffee table are pretty. They are not meant to be read, they are meant to look good. Tristan loves to pick them up and flip through them. I’m not sure if he does this to get on my nerves. I highly doubt a thirteen year-old boy has any interest in theHistory of Chicago, orFashion Through the Ages.
