Musings of the Pubic Library

I sip my coffee at undisclosed intrevals as a man types on a typewriter behind me. Click. Clack. Boom. The noise fills the wide open library. Jug-band music blows away into my ears, not too loud, so I can hear the soundtrack of the public library.
I arrived just after nine o'clock in the morning. Within ten minutes, the empty room full of tables filled up. People of all shapes, sizes, and sorts filed in to use personal laptops and the fifteen some odd provided computers for the internet. The fountains on the floor below trickle away, waiting for anyone to toss in a penny or dime, a hopeful wish, at least.

My unemployment has allowed me to enjoy as much time as I want. My daily routine is usually as follows:

• Get up and dressed. Calm the dog, who prances at my side with a urgent bladder, I presume.
• Throw on a jacket and let the dog out, forgetting to put a kettle on the stove, I return to the kitchen, and fill the kettle up and place it on a burner.
  The dog by now has wandered, but sometimes not, to his favorite peeing and pooping spot. If not, I take him there. The cool air shocks my sleepy eyes awake. 
• I let him do his thing and usually stretch. My back stiff from sleep needs a stretch. Much like I need a beer after a long day of traveling.
• I then return to the kitchen, hoping to beat the whistle of the kettle so as not to stir my dozing wife. Whom adores sleep as much as I adore her.
• If the whistle has not arrived, I sort through my box of loose teas for green or black. Sometimes I throw in a bit of licorice root tea. This morning, I blended green and licorice. The whistle. Shit, I need to turn it down, it is early, I think to myself.
• With the tea steeping, I corral the pup. This takes patience as he likes to think he is in his teenage rebellion years. And he is good at it. I usually take a tied up bike tire tube, and through the art of deception, play tug of war. Tugging him all the way into the house. 
• Finally, I can repose in the glory of what is morning. 
• With my tea beside me, I sit at the kitchen table and crochet. Last week a plastic bag holder. This week, a jacket for Clovis, the pup. He is McKnab and Collie. Short black and brown hair. He gets cold out in the snow easily.
• I may make toast of oatmeal. Or eggs. But I will usually drink one, two, or three cups of tea while I crochet. 
• From here, the day begins and I am free to wander about.

The usual progression of my days. Come the time I have to wake up, put on my shoes, and go to work-what will I do without my morning routine? Adapt and devise a new one.