Getting ready in the mornings is never pleasant for me. Ever. If the problem isn’t the fact that I cannot bear the thought of getting out from under my soft, warm and ever so accommodating bed, it’s that I take one look in the mirror and immediately know it’s going to be a bad day because no amount of makeup or fake peppy facial expressions can help me. These are probably the days that I feel I’m at about 10 percent.

That’s how I judge how I feel on a given day, with percentages. For example, if I’m feeling pretty great, which means my clothes, my look and my mind are in order, I’d say I’m at 90 percent. If I’m feeling horrid and nothing is going well for me, including the mountain of a pimple that just showed up on my chin’s doorstep, then I probably feel about -5 percent. The most interesting part is, that even if I start out at a good percentage, say 75, by the end of the day, I’m almost in single digit numbers. That’s quite discouraging. I can honestly say that I’ve never felt 100 percent, EVER. But then again, who has? On second thought, I’m sure there are people who have. I hate them.

After I gauge a percentage, I go about my business of turning the kettle on, decided what to wear all the while running from the bathroom to my room multiple times. During this tedious process, Henry the Maltese is ever so vigilantly by my side and will follow me at all costs, no matter where I go and no matter how many times I go there.

When I get to the bathroom, he’ll duck himself in there with me and then, because no one is home and I need to make light of the fact that I feel like DEATH, I strike up a conversation with him.

“No Henry, that’s an illegal behavior,” I politely tell him when he sticks his head in the trash can.

While in my room, I ask him about my wardrobe. “What should I wear? What do you think? If you had to pick something for me what would it be? Oh c’mon, don’t be shy. Pick something!”

While in the kitchen, I discuss life. “If you had a choice between staying home and going to work, which would you choose?”

When he wanders off out of sight, I miss him. “Can you come back now? I have to leave soon and I want to see as much of you as possible. Why don’t you ever make yourself heard?”

When I have to leave, I reassure him that it will be ok. “I have to go now Henry. I’ll be back home soon, I promise. You just stay put, ok? I’ll be back I swear.”

And as I shut the door, I hear him barking in the distance, as if to say, “Why do you leave every morning?”

I ask myself the same thing.