Every morning was the same: alarm goes off at 7, hit snooze button twice, roll out of bed, quick hot shower, cup of coffee with light breakfast while reading the paper, kiss wife goodbye and one the road by 8. He was so used to this routine that he could do it in his sleep, which some mornings was basically the case. The rest of his day was spent on the phone, arguing with customers, filling orders, and massaging his forehead as the predictable headache started forming by 2 pm. Then he'd come home, eat dinner while pretending to listen to his wife and kids, zone out in front of the TV for awhile then lather, rinse, repeat.
Always the same, never any variation. After several years of this, he felt like he was going to crack. An icy haze had fallen over his soul. He felt snowed-in, trapped in a barren cabin out in the deep woods with no one around for miles and miles. He knew he needed to do something, but he didn't know what. He tried to shrug it off and go about his routine as usual. It worked for awhile until one morning he simply didn't get up. The alarm went off at 7 and he decided to reach over and shut it off. Where this decision came from he did not know, but he did know that hit would take a snow plow to get him out of bed. He laid there, a soft smile playing at his lips, as he fell back into a blissful slumber. At about 9 his wife shook him awake and said, "John, you're late for work!!" He only smiled at her and promptly fell back to sleep. He awoke again about twenty minutes later to the phone ringing. It was his boss wanting to know where the hell he was. John answered by hanging up the phone. The rest of the day he spent doing absolutely, positively nothing. HIs wife kept coming over and checking him for a fever as she was so sure he must be falling ill. Why else would her husband be acting so strangely? Why else, indeed.
The next day was the same as was the day after that. His boss gave up calling him; he was already looking for someone to replace him. His wife was sick with worry, but John refused to speak. His children were bewildered as well, but they somehow knew that this was inevitable. His health deteriorated as he ate very little and hardly moved from the couch. A doctor was called in by the end of the first week, but he couldn't find anything wrong with him. A therapist came after that, but he still wouldn't say a word. It seemed as though John had given up on life: he was waving the white flag and didn't care one bit.
One could safely assume that John was very depressed. On the contrary, John's soul was slowly but surely waking up. Ice on the soul doesn't melt overnight. For John it took 32 days, 6 hours and 15 minutes after that first break in his routine. He finally rose off the couch, took three steps and crumpled into a ball in the middle of the livingroom. No one was home: his wife was out looking for a job since someone had to pay the bills and his kids were at school. His whole body ached with a deep sadness as he let out loud, wailing sobs that shook the foundation of the house. On and on he went until he was too exhausted to let out even one more cry.
That's how they found him: curled up in the fetal position, snoring softly. His wife felt joyful for any change in his behavoir must be a good sign. She gently woke him up and peered cautiously into his eyes. "Margaret..." he whispered, his voice cracking. Her breath caught in her throat as she responded, "Yes, John?" trying not to shout out with glee. "I want a divorce." She pulled away in shock as John rose up, took the car keys and walked out the door. Where he went, no one knows. Some say he moved to Maui, enjoying the warm ocean and a life of leisure. Others say he became the CEO of a major corporation, using his long untapped creative energy. Still others say he drove off a bridge that night.
What do *you* think happened to John?
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