Morning

Greetings. I'm about as newbie as it gets. I have no formal training and I'm not published. I haven't written anything of any merit, but I'm hoping to change that. I'll share a little background:
One day after work, I sat down at my computer to check emails, update Facebook status, and play The Sims. During the Facebook status part of that little routine, I did something I had never done before: I wrote. Not just a status update, but I narrated it. I had no intentions of doing so, it just kind of happened, almost like it was writing itself. I just sat there and watched it happen. Being that I'm just an uneducated (formally, at least) construction worker, I must say that I was proud of what I'd written. Then one day it dawned on me, "maybe I could be a writer?" I have no delusions of becoming rich and famous, but how cool would it be to have my name on the front of some novel out the there in the world? So I stumbled across this site in hopes to hone my craft. Also, below I have copied and pasted that Facebook post that started this thing. Enjoy, and feel free to critique:

FACEBOOK

I thought it would be a good change of pace to post about my rough morning as a narrative instead of just a simple, "What a day. fml" or some other generic post. In this ADD generation where everyone's attention span can't hold onto anything longer that a facebook meme, it seemed like a good idea to try something different and work on my writing skills a bit. My short paragraph of a post took a life of it's own and became much more than I anticipated, but I'm going to post it anyway. I call it.....

MORNING.

I slowly open my eyes, waiting for the soft blue glow of the alarm clock to come into focus. 4:20. The buzz of the alarm should have sounded twenty minutes ago. A slight rush of panic pulses from my chest as I realize the potential of being late for work, but fades with the understanding that I would have just started my second snooze cycle had the alarm been set. Adrenaline makes sliding out from under the blanket a bit easier this morning. The mutt laying next to me disagrees with a huff and groan. His adopted sister hears the creaks of the box spring and sprints into room wagging her entire rear end, ready for action. I imagine she lays in the other room every night, eyes wide with anticipation like a child on Christmas, waiting for the moment to make her move.
I open the back door so the pups can enjoy a few moments of freedom before being locked away for the day. My mediocre breakfast of microwaved biscuit is only mildly satisfying. As I pack my lunch box with one prepackaged food after another, I can't help but wonder which one will contribute to my death. With all the knowledge a person gains about nutrition, convenience still reigns supreme. I bring the three K-9 musketeers inside and walk them to their daytime prison.
"Have a good day. Don't get in no trouble," I tell them, as I do every morning, turning out the light. I leave the room with guilt. They deserve better.
Outside, the air is cool and crisp. Altocumulus clouds pepper the night sky. Ahead of schedule, I drive along the dark and winding roads without haste. The whirring of the tires coupled with the steady beats of the radio are hypnotic. I drift off into a daydream of should have's and what if's, of where the road of life has taken old friends and flames, and of where new ones may be hiding. I trace back the road of life and try to locate each fork, trying to decide where things went right, or things went wrong. I trace it back even further and wider, not only down my own road, but the road of humanity. I determine my shortcomings seem minute in comparison.
As I follow my reverie down the interstate, the rear of my car drops a bit on the left side as the sound of a blown out tire fills the cab. I cautiously veer off onto the shoulder of the road with the "flub flub flub" of the tire taunting my optimism. I step out of the car. The air feels colder now. The sounds of early morning commuters seems amplified when you're so close, cold, and vulnerable. I pull out the spare tire and tools and begin the process of the dreaded roadside tire change with visions of "World's Craziest Car Crashes" circling my mind.
The change goes as smoothly as one could, only setting my journey back only a few minutes. With the blown out tire resting comfortably in trunk, I fall into the driver's seat with a sigh of relief. I slide the key into the ignition and give it a gentle turn.
Click. After a few choice words, I rotate the key again. Click. The battery had been noticeably weak for several weeks now. If convenience reigns supreme, procrastination is second in command. I lean back in my seat, mentally reviewing my options. I look at the clock. 5:25. I debate calling someone for assistance. There is a saying that says, "A friend in need is a friend indeed," but a philosophy follow more intently is "My problems are my own." I look down at my shoes and think to myself, "Looks like it's you and me, fellas."
The farther away from the car I walk, the more alone I feel, invisible to the passersby. I think about the homeless, living their lives with this same feeling of disparaging solitude, only without financial security or mental stability. I have accepted my situation as just another day in the life of me, maybe so have they.
As I walk into the department store that made the Walton family wealthy, and elderly man lifts his hand to wave. "G'mornin'," he says politely but not earnestly.
"Mornin'," I reply, masking my despair with kind eyes and a smile.
I make my way to the automotive department and grab my merchandise. At the checkout counter I buy one car battery and backpack to carry it in. I worry about the quality of stitching and if it will hold the weight of the cargo.
The walk back is a little more lively. The sun is out and the sky blue. I sing quietly to myself to cure the boredom. Employees of all types flood the streets. Not one smile to be seen. All looking ahead, all frustrated because all are in each other's way. One giant organism fueled by self loathing.
I see my car in the distance. Excitement begins to brew. This journey has been long. My back aches from the heavy load hanging from my shoulders. As I approach my optimism slowly returns. The changing of the battery feels victorious. I am the champion of my minor dilemma. As I sit in the driver's seat and turn the key joy fills my body. The journey is over. I pull my car into traffic and become a part of the entity that festers the early morning hours.
I reach down to turn on the radio, which has an anti-theft device that requires a code if disconnected from the battery. I do not have this information. The remainder of the drive must be made in silence. Even in victory, life always gets the last laugh.