Morning. Dreadful, painful morning and the unnecessarily early alarm tone from the attic as my brother gets ready for work, waking me up in the process. Half five. I can only groan, and I do. He doesn't stir for a while. There's no need for him to set his alarm that early if he's not going to get out of bed. I could forgive him, if he actually got out of bed.
A couple of hours later I finally get up myself, following a session of Morning Madness that I won't forgive myself for. Ever. Paranoia, self-inflicted nightmares, over-thinking everything in my life. It gets too much for me, and I can't seem to stop. So I get breakfast, instead.
This isn't entirely typical of my days, I'll admit. This is my summer, on the days when I have nothing to do but get up, get dressed and see if I can write. Or I'll read. Or, of late, I'll waste a couple of hours on the Wii. That doesn't make me happy. At least when I'm on my laptop I can do something that's relatively productive, and I can listen to music, which makes me feel better about the world, because it lets my emotions open up into the creations of other human beings, and I can experience this wonderful phenomenon of life, our ability to create beauty where before there is only silence.
I get my lunch around one. Or, if I'm feeling adventurous and I've gone into the city, I'll have my lunch whenever my companion - because there's rarely not a companion - wants to eat. If I'm in the city, there's no cleaning up to be done, just a few hours of exploring and going camera happy, most days. If I'm at home, I have to clean up the kitchen, scrubbing away the messes my family left the night before from dinner and from spilling tea on the work top, and the stains may lift, but I know they'll be back again in a few hours.
I waste my hours online, most days, doing nothing. Literally nothing. I'll leave links to reviews on Twitter, and there aren't enough reviews here to keep that up for much longer without getting repetitive. I'll read, play music through the laptop, keep an eye on Facebook.
And there's the texting. If Miley Cyrus isn't busy, we could be texting each other for the entire day. From five until half eleven, we text almost non-stop. She's the only one I seem to be texting these days, though Ferris Bueller gets a few texts every now and then, and sometimes a phone call. Miley never gets a phone call, because 1. her reception is bad and 2. Ferris is the one to talk to on the phone, because there's rarely a silent moment - he always has a story to tell.
Dinner is always around the same time. Always in the evening. Sometimes it's alone. Less than sometimes. That's a rare experience.
There are half a dozen cups of tea in my day.
There is always silence. Even with the music playing; the music is but the soundtrack to my life, and like in movies, the characters don't always hear it.
I worry too much about everything. Every. Single. Day.
I attempt to make plans. Adventureland trips to the city with friends from the countryside. Cinema trips with friends from the suburbs that are too far away from me.
Every day is waiting for September, when college starts back up.
Midnight, and I'm usually asleep. Sometimes I get lucky. Sometimes I get a phone call from Ferris. Even if he's drunk and it's late and I'm tired, it makes my day. He's a funny drunk, I rarely need to be up the next morning at a particular time and when I talk to him on the phone he usually wakes me up a bit. That used to happen a lot more than it does now.
Five thirty in the morning, and I curse my brother for waking me up at a ridiculously early hour...
This was written as part of Challenge 4 of the Literary Den's Summer of Writing 2010.