Boston.
The alarm goes off for 10:20 am for the fourth time. I turn it off and listen the heater humming a lullaby while I watch the grey morning through the persian curtains. I know I have to get up, but I could lie here for ages just listening to that same buzzing sound. The warmth in the room has infused my body and I feel too heavy to move a finger. Instead of getting up, I start planning the day in my head. I think about what to wear, what to eat, and how I can start attacking the mountain of piled-up homework. It’s the laziest way to be productive. My plans never work out, so it’s really just an excuse for me to lie here, immobile, listening to the heater hum it’s monotonous tune.
My thoughts are slow and incoherent, as if even they can’t find strength enough to move quickly. If they were people, they would be small little fat men in puffy grey robes, sweeping the floor with their slippers like tired grandfathers roaming the kitchen for a midnight snack.
Maybe I was a sloth in my past life. I have a lot of sloth-y habits. Actually, I don’t know much about sloths except for the fact that they are very slow. My curiosity gives me strength enough to stretch my arms out towards my computer and drag it towards my bed. I waste 20 minutes more watching a German documentary about sloths in Costa Rica until finally my stomach growls at me in anger and I am forced to get up.
Stumbling over discarded cereal boxes and dirty clothes, I put on a bra and reach for my boots and a thick sweater. After brushing my teeth and washing my face I'm good to go. The nice thing about being in college is that there is no need to impress anyone on a Sunday morning.
After I walk out of my building I remember I forgot my smartphone. I calmly turn around and go back upstairs to get it. When I'm out the front door I stop and think about anything else I might have forgotten, and cheerfully make my way down the street when I realize I have everything. It's times like these I really wish I had Neville's remembrall.
I put on my headphones and listen to Bob Marley, wishing the human race had had the power to grant immortality. If everyone listened to Bob, we would be way more chill about everything and maybe world peace wouldn't be some line that barbie dolls throw around in a pageant. The UN should form a working group to get on top of that, and maybe in a thousand years they could actually accomplish something useful. It's pointless anyway; people like Marley already live forever. They probably all hang out up there in the clouds, throwing little paper planes filled with poems and music notes. Only real musicians and poets are allowed to be immortal in my heaven.
Baby don't worry
about a thing
'cause every little thing
is gonna be alright
The alarm goes off for 10:20 am for the fourth time. I turn it off and listen the heater humming a lullaby while I watch the grey morning through the persian curtains. I know I have to get up, but I could lie here for ages just listening to that same buzzing sound. The warmth in the room has infused my body and I feel too heavy to move a finger. Instead of getting up, I start planning the day in my head. I think about what to wear, what to eat, and how I can start attacking the mountain of piled-up homework. It’s the laziest way to be productive. My plans never work out, so it’s really just an excuse for me to lie here, immobile, listening to the heater hum it’s monotonous tune.
My thoughts are slow and incoherent, as if even they can’t find strength enough to move quickly. If they were people, they would be small little fat men in puffy grey robes, sweeping the floor with their slippers like tired grandfathers roaming the kitchen for a midnight snack.
Maybe I was a sloth in my past life. I have a lot of sloth-y habits. Actually, I don’t know much about sloths except for the fact that they are very slow. My curiosity gives me strength enough to stretch my arms out towards my computer and drag it towards my bed. I waste 20 minutes more watching a German documentary about sloths in Costa Rica until finally my stomach growls at me in anger and I am forced to get up.
Stumbling over discarded cereal boxes and dirty clothes, I put on a bra and reach for my boots and a thick sweater. After brushing my teeth and washing my face I'm good to go. The nice thing about being in college is that there is no need to impress anyone on a Sunday morning.
After I walk out of my building I remember I forgot my smartphone. I calmly turn around and go back upstairs to get it. When I'm out the front door I stop and think about anything else I might have forgotten, and cheerfully make my way down the street when I realize I have everything. It's times like these I really wish I had Neville's remembrall.
I put on my headphones and listen to Bob Marley, wishing the human race had had the power to grant immortality. If everyone listened to Bob, we would be way more chill about everything and maybe world peace wouldn't be some line that barbie dolls throw around in a pageant. The UN should form a working group to get on top of that, and maybe in a thousand years they could actually accomplish something useful. It's pointless anyway; people like Marley already live forever. They probably all hang out up there in the clouds, throwing little paper planes filled with poems and music notes. Only real musicians and poets are allowed to be immortal in my heaven.
Baby don't worry
about a thing
'cause every little thing
is gonna be alright
