I groan, and try to retreat back into whatever nonsensical dream I was inhabiting. But it’s too late. And I can no longer cling to the last shreds of sleep as my rest is ripped from me harshly by my mum, shouting upstairs. Like a falcon screeching a threatening cry before it strikes its helpless prey, inevitably bringing death. Perhaps more like a song bird giving a warning call before danger arrives. Maybe just like a mother getting real tired of yelling at her “lazy” offspring. I sigh, realising I still haven’t answered and if I don’t soon I’d be suffering a fate worse than the falcon’s prey.
I mumble something completely unintelligible and hear my mum stride away from the bottom of the stairs, relieved, either that she can stop hollering like an idiot and do something useful or that there’s still some life left in me. To be honest it’s probably the first option, the second is just a bonus. The easiest way to pretend you’re a functional human being is to (try to) live your life in some semblance of order i. e. follow steps, this minimises the margin for messing up. Step one: Dredge up enough courage and strength to get out of bed and be productive.
This is the most important step as without it none of the others would be easily possible. First you’ve got to stretch, trust me it helps. I do and get super-cramp in my calf for my troubles. [MENTAL NOTE: Do not stretch. Seriously, don’t, it isn’t worth it. ] After writhing about in intense pain while cradling my leg like it’s a new album I smile slightly, still too groggy and asleep to acknowledge the hell I’m going to have to blunder through today, and tomorrow, and the next day, and again, once more before it’s finally the weekend again. But first I’ll have to survive today, and more importantly this morning.
I try some breathing exercises in an effort to focus my wandering brain. Brain successfully focussed, kinda, it slowly dawns on me that I’m going to have to get up. I inhale as my frazzled brain tries to muster up some willpower, form anywhere, to compel me to leave the unfathomable -if slightly lumpy- bliss of my bed to trip in the cold, unrelenting world. Step two: Leave Heaven to enter Hell. So, now you’ve managed to persuade yourself to part company with your bed, for now at least, you need to gather your energy to move your lethargic, leadened corpse from your bed.
I untangle the covers from my legs, immediately regretting it and missing the warm, secure cocoon I’d bundled myself in, protection from the outside world of “responsibilities” and “achievement”. I shiver then look around for my iPod, finding the earphones wound around my neck like a python and only a little less dangerous. It’s no big deal though, it happens a lot, most nights in fact, that I wake up in the precarious position of nearly choking myself in my sleep. Crisis averted. Maybe not. I can hear my dad, talking overly loudly as always, moving downstairs. NO. He’s started thumping upstairs, bellowing as he goes.
“Bumble! Becks! Becca! Nonononono. Hide now. I look around before realising I’m still in bed and throw my covers over myself. I begin to revel in the familiar feeling of comfort. Then he bursts into my room to “love” me, try torture. I endure it unwillingly as he pets me, swallowing the urge to yell that I’m not the dog, knowing it’d bring trouble. Eventually he leaves, satisfied he’s annoyed me enough before I’ve even got up. I snuggle down again and glance at my clock. I curse silently; I’m going to be late if I don’t move. Now. Step three: When all else fails… drastic measures. That or improvise. Both have helped me dawdle through 16 years of life so far.
I chuck myself from my bed, momentarily forgetting | have a bunk bed and feeling that odd sensation of falling I’ve never gotten used to. That followed by the large, dull thud my body makes as my back breaks my fall, leaving me breathless, and I’m definitely awake. And up-ish, small victory, I guess. I stumble to my feet gasping as I try to replace the air knocked out of me by my fight with the floor. Once my lungs have resumed semi-normal function I shuffle over to the door wondering why everything is super blurry.
Glasses. I stagger over to my massive, messy muddle of random assorted… tuff, snatching my glasses and shoving them on my face -upside down-. I slope back to the door looking around my room in distaste. Once I reach the landing I launch myself downstairs, only just staying upright. Step four(l): Get ready and presentable as quickly as possible This is pretty vital if you want to avoid being shouted at by the dreaded tutor teacher or worse, the omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent head teacher as she walks the halls in the mornings. Upon arriving in the kitchen I pour myself some bran sticks that taste like a cross between soggy cardboard and mossy twigs.
I scoff it hoping to taste it as little as possible, saying it’s gross is an understatement. When done I place my bowl in the sink, not eager to hear the clattering crash as everything collapses and rush upstairs. [MENTAL NOTE: Get new cereal because that stuff is manky. ] Step four(ll): Have a shower that lasts only 5 minutes. The most difficult step, taking great skill to pull off. Skill I obviously don’t have as I re-emerge 12 minutes later, a prawnish pink tinge to my skin, hair soaked and still eccentrically messy. Better luck next time, practice makes perfect and all that.
Reaching for the first piece of uniform I encounter I get dressed, ignoring the fact my hair’s still dripping. I run through to my parents’ room to steal the hairdryer and escape back to my bombsite, skulking in the door just as I hear my mum trying to conceal her footsteps as she sneaks upstairs, attempting to catch my brother or I not getting ready. I smirk, knowing he’s sitting around on his phone and plugging in the hairdryer, I switch it on to block out the inevitable argument. Hair successfully dried and looking a little less like the hair equivalent of a twenty vear old’s bachelor pad and more like a scruffy mop.
MENTAL NOTE: I need a haircut, soon. ] I slouch my way out of my room and replace the hairdryer, less James Bond-ish this time. Avoiding my brother, I was right about WWIII, I make it downstairs again and check the clock. Oh dear… I move about at a half-speed amble, the fastest pace I can manage at ten past eight in the morning. I clamour for my mum as I shove anything remotely school related and useful looking into my tatty messenger bag. I prod and coo at the dog until she gets of the couch, sighing as she goes (I have no idea where she learned that).
She looks how I feel but as soon as I mention “walk” to her, her ears prick up and she gains a puppy-like spring in her now peppy walk. I swear she’s smiling. I catch sight of my brother shuffling out of the front door as my mum heads downstairs and I grab my bag and the now leaded dog to join her. Step five: Flaunt your newfound ability to operate semisuccessfully and face the world. I maunder up to school and work out how I’m going to shamble through the day, smiling because for once I’m not going to be late to school, big victory.
