Olivia's Strange Week

Too much on my plate

Forhill is a relatively small town in the middle of the forest. Buildings over two stories tall are rare and taller than three rarer still. The only way to get in if you don't want to cross kilometers of trees is through the highway. This normally means Forhill is the place you visit during your road trip to fill up the gas tank and leave behind without a second thought. To capitalize on this inflow of visitors, dozens of gas stations, hotels, bed & breakfasts, restaurants are open at any hour, no matter how early or late.

Two years ago, I came here to study translation, more due to the proximity to home rather than any merit of Carlotta Bridge College, and what surprised me was how hot the place was. Like if one day the sun had decided that it would shine on this little town three times more than in any other place on earth. The first month living here was absolute hell. Not only did I walk even slower than before due to exhaustion, but also, since I didn't know the place, I regularly got lost and suffered the heat even more.

After six months, however, I got used to it. Still walked slowly, but it wasn't as bad. Today, though? I've never gotten to my apartment faster. To ensure maximum speed, I even go up the stairs, instead of taking the elevator. By the time I reach my door, I'm covered with sticky sweat from head to toe. My key unlocks the door and I enter in record time.

"Oh god," is the only thing I can say. This place is a complete mess. The kitchen is loaded with unwashed bakery equipment. On top of the coffee table on the opposite side of this small room, the books I've been studying from and the notes I've been taking are arranged in stacks so tall they put to shame the pile of exams Mrs. Adelle was correcting. The sofa in front of it is just as crowded, with only one patch of free space so my butt can sit. The only thing that could be mistaken for tidy is the small table separating the kitchen and the living room parts of my apartment. "Oh god," I repeat.

I turn back, to the two doors along in the small hallway of my apartment. One is the bathroom, which is never dirty, but the other...

I open the door to my bedroom. The bedsheets are all strewn on the floor, as if a mini-tornado had attacked. Clothes and towels lay on the ground, on my bed, and hang off the back of my computer chair, all weaving together in way I can't tell when one thing starts and the other ends. I can't even walk without stepping on clothing.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god..." The whole apartment is a mess, where the hell do I even start? I know myself, I know myself well. Well enough to know that as soon as I start doing any of these things, the knowledge that the other three tasks ae going unattended will haunt me, exhaust me, and prevent me from doing any real progress.

Shit, shit, shit. Sweat comes flows in rivers down my forehead and back. I feel the stickiness of it between my skin and clothes and it reminds me of other things making me uncomfortable. My socks, my pants, my bra, all hugging my body too much, making it tighter, harder to breathe. I violently pull out all the clothes in my body. A pair of red shoes and grey socks join the layer of clothing covering my floor, followed by a pair of denim pants, a white shirt, and my bra.

I sigh, liberated. The slight breeze traveling through my apartment feels much fresher, but the sensation of sweat still remains.

"I need a shower," I groan, my shoulders sinking. Another thing I have to do, another task that will be tormenting me all day. It's been this way, every day, for the last two months, but I still can't get used to this stress, I need...

I step into my sandals, then stomp my way into the fridge. As I open it, I feel a rush of cool air hit my sweaty skin. It is refreshing, and my nipples harden in reaction to the cold. Inside there's the tray of brownies I made last night. I had made them with a double purpose, to celebrate for approving my exam if I felt confident about my answers or to console myself if the opposite happened. The tray itself takes almost a whole shelf inside the fridge, and the brownie mass it contains is divided into little squares, forming a grid of delicious chocolate bites. My mouth waters. After getting them out of the oven last night, I had six, then I had ten for breakfast this morning, and now, I grab ten more and start shoving them in my mouth one by one, not even bothering to close the fridge. The soft, moist chocolate feels amazing on my tongue, every bite is just as delicious as the last, and when I'm done, I lick my chocolate-stained fingers, already missing the sensation of eating the brownies. My eyes dart to the bottle of strawberry milk, I pop the cap open and my lips close around the hole. When I raise the bottle, all that strawberry deliciousness starts flowing into my mouth. I gulp, and gulp, and gulp. The creamy, soft flavor goes amazing with the strong chocolate, and it being a liquid helps wash away the stickier bits of brownie still in my mouth and throat.