A Rose to Change a Life

Chapter 11

I couldn't make out what time it was. Time was lost on me. Did seconds, minutes, hours or even days pass? I didn't know, one felt like the other to me. Routine.... My hands scraped across the floor, finding nothing but dirt – dirt? DIRTYNESS! ....I turned, dragging my clothes with me. I was a mess, beaten, my willpower gone... frozen by... No, I was not worthy of attention, I should remain clean *the door opened* No,... not again.

The next day I awoke in a somber mood, I could not sleep at all. I was fidgety, turning around more often than not. Some time around two in the morning I awoke sweating like a pig. Again. If I would continue discarding my PJ's like this, I would have to open up a PJ factory for myself. I barely remembered my dream, but it had to do something with... dirt. and me.

You sure know about the effect of a dream, when you felt all anxious and uneasy? That was me. Times ten. Me being a woman (and a person who loved food obviously) I only knew one cure: sweets! Not just some random recently-bought-from-the-supermarket-ones, I was talking about the real stuff, the handmade goods. Yummy. I went into the kitchen cutting myself a volumptous piece of the cake I made the previous day – a lemon sponge cake with a curdcheese filling and a cinnamon topping – sat down at the table, cherishing the moment. Those bony-soletti-like-structures otherwise called 'models' nowadays or generally all the people who couldn't appreciate food should get a fine for not doing thus! There was no worse crime than not tasting food, simply gulping it down like it was only made for survival without the lovely aspects of taste was hideous! All the work of the cook would go to waste, thankfully there are still people who love food – the ones who could eat and eat and eat without getting heavier were the funniest ones. Maybe I should go shopping again, I cannot walk around in orange-juice soaked clothes all the time, and showing up only dressed in a cooking apron would surely entertain men, but wouldn't be suitable for anything else.

The only problem was that my softness made shopping feel like torture, slow mental torture. Not because there weren't any clothes my size, there were – most people had my size after all – no, the reason was I despised full shopping centres, I preferred the calm environments so if I had to shop, I'd do it when the shops would just wake up from their night slumber. Nobody pressing against you to get through, nor women tiptoeing around in highheels, barely able to walk in them, assuming YOU would move out of their way and not their mighty selves. No guys who thought they would own the world, leaving a smelly note aka their idea of perfume, in the waking. The second reason was, clothes seemed to laugh at me constantly. Seriously. They did. I would walk into the changing cabine with my hands full of potential future-to-be-clothes, but ending up with not one single piece fitting me, either it was too small or too big. Looking for shoes was the worst, my big toes would not fit anywhere. Torture I tell you. It's obvious now that I do not like shopping, wasn't it?

My own thoughts made me snort, funny how you could lead conversations with yourself from the topic of eating to shopping. Wasn't it an unwritten rule that 'talking to oneself is the first sign of insanity'? I thought it for a second, but came up with 'to heck with it.' If that would be true I would be an insane walking zombie with an affinity for cookies by now, right my dear 'ol self? Totally. Yup. Definitely insane.
I finished up my cake, licked my lips, and put the dishes into the dishwasher. Elise chose that moment to come into the kitchen. She was dressed in brown high-waisted cargo pants with a pink blouse casually draped over it, whereas her hair was ruffled on purpose and she had a full beach bag pressed close to her body. On her, the outfit looked lovely and well chosen, on me it would probably look like I was auditioning for a clown-school. That's why my choice of attire was a grey tank top, a black bolero over it, matched with the red shorts of yesterdays evening.

"Elva, dear. Is it not a wonderful morning?", she asked me, enveloping me in a hug, yesterdays good night kiss forgotten. On my part, I hadn't forgotten it, I was reminded of it again when my skin got goose bumps the minute she let go of me. "Yes, Elise, it truly is." After a pause I added, whilst pointing to her bag, which looked like it weighted a ton. What did she have in there? A body?! "Anything planned for today? Something planned with this guy of yours?" Her eyes lit up like stars.