Pain-t-Killers

Actually lost in translation

My morning routine is usually the same. I wake up late. I toss and turn in bed, refusing the idea of seeing another day. I'm not depressed or anything, I just hate waking up and love laying in bed. Man, I love sleeping. People would say I sleep like a sloth. Actually, I find that information incorrect. I'd say I sleep like a brown bat, they sleep like 20 hours per day. I know this because I spend (at least) every first hour of my day scrolling Instagram's homepage. When I find a curious or fun fact, I reach over google or Wikipedia and get deeper in my researches. Internet is unclear, you find contradictory leaderboards, but they all agree on sloths and koalas being among the animals who sleep the most. I love koalas. I mean, I know everyone LOVES koalas, but I really do like them for my own personal reasons. They sleep 22 hours per day, waking up just to find a warmer or colder spot to take a nap. They are carnivores but keep on eating eucalyptus to get high. People think they are just cute little bears, while they risk their own extinction just to keep sleeping and doing drugs. Eat, sleep, rave, repeat. Edgiest animal on the planet. But enough talking about that. I think I got carried away.

But that's what I do! Every damn morning. I put my morning playlist on shuffle and read dumb shit all over the time. I've always found weird how the most curious people are often the laziest.

Someone once said: "A man must never be hypocrite, but always contradictory." And man, that guy was charming. Again, I think it's simpler than that. Curious people spend more time wondering. The more you dream, the less you do. So that's me, Cassie O'Dwyer. Overthinker. Contradictory. Entropic.

If I wake up late enough - which I always do, I skip breakfast and, as long as I keep my window open and the door shut, Dad lets me smoke in my room, which is great. Plus, I avoid meeting Mater Morbus, so it's a double victory. Mater Morbus is latin for "Mother of all diseases" which stands for my mother, Theresa. That means I am a disease too? According to radical environmentalists, humanity is a disease. I don't know. That sounds too nihilist. If Mother was here, she'd say I don't even know what nihilist means. That's bullshit. I don't know many things, but I know my shit.

Someone once said: "I know that I know nothing." But quoting Socrates while talking about nihilism sounds a bit overwhelming, even for me. I think I got carried away again.

Sun lunges over my window, its rays kiss me with a bittersweet taste, reminding me resting time is over. I groan and moan, crawling over my bed, reaching for the bathroom. Walking downstairs I feel something. It's the unique, delightful smell of carbonara, an Italian dish Dad learnt from his grandma. Here's a fact about my family tree: don't ask. It's overcomplicated. You wouldn't understand. Or care. And we already spent enough time talking about koalas and philosophy, didn't we? A fact you should know about, is that Hank is constantly eating. He's the only one in our family properly able to cook. And he is always hungry.

"Good morning Khaleesi, would you join me for my feast?"

He says in his most Hankules voice.

"Pasta? At this hour?"

"It is always time for pasta"

He replies, proudly.

"If you say so. I'm not hungry anyway, I just woke up."

Dad smiles, swiftly swinging between stoves.

"Aye 'Just woke up'. You smell like a burning thrash can and I've heard Post Malone pumping from your room for the last ninety minutes."

I crash on our couch, stretching like a cat.

"Watch out Hank, you're startin' to sound like Mother."

I hum at him. And it wasn't all Post Malone by the way.

He closes his eyes in a little bow.