She was rainbow bright and colorful
He was the storm before it dark and gray
She was the sun rising quietly into the day
He was the moon shining brightest in the dark
She found all the right colors to paint his blank canvas
He found all the right wo...
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"Looking through low lights at silhouettes But all I see is lonely people in crowded rooms"
In my sixteen very experienced years of living on God's green earth, I have discovered that there are four stages of waking up in the morning on a Monday. Denial, anger, depression, and acceptance. Ugh. I hate my life. But here's a script of my very effective morning wake up. It's like clockwork, it never changes.
*alarm clock makes an illegally blaring loud sound at an ungodly hour*
Me in denial: I don't need to get up. Who cares about school? I can stay in bed all day. I don't need to leave the warmth of my room and face, dare I say it, people.
Me in anger: Ugh. Why me? God. Couldn't it be anyone else on his holy earth that has to get up? Why I do have to go to school? Outrageous, to make a bunch of teenagers treck to hell at such an hour. I should fight for this cause.
Me in depression: I must have committed a crime in my past life to have to be dragged out of the captivating, warm, fluffy, comfort of my room. I hate my life so much. I deserve this. I'm so sad... I don't wanna get up. Not now...not ever.
Me in acceptance: That damned alarm clock won't shut up. Which means that I have to get up now. Leave my bed. Okay...bye bed. I'll miss you. A lot. Until tonight, my love.
This is why I tend to cherish my Saturday mornings. I had to explain why I sleep so much on the weekend. A reason that's not a lie, like: I was at a rager party Friday night, drunk out of my mind, and needed to get some sleep. More along the lines of this: I was up until 2 am last night writing my Biology essay so I wouldn't have to do anything over the weekend. Yup, when you're in high school, you're going to appreciate boredom more than ever.
Okay, enough story time stalling, it's ten. I KNOW. It's late, but can you blame me? Probably. Do I care? Nope, because you're right.
I trudge downstairs after brushing my teeth and running a hand through my wrecked hair which could be mistaken very easily for a bird's nest. The smell of pancakes hits me the same second my feet hit the last step. The best thing about Saturday's though? A family breakfast with the people I love most. Saturday morning breakfast has become a ritual.
Everyone gathers at the table at around 10:00 to 10:30 and eats Charlotte's unfathomably amazing food. We do this because everyone runs on an entirely different schedule on the weekdays, so Lettie made it a rule for everyone to share their most important events of the week during Saturday morning breakfast, and you were only excused if you were dead.
This week was our first week back to school after Thanksgiving break, and though the days off were greatly cherished and much needed, our teachers wasted no time in drowning us for preparations to take the SAT. I would love to give a colorful speech to whoever decided one standardized test should decide your entire future. Son of a Biscuit. To say I've been busy could pass as an understatement of the year. My mind has been so irrevocably occupied by school lately, that it's had no time to daydream its usual fantasies; meaning not a single thought about Kayden.
