A morning routine
At 7:00 AM, the annoying alarm wakes her up. She curses the hell out of it, hits the snooze button and covers her face with the thick, soft, white and wonderful dawn comforter. She then tucks her knees in and transforms herself into a tiny human cocoon, an ancient mummy, a little pig in a blanket. She turns her mind blank and pretends the world is over, to be awaken again 10 minutes later into the cruel reality. The scene above repeats itself five more times until her self-conscience forces her to take action and get out of bed. She then drags her legs across the room into the bathroom, always managing somehow to either bump her knee or elbow against the door frame, almost clashing into the bathroom door. The shower and morning espresso normally wake her up partially and once she staggers back into her room to get ready, it almost always seems to be just 10 minutes to the time when she is supposed to be in the office. She then frantically grabs her undergarments from the dresser, her clothes from the cupboard and her jewelry from the night stand. She somehow manages to throw everything on herself and jumps for the makeup table. She dubs her face in cream and powder, sweeps some eye shadow on her tired zombie eyelids, almost poking her eyeball with the brush. She blushes her pale hallowed cheeks and she is finally ready to go. But then! Where is the god damn mobile phone?! and the yellow belt?? And the pointy shoes?!! She starts running around the apartment in circles, desperately attempting to locate those essential items. She ends up putting on the green belt with the red flip-flops and storming out of the apartment almost tripping on the door mat. She starts running to the subways station, avoiding the slow grandmas, the moms with baby carriages, the locksmith booth, the fruit vendor who always seems to be occupying the worst place possible on the sidewalk. When she enters the station, she hears the train arriving and runs down, skipping two stairs at a time. When she finally hits the bottom of the staircase, hopefully with her feet and not her face, she arrives just in time to kiss the door that just closed in front of her. And of course, she is late again. It is already 20 minutes past her start time at this point.
“That’s it. This is the last time this will happen. Tomorrow I will wake up half an hour early”, she tells herself for the one millionth time.