Chapter Text
The phone’s loud, a little too loud even. It phased into a dream once, the first two times it went off. By the third though, it lost its touch.
Haphazard scrambling ensues, rolling left and lazily reaching out to palm towards the noise. Barely conscious snoozing is fine, the warmth of your comforter is fine. The third alarm, the ‘oh shit’ alarm hadn’t gone off yet.
Wait.
You crack open an eye, crust evidence of a successful REM cycle, and click once to read the time. The wrong time. The 8 minutes past ‘oh shit’ time.
‘I’m so fired.’ This thought accompanied by various scenarios of your boss doing just that keeps you rushing. It takes up mental energy as you brush your teeth, put on your uniform, and dart out the door. Heat from the sun hitting your skin disappears once you hop into your totaled-by-insurance-standards car, the bumper scraping the many potholes you manage to hit.
Every red light is met with a inaudible groan from you. After the 5th one though, disappointed sounds couldn’t be helped. 10 seconds past the clock? No, more like 20 minutes. Time ticks away as the next rush of cars speed through the intersection. Peering to the left stands a small coffee shop with a barista inside. She’s smiling so wide. There really aren’t any frowns as your eyes skim the cafe. Shifting from workers to patrons, everyone just seems.. happy? Happy on a Tuesday at 7:48am? Wishing that was you, huh? Wishing you had something to smile for? Someone?
Your phone pings and breaks the silence, causing you to jump. Causing you to lurch forward into the car stopped in front of you. As soon as the owner starts to clamber out of their vehicle, your head hits the steering wheel. The horn mocks your head bump, chirping up at your defeat with a ‘beep’.
*@F 2C6 7:?6]
“Yeah, I hear you.” You mutter, reaching over to pull your bag from the passenger seat. “I get it. Yes, I have it.” Fumbling of keys adds to the statement, “Right here on my keychain. Mhm.” The object in question remains full and in tact, luckily never used. “Just… regular pepper spray. No, not the bear one.” Family scolding on the other end of the line has you flinch when you push open the car door. You make fast work towards the entrance of your complex, looking both ways before crossing the street. “I don’t need that though.”
The apartment building itself is open-facing, passing off as a motel in some lighting. Your studio’s located corner of the far stairwell at the end, past the broken jacuzzi. The pool was always freezing this time of- actually all time of year. They never fix the damn thing.
Your feet drag behind you as you thumb through the key ring. The spray in question gets disregarded as quickly as it’s brought up, “I know. I’m being,” a yawn slips through and your entry ticket does the same, “careful.”
You only get a hum back when you enter, not forgetting to lock the door after. Soon the conversation’s cut short; is that really such a bad thing? Maybe? That requires thoughts, thinking. Your boss took too much of that this morning. You didn’t get fired like you expected though! They couldn’t afford it, you suppose… why else would they keep a slacking, lowlife, miserable-
Therapy. That’s all you needed. You just needed a good therapist. One that’ll listen to your problems, make them seem small and insignificant. Someone that’ll make you feel like your complaining over nothing-
Dinner isn’t much, two pieces of bread with a piece of bologna slapped between. Don’t think about how you skipped lunch, that’ll just make you sad-
Okay, enough. You’re too tired for this! Too exhausted from your 12, er, 10 hour shift. It was supposed to be 12. Look at you! Getting a mini vacation, sleeping in; what a steal. Now leaning on the counter over a paper-plate, you lose yourself and proceed to eat on autopilot. Focus on your toes, up your legs, thighs and hips, over your navel, chest then shoulders, down your hands and up your neck.. chewing. Your jaw aches, a dull throb with each press. Was it your teeth? Are you growing a cavity? Please let that be it. Chewing can’t be inconvenient like this.
Exhausting like this.
A chore like this.
Washing the dishes piling in the sink is a proper chore. Sweeping the cracked, unvarnished wood is a chore. Cleaning the shaking porcelain of the toilet is a chore. Answering phone calls from family is a chore. Boiling water to cook 5-minute ramen is a chore. Taking a shower after 4 days of spray-on deodorant and praying that no one gets too close is a chore. Getting enough sleep over the recommended 8 hours is a chore.
Being alive is a chore.
Existing is a chore.
That’s not very fair now is it? Not everything should be looked at like that! These things can be fun; you just got to make them that. Enjoyable and happy like that barista. Like those customers. Like everyone else.
Life isn’t hard.
Oh, but it is for you.
The single dome of light above your head casts a halo of dread around the ‘sandwich’ in your hands. Heavy darkness takes you by surprise and you unintentionally fall into it. Too deep to claw yourself out. It’s hard not to settle on crying so you do. Trying not to is a chore anyways.