Happy Birthday just Happy Birthday (5:00 am)
In the movies when someone wakes up it’s a peaceful and graceful movement. In reality waking up is an ugly battle. Sleep is the drug, the bed is the dealer, and the alarm clock is the cop. A quite nasty love affair I’m afraid. The only good part in (my opinion) waking up is remembering your dream. I myself do not always remember my dreams. However, when I do remember I don’t forget them. I still remember parts of my dreams from when I was a toddler or even younger I suppose. The only issue is I do not recall when and where I had the dreams. So this causes confusion when trying not to mix several dreams together.
My dream last night was about today, my dream yesterday what about today; my dreams for the past month have been about today (okay maybe not the whole month, but it feels like it so whatever). Today is my birthday (yay). I honestly do not care if today happens or not, but I do care about what happens after this day is over though.
Getting out of my bed isn’t that hard. The hard part is not wasting my time thinking about what to wear for the day. Why is it that people think that all guys just wake up and go with it? I mean do you really think mister hunka hunka over there in the corner just woke up with his hair back and his clothes matching just right? I highly doubt it. I take a shower every night and because my hair poofs out I wear a ball cap to bed. When I get up I sit and stare at my dresser and closet wondering what I should wear. Even after that I go put grease in my hair to make it look I didn’t just wake up like this. That’s not to say that there aren’t guys who just wake up and walk out, but I myself am not one of them.
I keep everything from my home office to school locker clean. The only thing that I have never truly been able to keep clean is my room. I don’t see why I should keep it clean and I won’t get started on making my bed either. My office on the other hand is a different story. I like a neat and clean looking work space. My typewriter sits in the middle of my desk facing the window. The only other objects looming on my wooden workspace are papers, Pens, and a can of Mountain Dew. I like Mountain Dew. Along the windows sill sits my plant (I do not know what kind of plant it is; people tell me it’s an elephant plant). I named my plant Toby when it was first given to me and amazingly he’s three years old and not dead yet. My office is on the second floor, so looking out of it I can see a lot. There is single weeping willow tree on a hill; the foot of the hill is surrounded by pine trees. I sometimes think of myself as the willow tree on the hill much like me in my office peering down below at what the world has to offer. I usually don’t care to what the world has though.
Bowties are pretty cool. I like to wear them, but it is sometimes a little too much work to complete them in the morning before school. Because of that I typically just wear a normal tie and vest. Which in turn is what I’m wearing today (Okay I’m actually not dressed yet, but I will be).
There always seem to be a problem getting clean clothes into the closet or dresser. They make it out of the dryer and into a basket and then to my room, but somehow they never make it out of the basket. I’ve played with the thought of just getting rid my black dresser and having two baskets on the floor. That way I could have my clean clothes in one and dirty in the other. It is much simpler that way. Do you know how much time one might waste looking threw a dresser and many folded shirts? I have cut the time it takes of getting ready in the morning in half. The only bad things about this system in how things magically seem to always be wrinkled. For a dress shirt wrinkles are in most cases is inappropriate to have.
Sitting on the edge of my bed I feel the cold strike my skin like a slap on the back. For some odd reason my room is the only room to never have heat enter in the colder months and have it leave in the hotter months. I hate my room enough that I only use it to get dressed and to sleep, though I find myself sleeping on the couch more than my own bed. This is not odd or strange for me. My parents on the other hand think it is, along with my brothers and sister.
I have always been able to crack many of the joints in my body. Which is what I proceeded to do once I stood up from my bed. It does not bother me to do it nor does it distract me when others do it. It does annoy me when I hear people say you’re cracking your bones because that’s simply moronic. You crack you’re joints. In fact you’re breaking up acid that has built up in your joints, but to say cracking your bones? They do realize that mean you would be breaking you bones, right?
Walking over to my closet I grab my bare arms and chest to stay warm until I find a suitable shirt. I let go of one my arms to open my closet doors, which slide and poke out when you open them. Both of these doors make a hideous sound when they move. I hate the sound so I try not to use the closet as much as I can. Looking into the dark hole in my wall I see a mute red dress shirt and a blue 50s pencil tie next to it. I grab both of these items along with my vest. Turning around I throw them on to my unmade bed and pull out a pair of slim black jeans from one of the three clothes baskets on the floor. Continuing to scrounge through mounds of clothes I found two clean black socks and a clean pair of boxer briefs. I put everything on in this order, Underwear, socks, shirt, pants, belt, shoes, and finally the tie.
Do you think me strange to wake up at five every morning? Again my parents do along with my brother and sister. I can’t sleep in. I mean I can I just decide I won’t. The feeling that I’ve wasted my day starts to creep in on me if I sleep in. Now if I plan on doing nothing for the day then I have no problem with sleeping in until noon or what have you. The rest of my glorious family hates the morning. My mother says “it’s not morning till 11:59am”. No one else has a reason for being lazy (not that my mom really has a reason in the first place either). They all just sleep and wake up when they want to. I try to wake up at the same time every day. I like it like that. I don’t like my family in the morning “Gosh dang it John! Shut up! No one wants to hear about your dream”. “Mom I was just trying to remind you of your doctor’s appointment. You told me to remind you in the morning of it.”. “Tell me after I’ve woken up”. “You missed it by three hours.” I said. “What? What! What do you mean I missed it?!” At this very moment my mother’s face split open and her skull protruded. Flames began to ignite out of her eye sockets and I saw Satan come out of her (Maybe I am be making that part up, but her being mad… yeah that part I’m not making up). “I told you earlier. You didn’t want to wake up”. This was last week. Almost every morning whoever comes down stairs while I’m eating will start some kind of argument like this. Notice I stayed calm and did not lose my cool. I have a short temper by the way. These kinds of things happen often.
I walked out of my upstairs room into a short narrow hall and then down the stairs. Walking in the house when it is pitch black is not scary. It is simply nerve racking. Long after I would have retired to bed my mother will put things in the hall. Incidentally this causes me to trip and fall onto my face. Like the yelling almost every morning falling happens quite regularly. It’s worse in the winter months with the time change. At least in the spring there’s some ambient light hovering around. I have to say I’ve gotten pretty good at walking around my house in the dark (How weird is that?). Once I made it down the catacombs of the upstairs house I walk into the kitchen. From there I’m able to turn the lights in that room, the table, the dining room, and the sink on. I only turn on the kitchen lights because I don’t need all that much light to see now. I don’t really like how my kitchen looks. When we had it remodeled a few years ago there was talk about making it into a bar (Not a bar, bar, but a table bar). I was excited for this because I love how that kind of thing looks in houses. Sadly that never happened. We got stuck with an island in the middle of the room. Don’t get me wrong it is a nice looking thing. The guy whom we hired made it all by hand. I thought that was really cool. The down side was that I think it took like a month and a half to finish. I think way too much about our kitchen. I don’t think that I am the only who does though.
Opening the fridge and seeing Mountain Dew in the morning seems to make me feel better about everything. I grabbed one and opened it with one hand. My second oldest brother taught me how to do that before he left for the marines. Even though he never really liked me or treated me right when we were growing up I still loved him with all my heart. Ever since he was twelve he had it in his head that he was going to become a marine someday. That he did and I am very proud of him. He treats me better now and talks to me as a normal human instead of a dweeb little brother. That wasn’t always the case. When I was younger he would tease me. This never bothered me, but what did bother me was the fact that he didn’t care about me. I looked up to him as one of the biggest role models in my life. He was seldom, quiet, and straight forward and he’s tall like six-seven or so. Because of his height I called him Pencil Neck. He never did tell me if that annoyed him or not. I’ll assume it did. Most of the things I do annoys him. I still remember the day he told me how stupid I looked in my clothes and how dumb I was for reading Sigmund Freud’s basic Writings. I stood up and looked him in the eyes. I tightened my tie and rolled up my sleeves. I was serious and my body language showed it. Amazingly my brother took a step back from me. I said “You need to realize this is what I like and there is nothing wrong with it and if there is so sue me, but you sir you need to learn how to respect me”. After that I think he thought of me differently.
I sat down at the kitchen table with my drink. It was 5:40 in the morning. I have no idea as to what I should do. Someone once told me that your sixteenth birthday is the called a Sweet Sixteen. That same someone told me you can do whatever you want to. I think I’m going to take over the world today (On second thought, maybe not. I’m too lazy).
After finishing my drink, I arose and waltzed up the stairs and into my office. I don’t remember how I was able to attain my home office. Other than it was a guest room that was never being used. The bed was taken out when we moved and one day I just bought a desk and put it in there. I think sometime after that my parents just let me keep the room. I would have liked to take my sister’s old room, but she never really moved out. I mean she’s going to northwestern in Chicago so she doesn’t live here anymore. My sister decided to leave her crap in the room and never deal with it. To this day on one and open the door because of the profoundly pig lifestyle my sister took (Remember when I said that my room wasn’t clean? Well I am just a little messy with my clothes. My sister is not. She takes dishes and food and other things to her room never be seen again. I call it the black hole of the house.
There is a ring shape on my desk where I always set my soda. Everyone says use coasters so that it looks new. I don’t want the desk to look new. I want the desk to look like I used it. I want my desk to be worn. My clothes look worn, my shoes look worn, my life is worn, and I am worn.
I keep a row of sodas sitting on a lone shelf on the wall. I grab one opening it with one hand again and sat down. Setting the drink in the ringed spot I sat back in my old wooden chair. Gazing upon my desk I saw a letter I had received the day before. There was no return address. Only my address 11117 Browne Cir and it was addressed to me. I have been receiving these letters for the past few months. I do not know who sends them. In the first letter the person told me that author would not being using their really names so that I don’t know who they may be. None of this is disturbing other than right after that the writer said “I am writing to you because she said you listen that’s all people need sometimes”. I don’t remember what he wrote word for word. I keep all of his letters in a locked cabinet in my desk. I do not know who would have told him I was someone to write to. I just wish I could know who so I could thank them. This writer has given me so much to think and pray about in life. So I put my finger on the envelope and ripped it open. Today’s letter was a shorter one. My friend in the letters is in love with a girl, he calls her Sam. Sam seems like a very nice girl, but my friend won’t do anything about it because he gets too nervous. He kissed her once then his girlfriend broke up with him. That was inappropriate for him to do at a party (He should not have dated that Mary girl in the first place in my opinion). Even though this mysterious writer does these kinds of things I still wish I knew him. I like the way he signs all of his letters “Love Always, Charlie”.
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
stormborns
