Wednesday 3 August 2016

Day in the Life | 30 July 2016

My alarm clock shouted shrilly at 06:57 in the morning. I spring out of bed to turn it off, then run back to the comforting warmth of my bed that I hoped would protect me from the morning light that seeped past my blinds. At 07:19 I peeled myself away from the sheets and grabbed some clothes from on top of the rocking sheep that stood beside my bed, leaving it to sway for a while after I left. I dressed and got myself some breakfast - a toasted waffle smothered in an amount of honey that would probably be deemed excessive but that I thought was just the right amount. Next: the bathroom, where I scrubbed my teeth and stared long and hard at my skin that was raw from a few day-old spots that weren’t likely to disappear anytime soon, before deciding to slap on some beige goo I kept in a basket beside the sink, so that I could walk out into the world without a worry.

My dad and I got into his car. There were disregarded boxes lying spread-eagled on the floor and a hidden CD could be found on nearly every corner. We headed down the motorway to a park in a nearby town that held the parkrun event we attend. We arrived early; hardly anyone was there. We laughed with friends then separated. I stood at the side of the course cheering the runners on and shouting abuse at my dad as he ran past. As the last runner stepped over the finish line, I made my  way back towards the little cafĂ© by the starting line where my dad was waiting with a cup of tea and a tea cake, a weird sort of Gandalf with my arrow-sign-staff grasped in my left hand.

In the car on the way back with Fearne Cotton chatting on the radio, I watch the cars go to and fro. I wonder where they’ve been, I think, I wonder where they’ll go. But the answer to that is that I will never know.

At home, I pick fruit in the summer sun. It streams down through the caged roof as I inspect the blueberries and raspberries I pluck. I return to find my dad watching Notting Hill, a film I watched just yesterday. My mum enters and reminds us about lunch then gets just as distracted as I - we both make fun of the man who now cries at the end, “I’m just a girl!” my mum cried, pretending to swoon. “Standing in front of a boy! Asking him to love her!”

After some bread and cheese, I remove to my room where I’m a hermit for at least 2 hours. I work on my blog, finalising next Monday’s post and introducing my group blog, Through Our Eyes, to Pinterest with a faithful mug of Earl Grey beside me.

My parents go to the garden centre, then to collect my brother from scout camp, where he has been for a week, leaving me to marinade the chicken for tonight’s meal. My brother enters the house with barely a word to me, slumps on the sofa and nearly falls asleep to whatever is on the TV in the background. Seeing as he doesn’t seem to care what he watches, I switch over to Glee - any excuse to watch it right? 

My dad makes a crumble from the fruit I picked earlier, letting it cook in the oven as I steadily make a chicken korma. I love the smell of the cardamom seeds as they’re crushed and the rest of the spices as I throw them into the soft onion-garlic mix. There’s something about cooking that I find incredibly relaxing, or maybe that’s just knowing I can eat food at the end…

Sat around the lounge our favourite seats, Star Wars: The Force Awakens making its premiere in our house, we slowly ate. First korma and then crumble and cream (followed by a bowl of honey Cheerios and some more Earl Grey, if you’re me).

With the film over, I headed back to my room. To my makeshift summer pyjamas, book and fully charged laptop. With yet more Earl Grey, I edit a poem I’d started yesterday, allowing my fingers to keep tap-tapping the keys so that another poem flows from them. I get up to clean my skin, revealing the redness I had so artfully hidden at 07:49 this morning. I brush my teeth. I laugh with my brother as we sing the song from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory; you know the one. I say goodnight to my family then read in bed for a bit with my cat lying across my front. Carrie Hope Fletcher’s debut novel I love already.

 I get to the end of a chapter and mark my page using the paper covering. I manoeuvre myself carefully around my cat but she moves anyway, finding another position on the left of the duvet rather than the middle. I turn onto my side so that my bedside table is in my direct line of sight. There are three framed pictures perched in the back corner: on the left, some friends and I at the Nice carnival in February, in the centre, my parents and I before my prom, on the right, one of my best friends and I at a sleepover a few months before I moved from Wales. Next to them is my new pencil case, bursting with black pens and highlighters. There are some tissues, deodorant, keys, some lip scrub I hardly ever use but put it there to encourage me to, a lamp and some sort of instrument I was given when I was about five. The usual sort of stuff.

My eyes close. I hear my cat purring somewhere near my left ear. I fall asleep at 22:54.

If you liked this post you might like: Thoughts from 00:32 January 1, 2016

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