A Day In the Life of…

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A DAY IN THE LIFE OF…

I awake at the buzz of my alarm clock at exactly 7.15,before falling straight back into slumber within the thirty seconds I allow myself to become so much as vigilant to my existence. I lie in my bed half conscious, before my father clambers into the bathroom five minutes after. There is a sudden sense of warmth that surrounds my heart as I am yet again reminded of my whereabouts and finally build up the nerve to step out of bed. I would not consider myself either as a morning person or not, as if I was to say not, I would be lying. When my alarm sounds, I am in between being awake and asleep and often my body gives in to the mere 3 hours sleep I have had. However, if I am satisfied, I will awake with absolute alertness and am almost ready to endure what the day is about to bring.

Soon after, my mother bangs loudly on the door as she does not dare to step into my room unless I have not replied within the 30 seconds after. I have a strange understanding with my parents, and had somehow come to an agreement that they were not to step into my room or tamper with my belongings ever since I was the age of 10. Perhaps my mother knew that I was just as ill tempered as my father, which had managed to rub off on me during the last 15 years of my life I have spent with living him.

I stumble over to the desk and reach for the lamp. It is yet another dreary winter morning and drawing my curtains hardly help. By now my father should be out of the bathroom and I manage to slip in quickly just before my mother. This way, it allows me enough time to make myself look half-decent before I go. I do not believe in spending an extreme amount of time in front of the mirror, perhaps because I do not find myself particularly appealing to look at in the mornings and I do not think there is the need to concrete my face with layers of make- up that I am not even able to move my mouth. Just 10 minutes after, I depart from the bathroom with one final look in the mirror and realise there is little difference between the moment I stepped in and the look that is reflected back at me now.

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My uniform, which has not been ironed awaits me and reminds me that I still have an unfinished piece of homework lingering on the bedside table. Observing it closely, I notice that I had somehow managed to have completed it and shove it into my bag. I always try my best to be up to date with my school- work and find it is easier to get it done sooner rather than later, (in which I cause myself to starve myself during my lunch hour). However I do not see the point of spending more than an hour over ...

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