A life in the day of Oikki.

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It’s 6.45 am and a burning bleep repeatedly shrieks in my ear, until I realise “No, its not a heart monitor in A&E,” but is my tiny, silver alarm clock. Now that I am just about conscious to the world outside my door, I give myself until 11 minutes to – 6.49 – for a brief yet cherished sleep. The brief bit isn’t generally achieved (and it looks like today is just going to have to be a general one).

I open my eyes again at 7.07 am; this time due to my dad walking very heavily across the landing, about to disturb me from a 22 minute hibernation. However, an unbreakable (and totally illogical) habit of mine forces me into an upright poise ready to play the part of someone who’s been up since dawn.

“I’m awake! I’m awake! I’m awake!” will be my most frequent claim, but today however, my nocturnal cells feel the need to excel them-selves further. I jump out of bed and open the door just as my Dad’s hand approaches the handle.

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        It is then a rush into the bathroom, a sprint back to my room to find a crumpled shirt on the floor of what can hardly be called a wardrobe. This is most probably due to the amount cotton draped so “artistically” in a modern style called MESS!  

        I then contemplate going for a jog, but at this time in the morning? Thought is about as far as that subject is likely to run in the near future. I also seem to be taking an age eating my cereal as the nutritional information on the side of the box ...

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