Band On The Run

Teenage Dirtbag

Time changes suck.

The realization hit me when I was lying wide eyed, staring up at my ceiling, city lights making their way through the window in an eerie fashion in cohesion with the morning sun.

I’d been dreaming. Honestly, it had been a nice dream for me, while I’d been asleep, that is. Once I awoke, it wasn’t so nice. But I suppose it would be hard to get off a plane like I had and not spend the night dreaming of odd situations and colourful penguins tied into true memories all in one.

The dream had been about my first flight home from the UK after my first abroad tour. We’d been so tired and homesick, which had only lead to hysterical laughter and questionable conversations that had got on the nerves of other passengers. They especially hadn’t like William with his camera, heading up and down the halls while making odd noises or recording us while we told ridiculous stories.

However the memory had been bastardized by my “vivid” subconscious, which decided Billy Idol, Adam Sandler, two talking multicolour penguins and a marriage counsellor were needed to make the memory dream worthy.

My subconscious really needed to mature, what the dream actually needed was Drew Barrymore. Just saying.

Giving an unamused laugh in the back of my throat at my wandering thoughts, I scrapped my hands over my face, staring straight up at the plain white ceiling. For a moment I wished I’d have thought to paint the ceiling, get someone to do like a mural to the greatest musicians and bands or something. I hated looking at the plain white ceiling when I was at home; I did it so much on the road.

But I’d never really spent all that much time in this apartment, so it kind of felt like I was on the road anyhow.

This time I gave a sigh at my thoughts.

Deciding that I could get out of bed and have no guilt at saying I stayed home in bed all night, I flipped the comforter off and stretched my legs over the edge of the bed.

After a long moment of staring blankly at the wall, I forced my weary muscles into action, leaning over to snatch up the cell phone I’d thrown last night. Giving a loud yawn, I pulled my hair out of the elastic it had slept in while searching through the phone. Only the one missed call from Nick, though there were three from Mark.

Talk about needy, the slimy man called me more than my boyfriend.

Giving a snort at the thought, I wandered over to the window, pushing open the curtains that I’d closed when I’d left for the tour. With a frown I realized that an unknown number had called me. That was odd. My number wasn’t common knowledge, for obvious reasons.

For a moment I pondered it, but gave up. People always found a way to figure out my number. I just didn’t answer the ones I didn’t recognize.

Leaving the cell on the bedside table, I didn’t bother with pants, just wandering back the way I’d come the night before, letting out another yawn as I ran both hands over my face. Turning my eyes forward on my path, I decided coffee was most definitely needed. However when the bend appeared at the end of the hall, I hesitated naturally. It wasn’t much, just a subconscious reaction. But it was enough.

Was it bad that I still expected a straight hallway in front of me?

Okay, coffee was long overdue, I decided, pursing my lips.

Skirting around the dining table that I think I could count the amount of times I’d sat at on my hand, I made my way into the kitchen. Still thinking about the table, I went through the cupboards, finding the grinds before heading to the coffee maker.