The Art of Unopulence

12 | weary

I am not looking forward to today. And that might be a little surprising since it is a gloriously sunny Sunday with no fitness training and very little homework backlog for me, but it is what it is.

My body aches. Or maybe it's my mind manifesting an excuse so that I do not need to get out of bed. I can't be sure.

Whimpering softly, I pull my sheets closer and snuggle deep into my pillow as I look out of the large window to the left of my bed. The sun shines brightly in the clear azure of the sky, but it isn't harsh and blinding. It's soft and gentle and seems to be empathetic towards my dampened spirits.

With a quiet sigh, I sit up in bed and rest my back against the panel at the back that acts as a kind of cabinet where I keep my current reads, medicines, nail paint bottles and hair ties that have an unusual habit of disappearing and appearing at will.

Twisting my neck to the right I massage the other side slowly, before collecting my hair and tying it into a haphazardly shaped bun that mirrors my mood.

"What now?" I ask out loud, tapping my fingers on my knees, although there's no one to hear me.

I contemplate calling Izzy, it's been two weeks since we last talked, but I decide against it. She did mention that she had an internal assessment coming up since the academic year in India begins a couple of months before ours and I don't want to be the kind of person who only calls when they're feeling lonely, a last resort. That's simply pathetic.

Mindlessly, I pick up the book about block-chain and cryptocurrency investing from the cabinet behind me and open the chapter about cryptocurrency volatility where I had stopped. Honestly, I've been finding very little time to read ever since I've been thrown headfirst into the midst of this protection program for Nathaniel. With regular fitness training, school, homework and my newfound interest in machine learning, there was just enough time left to squeeze in for my nightly skin routine and meals.

I read five pages of the book only to find that I don't remember anything I read, so I flip back to where I started and try again.

"Ughh..." I cry out in frustration, bending my head backwards to rest on the panel behind, "I can't—Fuck!"

I really want a little time to myself- some peaceful solitude before I have to make up with Nathaniel, properly this time. But it turns out that anxiety, aching limbs and absolute solitude is a recipe for acute unproductivity.

I kick my sheets off my body and tumble out of bed in an ungraceful heap. Cursing under my breath, I make my way to the bathroom to finish my morning business and clean my teeth.

"Nathaniel definitely does not want to talk to me." I breathe out, studying my eyebrows carefully as I talk to myself in the mirror, "But I need to produce a detailed report of what he saw yesterday, or Dad's going to ground me. How the fuck am I supposed to do that?! I wish I already knew that. But I'm Ariya fucking Davis so I'll figure it out eventually."