BORED | db

I

HOW SOON IS NOW? - THE SMITHS

When you say, "It's gonna happen now"

Well, when exactly do you mean?

See, I've already waited too long

And all my hope is gone

★drew★

Sunny days are wonderful in theory, right? Scientifically, we are more productive in the daytime; at least that's what they say--whoever the hell 'they' is, I don't know. Sunshine without an agenda feels like a tank full of gas and a broken GPS. Sure, I could go just about anywhere, but then I should surely get lost, and without a map, I'd have no way of getting back home.

It seems to be much more effective to sit at home and count how many bumps are in the ceiling or how long I can stand the hum of the washers and dryers tumbling below me. I can't lose my way if I try every condiment in my fridge as opposed to opening my front door and stepping outside it—I'm sure this is my subconscious talking.

I can't even tell you how long I've been laying here for. Could be hours or days, could even be just a few minutes. I woke up some undisclosed time ago and I have not gathered the gumption to check the time or draw the curtains or brush my teeth. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm here at all and perhaps still asleep. Something is itching. Is it my neck? My eyes? Can't quite pinpoint the sensation yet, but its sustained discomfort is transporting me slowly to reality. Before I can find a designated place to scratch, I must check the time, as I'm more curious than I've ever been as to how I've managed to lay down with no distractions for such a prolonged period.

10:13 A.M.

Fuck.

In the time that it took for me to glance at the clock, stagnancy has vacated. Every cell in my body buzzes in anxiety, the itch turns into a searing burn, and my eyes have seemingly cemented themselves into a bulging state.

I was supposed to be at work two hours ago, my messages have messages, and it appears as though my brain has yet to return from its obviously serene voyage. In a hurry, I text my boss back, unfortunately still dazed.

~Drew~

I'm SO sorry, I ate something terrible last night. Terrible. I have gotten more acquainted with my toilet than I ever wanted to. I've been in and out of sleep. I'll get you a doctor's note or something.

I wasn't even sick? How could I possibly acquire a doctor's permission to stay at home when I have no physical ailments? Perhaps I would change my name to Screwed seeing as I seem to royally make a mess of everything I touch.

I smooth out my hair from my face, return my eyes to their normal and disinterested position and take a deep breath. Nothing I can do about it now.

Is that what people say? That's certainly what they think I say. Only, that's not at all what happened.

My cheeks flushed red and I could feel a tight burning in my throat as my green eyes welled up. I say green because in the midst of my tears I have the thought of my stress causing the verdant tint in them to gleam. This not only calms me but causes a chuckle to tumble out. I could possibly be losing my job, the one thing in the whole world that is keeping my sanity right now, and all I can think about is how pretty my eyes must look in this moment.

Clearly, I'm not thinking straight.

I need to call someone. Anyone. It's a weekend, everyone is out doing things. But here I am, alone.