Two weeks into summer and I don't even have a slight tan yet. Pale as a fucking ghost, I awake at noon looking like a corpse with a bad perm. My mom has already left for work and by now I've lost track of what day it is. There's a note on the fridge that reads,
"Buy eggs." And there's a little heart in place of a signature, how touching.
Ripping it off I toss it on the floor and take a gallon of milk out of the fridge. Bumping it closed with my hip I meander over to assemble a bowl of cereal. Mixing two kinds of cereal about sums up the level of creativity I possess these days. Normally, meaning when I go to school and live on a normal sleeping schedule, I can paint for days on end. These days I'm just always tired and what little energy I maintain is directed toward keeping my eyes open and remembering to breath as I surf the internet.
Sitting alone at the kitchen table, I take out my phone from the pocket of the shorts I wore yesterday; actually I slept in them come to think of it. In between bites I shoot Carson a text letting him know that I need a ride to go grocery shopping later. He texts back instantly,
"Just wake up?"
Smirking I swallow my bite of chocolate-cinnamon-toast-puff goodness and decide to call him instead. It's a lot easier talking on the phone than texting anyway. Plus my fingers nails are too long so it's a pain in the ass typing.
It rings twice and I roll my eyes, he's obviously with his phone. Ass.
"Why are you calling?" He asks as soon as he picks up and I snort.
"Hey, I need eggs," at least I greeted him. What a butt.
"When did you got to sleep last night?" He asks suddenly, sounding concerned. Cringing I take another bite of cereal to stall.
"One sec, swawwowing," I barely get out through my mouth full, dripping milk on myself from my mouth. I hear him sigh on the other end and I can just feel the lecture coming on.
"For Pete's sake, Ellen, spit it out," he urges impatiently, but not angrilly, as I'm sure he's already guessed I didn't sleep last night, just earlier this morning really.
"Around three or four," I finally say, sheepishly. All I hear is a disappointed sigh and I can see him shaking his head in my mind, probably taking a sip of his black tea.
"I'm not even gonna say anything, just don't pass out before I pick you up," I can almost hear the slight smile in his voice and I know he's not mad, just not happy.
"Thanks, love ya," I say habitually.
"Love ya, too."
We hang up and I finish my cereal in silence, not checking my phone again; no one's texting me this morning or any other unless it's Carson. He lives about fifteen minutes away so I know I don't have much time to get ready. Chugging down the last of my milk, I leave the bowl in the sink for later washing and hustle upstairs to make myself decent.
Five minute shower. Teeth brushing. Hair combing. Change of clothes. Nothing to be done about my face. Check, check, check; I'm ready to go. Trotting downstairs I hear the front door open and in walks Carson clad in skinny jeans and a red flannel; hipster, please. I grab my purse and as I approach him he studies me carefully. I stop a foot from him and he reaches out slowly, I tense up instinctively.
He plucks a piece of loose fuzz from my hair and flicks it away, smiling.
"You should be in the olympics for getting ready in the morning- er- afternoon," he winks and I just roll my eyes. Yeah, that'd be something to brag about. "You know I would wait for you, if you need more time to get ready. I know I live kind of close," he adds and I shake my head.
