Wake up. Feel like death. Thorns in the throat, cotton lines my brain.
I slept twenty-two minutes later than planned. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.
I have an hour and eleven minutes until I have to leave.
Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Not okay. Screams rattle up my veins.
Usually I have an hour and twenty-three.
Brush. Rinse. Neti. Scrub. Moisturize plus 100 SPF.
I don’t care if the forecast calls for rain. SPF everyday. My routine. It’s necessary.
Maybe my vitamin D deficiency is the reason for my fatigue, my blue based thinking.
Push away deficiency thoughts. Continue. Continue.
Kettle on the stove. Coffee beans in the grinder. Grounds in the French Press pot.
I rush back to my room, make my bed. Heart throttling in my chest.
Open laptop. Gaze at email. The kettle squeals and I flutter back into the kitchen.
Hot water into French Press pot. Timer: 4 minutes.
I pull out the rice cooker. It’s red like the French Press. Red like my car. Red like my coat.
Red red red red like my fifteen year old bedroom and the sheets on my bed and the blood in my head.
Water in the rice cooker. Chopped rainbow chard in the steaming basket.
Steam, steam, steam.
Laptop. Check things. Pretend to be important.
Pretend to be relieved with the new day awaiting me.
Timer: Beep. Beep. Beep.
Half of the 32 ounce pot goes into a mug with almond milk + stevia.
Other half goes into a thermos for later. For during class. For my sanity.
Sip. Swallow. Chug from the mug. Pull clothes on. Glare at reflection.
It’s okay, Heather. It’s okay. Today is a new day. Smile!
Put on make up at my desk like a fool. Listen to music. Try to feel enthused.
Internet shinangins. Choke back vitamins. Blink. It’s 8:52.
Fill up three water bottles.
One with Emergen-C. One with Ultima electrolyte powder. One with tap water.
Plus my coffee thermos.
Steamed greens + honey mustard go into Tupperware. Don’t forget the fork.
Don’t forget the napkin because I eat like a total slob. Eat like I’ve never seen food before.
Backpack: laptop, notebooks, water bottles, novel, textbook, graphing calculator, to do list, wallet.
Away I go, into the Mini, onto the 101. South. South. South!
I wish I was driving north.
Gulp Emergen-C bottle within a few feet down my street.
Tell myself the B-12 is reviving me with an unfathomable amount of energy.
Awake! I am awake ! I am TOTALLY ABSOLUTELY AWAKE. Not.
42 infuriating minutes and 17 miles later, I pull into school.
Sit in parking lot. 23 minutes until class begins. Eat greens. Listen to music.
I stare at the rain drops on my windshield.
I make a wish and smile every time I witness a raindrop collision.
Finish eating greens and floss my teeth.
Depart car, shove backpack over shoulder, and hoof through the parking lot.
Splatter mud on my jeans as I stomp through the soggy mud hill to the Physical Science building.
Second person in classroom. Sit at usual table. Pull out coffee. Pull out novel. Read.
Ever so slowly the room begins to fill.
Eventually class begins, usually 19 minutes later.
Algebra. Coffee. Algebra. Algebra. Must raise my 88.33% up 3 points at least.
Must. Must. Must. Must. Must. Must.
Class concludes. I smile. I chat. I actually enjoy this class.
My professor is a goof, and for that, she has my gratitude.
Walk across campus to library and sign into the Math Lab tutoring.
1 hour. Drink Ultima electrolyte water. 2 hours. Continue homework.
Darling boy in wire framed glasses across from me compliments my skull.
I suddenly actually think. Oh. Yes. Duh. My necklace.
I swear this necklace has initiated 98% of my conversations with strangers in the last year.
“Thank you,” I ramble about some nonsense. Run my hands through my hair,
act like the flustered Heather I am. Flustered flustered flustered.
I somehow get Skull Boy to show me his lovely tattoo.
I am surprised by his tattoo. His aura so tender, I hadn’t expected it.
He smiles. I smile.
I don’t remember anything of this conversation because I was too flustered.
I deem him Vincent worthy.
The minutes scatter by and my hunger slowly rages.
Sign out of Math Lab and scurry to my car.
Back on the 101, this time pointed north. Into Eureka.
The 30 something stop lights torture my soul. GAH GAH GAH GAH!
Co-Op. Salad Bar. Hot bar. Spend far too much money on my single lunch.
Coconut water with pulp and a giant soy coffee too.
I eat a chocolate covered cashew cluster out of the bulk bins.
Technically this is crime by consumption but I don’t give a shit.
Eat my lunch in the warmth of my car.
It’s 46 degrees outside. Coastal humidity, clouds bruising the windy sky.
But my car is so warm, so soft. I’m more at home in my car than I am in my apartment bedroom.
The moment reminds me of the 5 am naps I took in my truck before work when I was 16.
Me in my car. Me waiting. Me resting. Me wondering why I am so tired. Me only comfortable in my car.
16 and exhuasted and 16 and overworked and 16 and foolish.
But who at 16 isn’t exhausted and overworked and foolish?
I eat my lunch slowly to procrastinate my return the library.
My thought settle with the food, with the nourishment, with the ease.
Drive back to school. South! Same damn stop lights. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.
Trudge through the drizzly parking lot and up the hill to the library.
More math homework. Another hour. Then I dip into English.
Begin reading grave robbing article for my argumentative essay research.
Realize it’s 4 and think shit shit shit shit. Rush to other side of the library
Meet with Algebra tutor. We go over my sore points. The hour ends. I pay her 20 bucks.
I question my need for the tutor. I question the lost 20 bucks. I remember the 3 points I need to gain.
Eyes slacking, I relocate to a study cubicle by a window with natural lighting.
It’s raining. But it’s somehow bright. I try to tell myself this brightness will revive me.
I return to article and eat a gluten free chocolate muffin from the Co-Op. It isn’t big enough.
Why am I still hungry?
I read and read and my head droops against the cubicle wall.
The hail’s dance on the library’s metal roof is a whisper of all things,
lulling me into a state of breezy nothing, and I’m not even reading anymore,
I’m staring at the finger drumming boy in the cubicle next door,
and woah woah how is it already six-thirty?
The Drumming Boy waves. I glare. I wasn’t staring. I swear. I was studying. Okay. No. I was observing.
It was writing research. Character development. Promise. Don’t be alarmed. Glare glare glare.
Please recall that a glare in the language of Heather is love.
Head throbbing. Need more coffee. Need a Motrin.
Ants crawl up my sinuses and I sneeze hard.
A friend called me “old school” recently. Studying in college on a Thursday night! Who are you, fool?!
I care. I care. I care and I’m in school to learn and I like to study. That’s who I am, fool!
Oh. Shut up. You’re absurd. Absurd as it is to be bullied by a bird.
Spots flicker on my computer screen. I try to clean them off with my cashmere sleeve.
Spots scurry across the white desk. The fake wooded desk.
So silly to use fake wood here,
as if there’s a lack of wood in Humboldt county, so silly.
Spot shadow my hands. I blink. Spots everywhere I look.
I realize it’s time to go home.
Decide it’s safe to wander to my car since the rain has stopped.
Question my ability to drive. I’m really quite tired. Did I sleep last night?
I woke late this morning. So yes, yes, that means I did indeed sleep.
I make it half way across the parking lot before the sky breaks.
Hail sweeps down from the blue twilight.
I never understand this — how it rains when the clouds are seemingly so far away.
I thank my mother and my father for my thick head of hair. The hail doesn’t hurt my head.
My skull is mercifully padded.
Drive the 17 miles home. Question my asshole esq drving techniques.
I blame the spots in my eyes, my “So Cal” breeding, my two ex drag racer ex boyfriends.
I also blame the stoners of Humboldt County who drive like complete SLOW TOOLS.
Those slow tools make me nuts. So done with Humboldt drivers. So so so done.
As I race north (!) up the 101 I admire for the 666th time the absurd gorgeousness of my home.
I don’t understand how a place can be so beautiful. It makes me forgive the slow tool drivers.
The skeleton eucalyptus line the road, their bones frozen in the wind.
One eye on the shimmery Pacific bay. One eye on the Redwood padded mountains.
My nose monitors the slugs on the road.
I stop by Wildberries for kale juice and granola, as my throat is still constricting.
My illness is my excuse for my luxurious food spending.
I finally step into my apartment just as the night’s darkness creeps down.
Feel too sick to continue studying.
So instead I waste a good chunk of time writing my day’s minuscule events on my blog.
Because that’s just how awesome I am.
I think it’s time to stop procrastinating. I think it’s time to return to studying.
BUT I AM SO SLEEPY.
My bed is calling me, lulling me, my electric blanket so warm.
It’s so rare for me to sleep without sedatives, to feel sleepy without drugs.
Perhaps I’ll put my studies aside.
Perhaps I’ll crawl in to bed and let my frantic mind flutter without my monitoring at its side.
Where the hell did this day go? How is it already ten?
I better feel better tomorrow, because my little sister is coming to town (!!!!!).
And she better not be wearing hooker boots. Because I so want to go hiking in Trinidad.
So she should be wearing hiker boots. Hooker boots can wait for Sunday night’s concert.
BUT I MUST RECOVER FROM THIS ANTY CRAWLING FATIGUEY SICKNESS TO BE ABLE TO HIKE.
Or maybe I’m not sick. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I’m just caffeine addicted.
I dunno I dunno I dunno.