hwithumalut

Stream of consciousness style

Beep. beep. Beep. It’s time for work. I jump up, but shit the ground is so sweet, and I am—oh my god, it’s eight already. Damn I messed up the covers I’ll need to remake my bed tonight. I cannot make a lunch. Shit, shit. “Shit”. The floor is still so cold. The blankets so warm. WORK. JOB. DUTY. RENT Pay CAR Push push push! legs! I’m upped. Wardrobe, unwashed clothes. Wearing them to work, no one can see me as several day dirt. I am not whole week filth —ahh the blue one. I’m clean. Out. What was, oh room door strike wall, ‘cause of force from arm. Kitchenette. Microwave—actually NO! breakfast. 8:09. I have been late. Mr Carter telling me I’m fired. I’ve wasted 30 second worrying about something that has not happened. Just stop. Sandwich. NO Mayo. gross. Just bacon is unhealthy, so also crumbled Ramen. Time. Wait. yesterday was— “Oh”. It’s Saturday.

Minimalist style

The alarm clock rings. This wakes me up. I jump out of my bed very fast. This messes up my covers. I will have to make my bed again that night. Usually I leave my bed made. I had jumped out of bed without much tension in my legs so I am on the cold floor. My alarm clock reads 8:00 AM. I wish I could get back into bed. I have work. I guess that I may have to buy lunch on my lunch break, and skip breakfast. I focus on work. I force myself to get off of the floor. I am naked. I look in my closet for clothes. I cannot find clean clothes. I am scared that I will be perceived as being filthy, or not hard working for not washing clothes if I do not wear clean clothes. I finally find a clean shirt. I leave my bedroom. I am surprised by a slam of the door. I turn my head to see what happened.

I walk into there kitchenette area. I look at the microwave longingly. There is no time for breakfast. The digital clock reads 8:09 AM. I have been late for work two days this week. I think about a nightmare of Mr Carter firing me. This is a fiction. I snap out of it using the force of my will. I decide to make a sandwich for lunch. I am tired. This made me forget that I already decided to buy lunch. I look in the fridge. There is no mayo. This is gross. I think a sandwich with just bacon and lettuce would be unhealthy. This is not true. I make a sandwich with crushed ramen noodles, bacon, and lettuce. I do not like tomatoes. I worried for a moment. I look up. Then I think back to the fact that yesterday was Friday. I check the calender. It’s saturday. I microwave a burrito.

Maximalist style

They wake with the siren of the clock, which shrieks three short times, each inducing more furious guilt-ridden panic than the last. They are shrieking inside to fullfill a quota that is completely imaginary on that day. They fall out of bed, without grace, and meets the floor with resentful feelings towards it. The cold of the wood surface is wild and scary compared to the motherly heat of the now tossed-aside blankets. They regret half of everything about the fall from the nursing warmth of sleep. They wish they could have woken with clear senses and thoughts planning out their actions orderly. They recoil from the pleasure/pain dichotomy of floor versus bed, and spring to their wardrobe to work towards the longterm financially related needs.

They open the wardrobes first drawer and the rest of the drawers in jerking motions affected by the alarm’s still present pangs of fear. It is a panic that keeps them moving, less carrot on a stick more a whip to the mule’s rearend. They cannot find a clean shirt, only things they have already warn. They wash their clothes on weekends, they are just so tired of the 8:30 to 6:30 workday and their half-hour stranger-filled public bus commute each morning and afternoon. They have a secondary fear of being the late for work, person who is also a mess. What would a smelly shirt imply? A drunkard or lazy worker perhaps? Their anxiety is skyrocketing, hijacking their awareness like like Youtube does to a brain. They were so conscious of their laziness, of how they spent their afternoons watching short videos on repeat, and how they always played a few browser games after they hit quota. Heaven at last is reached when they find this blue thing of a tunic. It is a temporary heaven though, because then they must go further and chase their next heaven. They are a raccoon moving from food filled trashcan trashcan to the next, each one running out eventually.

They open the door with to much power, and the crash against the wall startles them. This is a hungry rat in the grain silo of mental clarity. They kill the rat as they run to their small kitchenette which came with a microwave in the apartment, one of the reasons for choosing the place in compared to other small apartments. They check the clock and see that they must go, because they could not handle Mr Carter firing them in front of the only people they know. They are generally introverted and make friends only at work, because they prefer to spend their time in their apartment, or in one coffee shop near their apartment. They want to make breakfast and lunch for the day, their food at home is cheaper than food near work. They know they should not, because of time constraints and crush the idea of warming up a microwavable burrito. They spend so much effort on crushing the idea of the burrito that they habitually began to make a sandwich. The thought of a sandwich with just bacon and lettuce made their stomach heave. Their dry ramen-bacon-lettuce sandwich seemed more appealg in that moment, which was still a foggy maze in their mind. They relize their mistake of wasting time on the RBL which surely must be their downfall. Then there is a stillness and moment of clarity which emerges through the maze. They know that yesterday was a sweet Friday, and the calender confirms that today is Saturday. They receive a hit of guilt for messing up their first morning in a two day heaven. They receive a burrito from their pathetic minifreezer, and place it in the mouth of the microwave.

after the fact style

Two work aquaintences where having at 1:30 in the afternoon. They did not plan to meet. They have been talking for fourty minutes. One has been using their phone mostly.

“So basically this morning was a total mess. Such a bad morning.”

“What was so bad? You can just tell me in like a short form. I kinda have to go somewhere soon”

“Oh man. I just don’t know where to even begin it’s all so long feeling. You know how busy situations feel like forever. Mornings tend to feel like that. When I’m in a rush that is. I was this morning. Even though it’s a weekend It was so stressful. It was total shit. So basically I forgot that it was the weekend that’s the thing. It was really actually fucking annoying, built what I was thinking was that since on weekend my alarm rings at eight that I was super later. I need to walk ten minutes to the bus stop and it takes 30 minutes to get to work, so I was going to be late. Since my job starts at 8:30. So I was panicked and could not find a clean shirt. It was the worst. I started to make a sandwich with ramen noodles on it. Like in mornings I’m totally crazy, but I always need to buy coffee here on my way to the bus, because If if keep it in the house I’ll drink it all afternoon, and then won’t sleep. Then this morning suddenly I realized that it was saturday, because yesterday was friday. So really it was all goofy”

“Oh so did you wash your clothes?”

“What no?”

“Oh.”

“I found a clean shirt though. This morning.”

“Later in the morning, after you realized it was saturday. That makes sense.”

“No before I made the sandwich. When I was getting dressed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I must have the worst mornings in the world.”

“We’ll I must get going.”

“Oh that's such a shame. Are you sure you cannot stay? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“Sorry. I have to go. Good Bye.”

“Good bye. We should see each other soon.”

The friend left with haste. The door had a bell attached to the top of it that jingled.