365 Days

351

351

For the first time in what feels like forever I am not waking up to a brown-eyed eighteen year old boy, but instead to a blue-eyed eighteen year old best friend who is very determined to get me out of bed.

“Get up get up get up! It’s Saturday morning. The birds are singing the sun is shining. It’s time to get up!”

I groan, snuggling further into my blankets. “Piss off, Olive. It’s like, 4 degrees, the birds are probably dead from frostbite and it’s stormy. I’m not leaving my bed all day.”

The covers are ripped off me and I gasp, leaping out of bed in the speed of light. “WHAT THE HELL??” I squeal, jumping up and down to keep warm. I lunge for my duvet and grab a hold of it, but it turns into a game of tug-of-war.

“You need to get up. It’s quarter past ten and we need to have breakfast before your date today!” She pulls at the blanket, a very determined smirk on her lips.

“Exactly! It’s nine thirty and it’s early and it’s cold and let me go back to bed,” I protest, tugging the blanket as hard as I can with all the energy I can muster up. Then I realize what she said and growl. “And it’s not a date! Alex and I are becoming friends and you know it so shut up and give me back my blankets.”

“Stop being such a baby. You promised we’d get breakfast before you meet up with Alex so have your shower and get your ass downstairs or a bucket of ice water will be poured on your head.”

Ugh. I groan in defeat, dropping hold of the blanket. I know she isn’t above doing what she threatened but that makes me even more mad. Now I really can’t go back to bed.

“I hate you,” I grumble, retrieving clothes from my drawers. I trudge past her grinning self and to the bathroom where I wash up. Mornings are not my thing but the people in my life don’t understand that. Then again, the saying you can sleep when you’re dead somewhat applies to me here. I can sleep when I’m dead, but that doesn't change my approach to mornings.

After my shower I inspect myself in the full length mirror. It is fogged up so I have to wipe it with my towel so that I can see. My damp hair is hanging in waves over my shoulders and down my back, while I am overly warm in my black skinny jeans and white knit jumper. I know I will slip over in my socks on the floorboards but they’re cute so I don’t care. My hazel eyes glow bright because I’m tired so they are watering, and my face is it’s usual pale tone. Satisfied with my appearance I retreat to my room. I decide I should make my bed so I do, then I set out my too-big-for-me black parka on my bed along with my beanie that I will put on when I leave to meet Alex.

Downstairs, my mother and Olive are the only ones downstairs, blasting The Lumineers like there’s no tomorrow. I wince. It’s too loud for early music. I mean, it’s too early for loud music. Bleh, see my point?

I drag myself to the kitchen and would smile at the sight if I wasn’t so dead tired. Mum is singing along with Submarines while Olive is eating the pancakes Mum has cooked.

The pancake smell fills the kitchen and I am hit with a pang of hunger. I need to get some food into me, now.

“Mum. Pancakes?” I ask, trying to sound polite but not achieving that because I have to yell over the music. Why am I surrounded by such happy morning people? More importantly, why am I not a happy morning person? I’ve never been a morning person, even when I was a little kid and I had to get up early for my first day of school. Even back then I was grumbling about being up too close to the rise of the sun. Some things never change.