A cool breeze ran along my face as I awoke that morning, confused as to where I was. As I reached my palm to my face to rub my eyes, my vision cleared and I noticed I was in my room. I thought back to last night and assumed he put me to bed, like he does most nights. I reached my arm out of my blanket to grasp the glass of water on my side table. It had fogged up and I traced a V into the glass before raising it to my, yet still, cracked lips. Although this time they felt different. Warmer. I looked to my arm to see goosebumps rising and I quickly tucked it back into my warm bed. After laying there, staring at the ceiling, I finally worked up the courage to get out of bed. I slipped my feet out of the bed and propped myself up so I was sitting on the edge with my feet dangling. I stepped down onto the cold floorboards and proceeded to the kitchen. I grabbed two pieces of bread and stuck them in the toaster as I held my hands above it to heat them up. I stared at them, looking at the contrast of their pale colour against the opaque green veins. I always hated my hands, I thought they were too lanky and long and I thought the veins were horrid. He didn’t seem to think so. Minutes had gone by and the toast popped up. I quickly spread some butter on them and then headed outside to my small balcony. Aside from the porch, this was my favourite place in the house. I came here every morning to eat my breakfast. It was spectacular at this hour, with the cool, crisp air and the dew that sat on the railing. I sat down on the small metal chair, which was starting to rust on the right corner, probably due to the moisture every morning. I took a bite of my toast and reached my hand into my bra for a cigarette. I always keep one there when I sleep, I feel safer knowing I have it on me, in case I can’t get to my pack. I reach for the lighter on the small table, which permanently sits there, waiting for me every dawn. I cup my left hand around the cigarette dangling from my mouth and I use all the strength my body could possibly have at seven in the morning to flick the lighter. I take a drag in and feel at ease, releasing the smoke as I take another bite of my toast. My day consists of a ritual. When I was younger, about maybe 13-15, I used to sleep in until midday, and I always questioned my parents for waking up so early. I didn’t get it. Then when I was about 16, I woke up one Saturday morning at six am due to a flock of lorikeets flying past. I got out of bed and made myself some breakfast, I think it was toast, and then I came out to my balcony and sat there, with my toast and cigarette. I loved it. The getting up part was the hardest, but once I stepped out onto the balcony, I remembered why I loved it, and I was no longer tired. I had a longer day than most sixteen year olds. I got more out of my day, even if a vast majority of that day was spent walking or sitting on a train going nowhere, or just spending it with him. It was better than sleeping. What’s so important about that. Some people say dreams, but why lay there thinking of these great adventures you’re going on when they’re fake, when you could be up and going on those adventures for real. I just think it’s pointless. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I hate sleeping. I just don’t think that sleeping until twelve o’clock is very smart. The rest of my daily ritual includes going somewhere, doing something, thinks like I mentioned earlier. I don’t go to school anymore so I can really do whatever I want. I didn’t see the point in continuing. I would go to school, listen to nothing, do no work and then come home. I didn’t see the point when my brain wasn’t taking in any information. School wasn’t for me, the things they teach you in school were not important or related to anything I would ever want to do. The thought of spending my life, working in some boring office, with a husband and a few kids, made me sick. Some people argue that I need a stable job to earn money but moneys never really been a problem for me. I should probably worry more but instead I spend most of the money I earn on cigarettes and clothes. One of my favourite quotes is from the movie Don’t tempt me, the guy says “Money’s just paper but it affects people like poetry.” I love this. I mean when you think about it, that’s all it is, paper. Why sit here and worry if I’m going to have enough paper. I don’t often like to think about the future, it sort of freaks me out. I just think about the now. Lastly, the end of my daily ritual is my long think on my front porch at night, often interrupted at about two am when he knows I’m tired. I say interrupted but I don’t mind. It’s kind of nice to have the company of another after being alone for so long. It’s a nice way to end the day.
