Glimpse

Lazy?

Sounds from the kitchen brought me back to reality from the lives of the characters in my book.

My mother's cooking. Should I be helping? I concentrate back on the book.

Slouched up against the wall with a pillow in between, legs stretched out before me, angles crossed, I decide to keep reading. I decide to stay in my world.

More working-sounds: I should be helping my mother. I do owe her for all the times she took care of me from the time I was crying, red baby.

But, to go down, I would've to get up and drag myself all the way there; out of my world, out of my room.

Behind the closed doors of my room, with books, pages and empty food packets scattered all across, I lie there, lazily, naked, reading from my laptop. This is my world. I love it here.

I don't have to get out of my world. I have no life except for the lives of the people in my books. They are my life. To live that life, I don't have to get out of bed every day, get rid of the tangles in my hair or wear any clothes. Everything's fine. I can stay in my bed all day long and worry about nothing. Reality is worse.