Post XLVII

Ally Can’t Think Of A Title.

9:45. Man, that’s early. For me. I looked across at the alarm clock that I stole off my brother ten years ago. Round at the back. Not very reliable. The clock. Always quite wrong regarding the time. This, for a clock, is a massive negative. It’s also frosted over. When I was in New York with my dad, I slept in the bathroom on the fold-up bed because he snores and New York is already too loud. But I forgot to hide my alarm clock when I had a shower and it ended up getting frosty, but only in one tiny area.

I gazed around my room. All blurry. Couldn’t see my glasses. As usual. It’s always fun to try to find them in the morn. You make a game of it. Try to guess how much of your stuff you’ll knock over and how much stale tea you’ll get covered in.

I grabbed my stuff. I’m in the bathroom for quite a while after getting up. Getting to the bathroom is the hard part. I have to balance everything because I like being efficient and I don’t want to have to go to the bathroom, come back again, go to the bathroom again, repeatedly. So I balance my stuff precariously on my arms and try to do the run in one go. I have my clothes. A towel. My toothbrush. My deodorant. My tweezers (don’t ask). My flannel. My yin/yang necklace. My iPod. My hairbrush and my comb. Oh, and loads and loads of toilet paper. What do you want to know about from the list?

Well, the towel is a personal towel and has no place in the bathroom. The toothbrush is electronic and can’t go in the bathroom (not after ‘the incident’). I use my iPod for a clock since my watch broke about five years ago. And I use toilet paper to clean my glasses since it’s all that works, but it’s a complete waste since those glasses are useless and therefore need cleaning all the time, so I save the toilet paper and put it in a bag and use it later. Nothing wrong with that. It’s just covered in dust, and that’s not entirely different from what it’ll pick up where it’s going.

I have a schedule. A certain time to do everything. A certain amount of time on the pot. A certain amount of time with the toothbrush. A certain amount of time to apply various face creams. A certain amount of time in the bathroom. Then I must clean the bathroom. I really don’t get why people compare me to Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory.

My day that followed was rather uneventful. I went downstairs and had my Weetabix. Only on weekdays. I save the weekends for toast. Not sure why. We all need a little quirk. However, my day was to have some additional, none weekend quirk.

The hot water went out, somehow. The panic was immense. I’d already had to endure one night this week without any heating. The last thing I needed was the hot water to go out. Oh, the humanity! We checked the boiler. It was cold. What do we do, I thought! Dad raced to check the clock on the boiler. Yes, the tension was building. His hand shook as it reached to lift the cover of the clock face. Beads of sweat trickled like a waterfall, glistening under the moonlight. With bated breath, dad, mum and I gazed at those ‘24’ style digits. Ah, the clock was wrong. Hmm. That was easy.

The rest of the day failed to live up to the hype of the water fiasco. I think fiasco is the right word. I’m not sure what it actually means, but I have a tendency to use words without bothering to look them up. Tiredness does not fit this category. I’ve been very tired lately. Probably why I thought my dinner was trying to kill me.

After all that excitement, I needed my sleep. After a rather lovely shower. Which was almost as much of a kerfuffle as the morning routine. I’m a right lark, aren’t I?

“Well, as the rogue purple underpants of time begin their assault on the whites-only wash cycle of destiny, and the twin buttocks of fate are sucked into the malfunctioning chemical toilet of destiny, it’s time to say goodbye”, said the late great English jazz musician, broadcaster and presenter of the 40-year-old BBC radio program I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue, Humphrey Lyttelton.

Peace Out :|:

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