This morning I woke up when my youngest brother, Brian, lobbed a miniature poodle at my face. The dog licked my face all ever and started yelping and scurried out of the room.
“GEDDUP!” Brian shouted. “NOW! IT’S BREAKFAST, NOW!”
I rolled over on the floor (yes, I slept on the floor) and mimed throwing up. Then Brian threw the blanket off of me and kicked me.
“If you tell mom that this-” he pointed at the clock: 11:10- “isn’t sleeping in, then you’re GROUNDED.”
Brian likes to exercise every and any mini-power over me, and this was no exception. I told him I didn’t give a tin shit, and he left in a fit of blind rage.
Luckily, my mom wasn’t in the house. We slept at our cousins’, and they live in a duplex with our grandparents. Brian went to the only authority in the house, my Aunt. And she was much more forgiving than my mom, but she still wanted my cousin and I up. She’d made breakfast that was going cold.
When I was just about asleep again, Brian came up and threw open the door, again. “GEDDUP,” he repeated, “OR I’M TELLING MOM.”
“Yrr arrsed-at.” You already said that.
Brian somehow screamed through clenched teeth, which I’ve seen him do, but it never fails to terrify me, inwardly. He left again. My Aunt came to the foot of the stairs and yelled up. I finally stood, shot off a good morning text to Erin, and went downstairs. When I got down there, the food choices were: biscuits with butter, mini wheats, turkey bacon, and pancakes. “Canni I have a poptart?” I asked.
“No. Healthy food this morning,” said my Aunt. So I sat down and ate nothing for a while. Then I slapped a pancake on my plate, drenched it in light-syrup, and ate it. I wasn’t very hungry. Then I ate a piece of turkey bacon and found out it tasted like crispy cold-cuts. To this day, I don’t know if I’m actually a cold-cut fan. You know those people that open up the fridge and pull out fifty different things from their Deli drawer, and just go to town on a cutting board? They spend twenty minutes making a sandwich that they eat in three or four. I really don’t understand that. Why not just… eat a yogurt, or something. There’s even yogurt you can buy with little chunks of fruit in ’em. Chobani and all. I dunno, just don’t act like a pro chef and feel hungry after you’re done, unless of course the sandwich is just that kick-ass.
Well, I sat there for a while as more of my mom’s family entered, including her. It was my two aunts and her. They stood around, being sisterly, making fun of everyone’s bedhead and being just generally offensive. I wanted to leave, but I also wanted to sit. Then one of my Aunts’ dogs upchucked and I streaked out of the room.
My family probably assumed I went up to get more sleep, but really, once I’m up, I can’t go back to sleep. If I shove food in my mouth, I’m good to go for another few hours. But that doesn’t mean I’m not tired.
I always wish that my sleep meter was as it was when I was a kid. Now I have virtually no stamina and I can set my alarm as early as I want, I’m still getting up at 4pm. It’s a bit depressing. But when I was younger, I would instinctively wake up at 6am and get to ‘work,’ and by that, I guess I mean just doing things I thought were important to me. I really, really need to work on getting up early. If only I had access to electroshock machines.
If someone else wakes me up, I can get up. And sometimes if I realize I have something important to be doing, I can will myself awake. But in every other respect, I’m a teen.
aestheism, not atheism.