A Day in the LifeA Story by Monica TaylorGood morning Monica, how are you feeling today? Hungover
Today is a new day, I told myself as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and accessed my body for signs of a hangover and wracked my brain for inevitable regret. This had been a normal routine for the better part of a year. Hangovers were more of a state of being, rather than an unwelcome weekend guest. My life to outsiders could be viewed a few different ways. Some probably see a beautiful face with deep secrets and tragedy behind my deep brown eyes, that reminds them of the anime series they used to watch. They see a girl who has a need to be free and a need to self medicate; a fallen angel too delicate to hold but also too terrifying to even try. Or perhaps to my current family, a lazy girl with zero ambition. They never see the girl who takes up a space in their beautiful home. All they see is the mess of clothing and empty bottles of beer in the space she occupies. They wonder what goes on behind my closed doors, when they hear my music softly playing at 3 am and wonder if I’ll ever get my life straight. I hold a deepness about me it’s true. No one really knows me at all. I’m just a collection of data formulated into a perception, that is your own version of Monica. But doesn’t that go for all of us? Today is a new day, sunlight peeps into my bedroom. I stay in the hottest room of the house; my fan is always blowing. I’m still unaware of how this room is so hot, considering it never gets direct sunlight. Maybe science can explain the way heat rises, but I’m pretty sure it’s only hot because it occupies Miss Monica Taylor. I have a very high opinion of myself. I sluggishly and begrudgingly pull myself out of my bed. I say begrudgingly because this is a more difficult task than normal. My
bed is the only thing in this entire house that I feel belongs to me. Not the
mattress, not the frame not even the pillows I drool on. It’s mine because I
live here, I sleep, I eat, I watch TV, I write, I draw, I read and I cry, right
here in my bed. I’ve decorated it beautifully to my taste. Black comforter,
dark gray pillows, a deep red velvet heated blanket that pays homage to all my
beautiful apartments that were once painted in black and red like a sexy
vampire’s fortress. It houses a furry light gray pillow that comforts me and
replaces all the pets I’ve ever lost, a sequenced pink pillow that reminds me of
the princess am, and a $2 black and white striped throw blanket to sit at the
foot of my bed. My
striped blanket is my security. It’s small and light weight. It fits easily
into my backpack, and had made the perfect go-to item for traveling, concerts
and festivals I had attended over the summer. It had protected me from sun; I
draped it over an umbrella. It kept me warm on an overly air-conditioned airplane when I went home to see my mom. It kept me mostly dry from the
downpours of Virginia storms and provided comfort from grass, bugs and dirt as
something to sit on. Most importantly, I knew it would protect me from most
situations I found myself privy to. It had gone everywhere with me, and everywhere
it was ready to go. Just like me. They tell you money can’t buy happiness, but happiness and home is my bed and the associations I have acquired. This had been a strangely peculiar year that reads into the story that is my life. At least at this point. What is life but waking up? Speaking of which, It’s 2:30 in the afternoon, time to get up. I know this because I have looked at the screen of my cellphone since 10 am to make sure I wouldn’t be late for my job at Hooters. It’s 2:30 pm. If I were more responsible I would have already been awake. I would have had my coffee, I would have done yoga under the sticky hot Virginia sun that has never belonged to me. I could have cut fresh fruits and listened to songs I loved. I should have, I could have. I didn’t. I’m hungover.
But tomorrow will be a new day. © 2018 Monica TaylorAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on October 11, 2018 Last Updated on October 11, 2018 Tags: descriptive story telling AuthorMonica TaylorManassas, VAAboutI have always loved to write, I have also always loved art. I would like to create an illustrated novel, or a collection of short stories and poems. I typically write about my life, writing is a way.. more..Writing
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