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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Spring Cleaning
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...and he shut his eyes from the sunlight blaring through the blinds,
reaching for his pillow that somehow ended up between his legs in mid-sleep
again. Covering his head, he turned over, facing the dimer half of the
bedroom. There was so much work to be done. The ever-failing alarm clock
read 12:17. It beeped with just enough volume to not fully wake him and, at
the same time, somehow keep him aware that he shouldn't be sleeping anymore.
He had set it to 8:00 the night before. It was almost as loud as the
sunlight now, but he didn't shut it off. Not yet. He waited for the
cobwebs to clear, making sure not to fall back asleep. 12:34 now. As good
a time as any.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gritting his teeth as his
back reminded him to never, ever swing his legs over the side of the bed
like that. Wincing and stretching, he stood up. Busy day, busy day, he
said to himself. There's much to be done.
There was his cat preening himself on the floor. What I wouldn't give
to be you, he thought. For just a moment, he reflected back on the
innocence of childhood. Just for a moment. Then he remembered. There were
things to do.
Stepping over the cat, he threw on his bathrobe and made his way
downstairs. There were cold pancakes sitting on top of the microwave. A
piece of paper that was on the refrigerator the night before had fallen to
the kitchen floor. There was the cat again, walking through. He started to
search for something to eat, but realized he didn't have enough time. He
glanced at the clock again. 12:51. Groaning, chiding himself for
oversleeping, he walked towards the bathroom, passing his parents' bedroom
on the way. There was his mother, asleep, with the cat curled up next to
her.
Someone had forgotten to flush the toilet, so he remembered for them.
He threw aside the shower curtain with a bit too much strength, fueled by
his frustration that he had wasted so much time already. No time for a
shower, he realized. No. There were things to be done. He pulled the
curtain back over the tub and stood there, looking at himself in the mirror.
I should really shave, he figured. I would.. I would, if I had time.
And this hair. This fucking hair! There's too much of it, and it's so god
damned annoying. I'd get it cut. I would, if I had time. If I could, I'd
even comb it instead of pulling it back into a ponytail. If only I had
enough time.
Cursing to himself, he walked back upstairs, taking a quick glance
around his room. A pile of dirty clothes sat in the corner, waiting for
somebody to take them down to the basement and wash them. His bed was as
unkempt as his hair, waiting for somebody to straighten it out. His bureau
was piled with clean clothes, waiting for somebody to put them away. There
was the computer, sitting against the far wall, waiting for somebody to put
it out of its misery. And there was the television, looking as good as new,
waiting for somebody to use it. The guitar, waiting to be tuned. The
books, waiting to be shelved. The rug, waiting to be vacuumed. The ants,
waiting to be saved. The bottles waiting to be recycled and the ashtrays
waiting to be emptied and the cat waiting..
The cat? Damn it, that fucked up cat. "Can't you sit still?" he
asked the cat, realizing it was the first time he had spoken out loud since
he woke up, and also realizing that the cat didn't have anything to do.
"Shit, if I didn't have anything to do," he admitted, "I'd probably wander
around the house, too."
The cat looked up at him, then, cocking his head sideways. He licked
a paw and swiped it across his face, never breaking the stare.
"What?" the boy said out loud. "What are you looking at?"
The cat just stared, and the boy sat down on his bed. He laughed at
himself, almost. I'm sitting here talking to a cat, he thought, and I have
so much work to do.
Without looking away, the cat jumped up on the bed with him, nuzzling
his face against the boy's.
"You want to go out, don't you?"
The cat just stared.
"Are you hungry?"
No reaction.
"I don't know what you're trying to tell me!" he blurted. "There's
work to be done and I don't have much time!"
And with that, the cat broke the stare and trotted off downstairs, with
the grace of one who is finished and waiting. Within moments, he could hear
the cat digging through the litterbox.
The boy laughed, then, and didn't stop for a long time. He walked
over to the pile of dirty clothes and peed on them. He peed on his bed and
bureau, and he peed on the computer. He peed on his television, his guitar,
his books, the rug, the ants, the bottles, and the ashtrays. He peed on
everything he could, until his bladder had exhausted itself.
And then he found a dry spot on the rug and curled up on it, still
laughing. He licked his hand, then, and swiped it across his face.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow I'll get up the nerve, but today I'm
finished. Finished and waiting, gracefully.
It was 2:26.
by Styx
dropdead@mindspring.com
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