I sometimes laps back into my dream, and wake up another 10 mins later, when my mother joins the rowdy mess. I struggle to my feet, straining my eyes, trying to make sence of the light differences between my shuttered bedroom, and the blinding kitchen and hallway.
My routine here goes as follows:
1. Switch jug on
2.grab a packet cappichino packet
3.put it in my favorite blue mug (used to be the dinasaur mug, which is now too small for my coffee)
4. get either cereal or toast out... and proceede to eat almost immediatley.
After scarring myself severley enough with tweezers, I proceede back to my bedroom, at approximatley 8:36 am, where I dress and dance at whatever it is I have in my cd player, often shocking myself with my monologue on the wrong cd.
My father prepares my lunch in a gladware container, because we thought it would be a healthier alternative to mums frozen cheese or processed chicken sandwitches.
After collecting this, and shoving my ipod into my ears, I will proceede (generally in a rush) to get outside, ready for my half an hour walk to the chool with my dear friends Punky and Arran.
This morning, Arran had purple hair, which surprised me. :)
We walk down a so called "park", which has been named in the last few weeks...although I know not to what. It's entertaining that we can be lost in such an inorganically straight forrest, I will flirt with my wife across the highway, and occasionally the passing cars.
I spot who is in the cars every morning, sometimes celebrating out aloud, other times, dancing and waving. I watch most go past in silence, Anne, Potts, Chris (who Im certain watches out for us) and often a teacher or two.
When we get to the chool, in what is said to be yet another forbidden area, we bitch in code about everything, scoffing at Reg, sometimes even pleading others to complete our homework that we hadnt done with two weeks of procrastinating about it.
We joke, sew, glare, and run around. I spray myself with Polish man and people stop and tell us that they saw us walking on the highway, like it was something we don't ordinarily do.
We proceed lazily to homeroom, first dropping nisha off, then my wife, often pausing a moment to take in Potts as he walks to homeroom, then proceeding to turn abruptly if he sees.
Homeroom makes for critisism. Bear and I will chat about some homework we found particularly stupid, or bitch about something or other, then school prayer will come over the PA system, and we will take one moment of peace at that moment. Thereafter, I will proceed to bitch about the fact that prayers shouldnt rhyme, and that they should be more reverant, and swear to everyone around me that I will see them afterwards to complain furthur.
As I leave my homeroom, I will see my wife, exiting her's as it is parralell to mine, and we will frollic for a good two minuites, and then scuttle off to a class.
At recess, breaking free to munch on an apple, I will compare the quality of with Nisha, who will almost certainly have a contrary opinion to myself. I laugh with everyone, as we bask in the sun, still lazily rising, the bush swaying and a teacher often coming to scream at us about being behind the wall when it's out of bounds. Nevertheless, the had never done anything about it, the countless times that they did this. However, we would be on a school bench, but a troupe of sb's generally steal it, and drag it across the lacking grass of the dust bowl's centre.
At the conclusion of recess, I will waddle to my next class, someone will grab the shoulder of my bag, and attach themselves to me, depending on which class it is.
At lunchtime, I either arrive first, or just in time for another bitching session, where someone will start a sentence with "Oh god" or "and another thing".
THis is the time where nicknames emerge, and their significance highlighted. Often people ask me for the needle and thread I keep in my wallet. I watch the colony from across the dustbowl, and sometimes witness an sb rumble, or fruit throwing competition.
Sometimes over the basket ball court, someone will throw someones bag down the hill, or on top of the shade cloth, and a teacher will come racing from the opposite side of the playground, while surrounding sb's will call the ritual mating call "errr errrr!"
Boy talk and grunts proceed, as they truley are the animal kingdom.
Our sophisticated area will generally emit a cackle or a head tossed back, basking in the sun like the ectothermic lifeforms we are.
I will take out my lunch box, and people will comment on the missile effect of my cherry tomatoes, and how if they explode, they are all in danger.
Most of my lettuce will be rejected, as it has generally been sitting at the bottom of the fridge for weeks.
Nisha will take out her clipit, and proceed to eat a mandarin, and spray everyone with Orange flower or House of Windsor. Punky will run. I Will scream, and people will wonder what the hell were doing.
Amy and I communally bathroom, just to walk passed the colony, who won't ever notice were there.
At the comencement of lunch, Miss Bounds will try and move us along, and we will always be forced to move by our infamous year co ordinator with a shirt that dosent ever suit his mood.
At the commencement of the day, I will run around in circles and tell Gianno he has a nose, followed by laughing at the sb's coming in late. Sir will tell everyone to touch the back wall, and we will run with the freedom of the afternoon. I glide over to my wife's homeroom, and usually catch Pottsie on the way out.
Punky and I will get lost in a conversation about various alternative music with Miss Millard, and get to the libary, where the librarians know the drill too well, and have pre ticked punky's newspaper off the list.
We walk past the duck and taunt him, and wait in an illegal position for the bus, waiting for everyone to get on before us, fearing the freaky-deaky-bus-driver and his questions about my singing.
I hold on for dear life in the corridors of the bus, awaiting a small green car to drive past us, or watching the chippo bus with anticipation.
We often have to yell at the busdriver to stop at our spot, and sometimes he won't stop at all.
I chat with punky after we get off together, and we will chat about music, and school... we then plug our ears again, laughing and waving, ready to walk home alone.
I watch the traffic, and as I cross the road, I walk slowly, generally glaring at the people who want me to walk quicker, often wishing they knew how heavy my bag is.
I scramble into my front door, and run for the bathroom.
Sometimes, I'll eat, but it always ends in an Lj entry.