YOU HAVE YOUR WHOLE LIFE TO WORK

I dream. I wake up. I brush my teeth, wash my hair. Take much too long trying to pick what to wear, because I remember I have a meeting that day. Stand for another few precious minutes, frowning at the wrinkles on the shirt, but I decide to wear it anyway. Now I'm already too late. I will surely miss the bus. I put on some light make-up, tie my hair up into a ponytail, and dab a drop of perfume on my wrist and neck. All's set. I'm already too late. Instead of taking the bus, my usual route, I take the taxi. 20 minutes until 9:30 AM. I'm already too late. I tell my taxi driver, a smelly old man, my destination. He grunts in response, and hits the accelerator like he's kicking a dog. He has all the windows pulled down, and the wind hungrily eats up my hair, leaving behind a garbled heap of black mess. 13 minutes left. It's gorgeous outside, and smells like puke and smoke inside. We pass by buildings, buildings, and more buildings. 7 minutes. The taxi driver zips right through the second red light, and I'm happy. 5 minutes... 3 minutes... Sweetmaker, we're here already!? I throw him the money, get out of the car, run across the street, enter the door, run up the stairs, and... I'm safe! 9:30 AM.

Sweating, my hair a mess. I sit down at my desk with a grunt, not unlike the taxi driver. I'm safe, but my co-worker is not. She's two minutes late, and the boss saw her. He knows, or he thinks he knows. He yells at her. She yells back. He yells at her twice as loud. He wins. Another day in the office. The secretary tells me my meeting is canceled. So much for the shirt. Lunch time, I eat lunch. I work, typing away at the keyboard, yawning every ten minutes. The new guy keeps on stealing glances at me every time I yawn or move. Whatever. I work until it is time to leave. 6:30 PM. I take the bus back, my usual route.

I come back home. I take my make up off, and slip into shorts and a t-shirt. I throw my wrinkled shirt into the washing machine. I make dinner. I eat while watching TV. North Korea. Influenza. Angry citizens protesting. Angry senators protesting. The president somewhere else, doing something else. Missing children turning up dead after a storm. I wash the dishes.

I decide to make some coffee. Oh shit, did I need to buy milk? Is there enough sugar? I rummage about. I smile. There is just enough milk and sugar to make one perfect cup of coffee.

Holding the cup in my hands, my lips perched on the rim, I sigh into it. I take a sip.

Soon I will wash up, then settle into my bed. I will close my eyes to fall asleep. I will dream.

So goes a day in life.