strict machine.

in regards to my life, as is, i'm not too huge of a fan.

i spend each week on a strict schedule. it's a 6:35 wake-up every morning excluding the days that start with "s", followed by a rush to meet standards and self-approval.

typically it involves a shower.

after that, i slink into the clothes that i bought at the stores with the popular brands, slithering into the serpent society wants me to be. i do my hair, i paint my face, i brush my fangs, i am "pretty".

well thank god for that, because only now can i proceed on with my life.

i either find some socks, or put on shoes that don't require them, and clammer down the seven stairs and with enough momentum, push myself through the garage door and into the three-walled ice-box. i pound my four fingers onto that rectangle that opens the garage, and scurry around to the driver's side of my two-door.

and the rest you can imagine. i get to school, i blend into the sea of hairspray and notebooks and neon colors because those are in this season and all the talk about who is getting with who and what's for lunch and did you see what you got on that test because i did really bad and it will most certainly affect your grade and just basically other things that don't matter.

and i get to my locker, which i finally figured out how to open on the first try, and i do just that. i get my things, and i close it, and i walk to class.

apparently this is news to the world, but i have places to be, like first hour, and i'd be more than grateful if you and your herd of swamp manure got out of my way.

so once i proceed through these eight hours of monotony, i am blessed with the brains and ability to dip out on ninth hour. it's really only for the elite, or those with a study hall, but regardless, i fit both of the criteria.

then, i get home, and on days that start with an M or a T, i drive a block away and work all night. i just, work and do things and break down cardboard and hand over hollenbacks and mix cement and sort x-rays and clean things and take out the trash and sit patients and write down abbreviated operations that literally make no sense to the average joe and give people magazines and vacuum out their mouths that are full of spit and water and decay and filth.

and then i go home.

on days that start with W or F or S, i drive exactly five miles to this establishment on the highway. i hardly even have a purpose of clocking in, because by the time that's over with, i'm almost ready to clock out. here, i take orders and clean things and make things out of custard and stock things and talk and be friendly, because i'm extra good at that.

then i drive exactly five miles home and kick my shoes off in the three-walled ice-box because my dog happens to like to lick the bottom of them, and my mom is afraid she is going to chew right through them, and so in an attempt to savor my shoes, they freeze.

welcome back, says my house that hasn't seen me in fourteen hours.
oh hey, i respond, why gee i'm surprised i even remember where you are, being gone so long and all.

my house doesn't say anything. houses can't talk.

and by the time i arrive back, there's usually a dinner i missed. it's never as good when it needs to be reheated. so i slump in my uniform that i am too lazy to pluck off, and i eat whatever wasn't wanted an hour ago, and i watch everyone relax.

half an hour or so later, i begin to look at my homework. depending on interest and general time-consumption, i opt out or opt in, but my mood is a large determinant, and it usually determines that i opt out.

as the hours hit their peak and begin back at one, i decide that i probably should be tired, but i'm not, so in an attempt i change and brush my teeth and take out hair pins and check my phone but there's nothing on it because there never is so i don't really know why i check anyways and turn off my lights and crawl into my bed and wait.

and i actually wait a long time, and i feel like i'm really waiting all night.

i just sit there and wait and think and be cold because my room is absolutely awful temperature-wise, and so i've got to retain my own heat with this lump sum of blankets i've acquired. and somewhere between the heat-retainment and thinking and waiting and watching the green numbers on my digital clock climb and climb,

my alarm goes off, and now it's tuesday.