Unmotivated

The radio pierces through my dreams.

Or maybe it’s my nightmares, I never seem to remember anymore. We’ve come a long way from the days when my college roommate, Holley, used to holler “Karen, it’s your fucking alarm!” Now, Jake turns from one side of the bed to the other and I’m wide awake. I don’t dream anymore. I don’t really sleep anymore.

The radio is yelling. The dial is in between stations, but close to one so that the music mixes with static. The volume is turned up so high that it makes me jump out of my skin. I pound the tabletop savagely until the room is once again silenced. If I keep my eyes tightly closed, I can postpone the inevitable.

At least for another seven minutes.

The radio comes alive once more and I show it who’s boss. But it’s not whipped into shape, it takes only another seven minutes for it to commence its nagging. I pound it twice more before I give up. At this point, I have eight minutes to make it out the door. But I don’t jump off the bed. I lie there with my eyes open, staring at the patterns on the ceiling.

As a child I always envied the kids with stars on their ceilings. With my less than stellar eyesight, I was unable to see my own hands at night, let alone a pair of florescent constellations. After my eye operation, I went out and bought a set of my own. Now I can stare at star whenever I wish to, even in New York City.

Even at nine A.M.

I finally drag myself into the bathroom, eyelids shut. Reaching for the bubble gum toothpaste, I move my arm up and down and side to side, like a well trained robot. I take my time because I know that I will need to open my eyes to brush my hair and I’m not ready just yet. I can hear the minutes ticking. The fear that I might have a 9:30 meeting grips me and I drop the toothbrush, wash out my mouth and comb my hair within a split second.

I race back to the bedroom and thank my lucky stars that I shaved last night. The long black skirt picks me and I throw on a white shirt and dig into my black shoes, I grab my bag, throwing in the keys on the way out. I yell back to the birdie, “See you tonight, Cupcik.”

Hailing a cab, I check my wallet and the time simultaneously. 9:15, I’ll make it in on time.

I dig into my bag and pull out my second most precious electronic item. I press play and turn the volume to twenty. The music takes over my soul.

This might be a good day after all.

Previously? The Need for Speed.