A Year of time a day
It may seem peculiar, to undergo an entire year in one day without ever leaving my home. Regardless, the slow passage of time can be ones greatest enemy in such circumstances.
Waking up in the morning, my head is cloudy with unfinished thoughts from the night before, and slight whispers of different dreams I had. Sometimes, I am able to tolerate sitting in my room for about five minutes to contemplate my darkest thoughts and nightmares. More times than not though, I am overcome by this fogginess and I find an escape at the bottom of a brown black drink of caffeine. With something warm in my system and an energetic stimulant running through my veins, I get dressed and head downstairs to run on the treadmill.
Someone had once asked me if I ran because I enjoyed it, or if I simply ran because I liked to compete in races and stay in shape for looks. I think of this question every time I head downstairs on a cold day to run on the treadmill. During these dreary moments I hate running, but it feels compulsory and necessary. I cannot skip a day. After all, with the plans I have for my future I must stay in shape.
I think about my discomfort as I get on the treadmill and quicken my pace to reach my goal for a 5k run. My calves are killing me, and I haven't had enough coffee for this. The music I decided to play is beginning to bore me, but I don't want to change it because it will be bore me more. I think I am getting a side stitch, and I think the brown walls in the downstairs gym are ugly.
About 2 miles into my run, I'm going too fast for my usual goal. I cannot help it though, for I wish strongly to finish quickly and go about my other business. Regardless, I am doing just fine even though I am tired. In fact, I think my leg began to hurt a little less at the half way mark, and the song changed to one of my favorites a few moments before. I am now 2.25 miles in, and I am going far too fast to finish. My head feels light, and my legs are screaming at me for moving them so quickly. Alas! I do not stop. I go faster, and I imagine that I am running from something. I am running from my nightmares, from my traumas, and from my darkest moments. All three of these things come together into one giant evil doppleganger, and I then realize what I am running for and from. I am running away from all of my problems through this strange form of coping. I hate to admit though, that in most cases these problems are not terrifying and giant. In all reality, these dark things often take the image of a crying young girl who just wants help understanding life. Instead, like everyone in else in the world, I adjust the way she looks in my reality so that I have a good excuse to make myself a victim of her. This thought runs through my head as I reach 2.9 miles. As soon as I reach three, I stop and turn around. The girl is no longer there, and I am in the gym alone once again.
I give myself a moment to catch my breathe before I walk slowly up the stairs, making sure to count each step. There are 23 stairs. The fourth stair creaks too much, and I need to clean all of them for they are rather dirty. By the 12th stair I feel like I have been walking up forever.
I grab me a small snack and I take a warm shower before starting school. Opening my laptop and signing into my school account, I think of how bored I have become of the monotony. How I wish I could find the time between my perpetual studies to go outside! I look out the window, to see snow falling freshly on the ground. I could not help but recall the days I used to rejoice at the sight of snow and run desperately to play in it. When I caught focus again, I looked at my laptop and exited from my school account. Not today. Instead, I went about browsing the web, and I found 'the prose.com' and the first question it had asked me was, "What it it like to be you?" Below this question were words saying, "walk me through one day in your life."
Well, from here on I will more than likely realize I have priorities and go back to school. At around 2 p.m. I will clean the house, and I will make me an early dinner of soup and chicken at 3. My family will come home around then, and they will hug me and tell me about their day. One brother will offer my a baseball and ask if I could play catch in the snow with him, and my mother will interrupt saying that he's crazy for even asking such a question. My other brother will head downstairs to take a nap, and my mother will head to her room and do the same. After about 7 minutes of conversation, I will more than likely be standing in the kitchen alone and in silence. Looking at the soup I just finished making, I realize that I am not even hungry. I will then go to my room and work on my writing until 2 am.
This here, is how I spend my life on the daily. Every day being only 24 hours, but somehow going as slow as a year. Just like most everyone else, I spent my days thinking about what could have been instead of what is, and I suffer accordingly.