Three-thirty strikes and the peace and silence ends. The cling and clangs and bumps and bangs start and here you are, wide awake. There's no blocking out the sound like you would with the sun, merely shifting an arm in the right direction and intercepting the shine in your eyes or hiding under cover in that cozy bed of yours. Now the water is running and chair's scratch the dining room floor and the piano keys are striken and what should be music turns into noise and the irritation continues. Voices fill your head and you wish you had dreamt them up but they are those of your relatives with whom you wish you didn't share a house.
The walls seem thinner and the door has opened itself and the tick and tock doesn't stop. The abundance of sounds becomes unbearable and you finally get out of bed and lock yourself in the bathroom and splash water on your face hoping to wash away your annoyance. As you open the bathroom door after you've freshened up, you hear the voice you don't recognize, the vocal of a Russian lady wishing somebody Merry Christmas and happy holidays and happy new year and the other generic phrases people use as greetings or goodbyes. Less than ten days away, you recall, that red and green day will dawn upon you and you will be forced to fake a smile, pinch your arm to avoid laughter and say the two words to make S.C. proud.
"What is this word, Bangladesh? Where is that?" Grandpa just asked. How do you explain to him a place you are unfamiliar with in a language he understands only under false pretense?
Today should've been day three of recovery. Now we are behind schedule and the pills will have to continue tomorrow. No one has to know.
The walls seem thinner and the door has opened itself and the tick and tock doesn't stop. The abundance of sounds becomes unbearable and you finally get out of bed and lock yourself in the bathroom and splash water on your face hoping to wash away your annoyance. As you open the bathroom door after you've freshened up, you hear the voice you don't recognize, the vocal of a Russian lady wishing somebody Merry Christmas and happy holidays and happy new year and the other generic phrases people use as greetings or goodbyes. Less than ten days away, you recall, that red and green day will dawn upon you and you will be forced to fake a smile, pinch your arm to avoid laughter and say the two words to make S.C. proud.
"What is this word, Bangladesh? Where is that?" Grandpa just asked. How do you explain to him a place you are unfamiliar with in a language he understands only under false pretense?
Today should've been day three of recovery. Now we are behind schedule and the pills will have to continue tomorrow. No one has to know.
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