I slowly open my eyes to my dimly lit room. Damn I wish I could do something about that. I sigh heavily at my melancholic ceiling. I’m not trying to be romantic or artistic when I say ‘melancholic.’ To me, that color of white really is melancholic. Strange, I know, but I’m used to it. If the apartment head would let me, I would like to paint it over with something a bit more worth waking up to. Maybe something quiet, lively, or for an odd start to the day, something sarcastic. Or for you normal people out there: blue, green, or purple.
If you haven’t caught on yet, for me, different colors have different feelings. Hey, a friend of mine learned the alphabet by remembering how each letter felt. If I remember right, ‘p’ is grumpy and ‘e’ is paranoid. I think that way is better than that damned song thing they try and have us sing. It was always a grainy texture for me when the class sang. I learned my alphabet by remembering the color code: ‘a’ is red, ‘b’ is green, ‘c’ is brown, etc.
Once up, I achingly change into my work clothes. A simple business type outfit; unlike the other women at work I usually wear pants and not that skirt thing. The door to my room creaks loudly when I open it. I’d do something about it, but I’m way too lazy to go down to the nearest Home Depot for some WD-40. In the kitchen I make my rounds through my food stashes trying to find the shapes I want to eat. Yesterday I had circles and pentagons, over-easy eggs and toast. I would have had cheese on my eggs, but I didn’t feel like triangles.
I look lopsidedly at my cereal. In general, the cereal I buy usually has a vector taste to it, but when I add milk it tastes more like stars. One time I bought this star shaped cereal, just so it actually looked like I was eating stars. Problem was, the cereal had cinnamon in it and cinnamon has a tendency of adding a point or two. So, I was still eating stars but they were Stars of David. I crack my neck, maybe I’ll go with hyperbolas. And for the record, triangles never mix well with hyperbolas. Which is sad, since I like cheese and scrambled eggs.
Outside the sky is fairly clear, with a few clouds spotting it. My car is your standard middle class sedan. Gets me from A to B, that’s all that I care about. In the car, I scroll through my Ipod playlists for my commute music. Most consists of acoustic guitar, blue grass, female singers, and a few soft rock pieces. It’s like this since they all have a fairly smooth texture to them. One of my favorites is Allison Krauss, her music has the best feeling. Something akin to a century smoothed stone on the bed of a quietly flowing river. Female voices always have a watery feel to them.
The commute is like every other day, except now I have Friday looking over my shoulder like some kind of creepy stalker. At least Saturday is next to me and the rest of the week is plainly visible in front of me. But Friday, it just has to be looming behind me. I would have been fine with it if Monday was the day that loomed; I mean, it’s Monday for Christ sake. At work, I park on the second level in the F section. I usually park there because of the colors. Mauve and turquoise, great combination.
“Morning, Ms. Garner.” My secretary, Julie, greets me as I enter the small waiting room. “Morning.” I wave slightly as I go into my office. I was early and the rest of the floor is usually devoid of coworkers for another hour or so. I work as an editor for a newspaper. I share the office with John, the head editor. He’s a good guy, bad taste in ties though. I mean really bad taste, even with their moods included. I sort of feel sorry for the rest of his clothing. The typical brownish-grey suit, decent colored under shirt and a bright yellow, red spotted tie with stray green lines. Mmm, sexy.
