A day in the dull and boring life of an eighteen year old sloth
Disclaimer: If you have anything better to do with your time then please scroll ahead and don't read about my uneventful day.
My alarm clock goes off. I turn around, my body still feeling heavy and my brain still feeling sleepy. There were zombies in the dream i had. There were always zombies. I could dream about pleasant things like being an all powerful witch and wreaking havoc on the world and there those buggers would be, lurching towards me, craving my very tasty brains. Takes all the fun right out off dreaming.
The alarm is still beeping. I hit the snooze button and snuggle deeper under my blanket. It's nice and warm under here. No doubt it will be freezing cold in my room. I poke out a foot to investigate and yeah I am right. I want to stay in my warm bed, but I know that I can't. Bummer.
Downstairs I put my blanket on the nice soft couch that I usually sit on in the mornings and I lay under it for a moment. My brother says that I like sitting under my blanket in the morning because I am an insecure girl and the blanket is my safety guard that I hold unto for as long as possible until I have to go out into the mean cold world. He's wrong. I do it because I am just that lazy.
After eating a sandwich at the dinner table I scurry back to the couch and pick up the book I am currently reading. (Terry Pratchett's Small Gods) About four pages in my mother lurches into the living room. Mine is a family that doesn't function socially until we are fed enough coffee. Or alcohol in different circumstances.
We mumble good mornings to each other and she goes to make some coffee. I would have done this already if it wasn't for the fact that I am forbidden to come even near the coffee machine since the incident last spring where I managed to make the last one we had explode.
I eagerly drink from my steaming cup of coffee and talk with my mother. After some small talk she breaches the subject of my future. I hate talking about my future with my mom. Mainly because I can't really picture my future and also because my mom just isn't the type of person I want to discuss it with. Now don't get me wrong, I love her and all, but I just can't stand the fact that she expects me to be the next prime-minister or something like that. My planning for the future comes down to me catching the bus that leaves in an hour.
"You know, I'd always be happy if you are happy. I don't care if you are selling sausages at the Hema for a living. (This is a proverb used by parents and teachers all over the Netherlands. It's supposed to make kids want to learn more and work hard because otherwise they would get stuck with a sucky job at the Hema, selling sausages. This proverb had the opposite effect on my, since I figured that if I were a employee I would get discount on those yummy sausages the Hema sells.)
"Uhuh." I answer.
"Are you happy? Are you Marijke?"
I shrug.
"I don't think you are ...... When are you going to send one of your stories in to a publisher?"
I shrug again.
I'm a writer ..... Well I want to be a writer. The only problem is I can't write. Anytime I reread some of my work I have this urge to burn the paper it is written on, feed the ashes to a goat, put the goat on a boat to a faraway country and then nuke said country. The reason why I haven't given in to this urge is obvious, where on earth do I get a goat who would consent to all of this.
The rest of my morning goes by fast. A bit too fast. Next thing I know I need to hurry up and get dressed. My Snoopy PJ's are rather cute, but not exactly suited for a learning environment. So I stand in front of my closest. With an horrified look on my face. You see, all of my pants are in the washer. This isn't a bad thing in general, since I do own some rather pretty skirts that I could easily wear, if it weren't for the fact that I haven't shaved my legs in quite some time.
Thanks to me being lazy and me not having worn anything that shoes leg for over a month I am about as hairy as the Wolfman post transformation.
A quick shave is definitely out of the question, since I only have ten minutes until my bus leaves. Fuck it, I think as I pull my knee length black skirt from it's hanger. I'll put on my knee length, flat heeled boots with the skirt so that my offensive hair legs are out of the public eye. If River Tam can pull of this look then so can I!
Five minutes later I am sitting in my bus, mp3 on, staring out of the window. My mp3 is filled with the most diverse songs you van imagine. From the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack to Disney's The Lion King soundtrack. From Eminem to The Filthy Youth. I can proudly say that my mp3 suffers from multiple personality disorder.
It's only a thirty minute commute to Amsterdam, my nations capital, an international den of sin and the place where my university is seated. Ironically I learn about laws and crimes in a part of Amsterdam where the law is broken almost every minute of every day; the Red Light District.
I don't go straight to school, since I still have to pick up a book that I have been meaning to pick up for over two weeks now. On the way to the bookshop I shout and wave to a person across the street who I am certain is my best friend. Turns out to be a very feminine looking emo boy. Oops.
Inside the bookstore I gaze up at the stairs and take a deep breath before I make that long climb to the fifth floor where law books are displayed. Like I said earlier, I am lazy. Sloth isn't a sin for me but a lifestyle. I make it up the stairs without breaking out in a sweat, which is a reason to give myself a pat on the back. I pay for the book (33 euros for something I will probably only use twice in my studies) and walk back down.
I decide that I have enough time to go and stroll around the Kalverstraat. Whilst sipping from my frozen cappuccino with hazelnut flavor I decide that River Tam can pull the skirt with combat boots combination because she can kill people with her mind. Me, I'm just looking a tad ridiculous. Nevertheless I strut my stuff like I am a contestant on ANTM past the two coffee shops (the special kind) on my way to my building.
Me and about every female in the building decide to take a pee before classes start.
On the wall of the cubicle I am in there is an advert that I think is rather fishy. It says something along the lines of: "Are you a young woman in need of help? I am a male student who just graduated and who would love to help you out. I do repairs, housework and help with homework. I also am quite good at giving massages. I charge 5 euro's an hour, but you can pay less if you want. Contact me at ........." I scribble 'You're gonna get raped.' under it.
Taking my seat in the enormous lecture hall, I look up at the person who is going to give a lecture about International Public Law today and a wave of dread washes over me. Judging by the way she looks (Make-up plastered on as if she were a painting, clothes that are too thigh and a pair of glasses that is clinging on for dear life at the tip of her nose) I can tell it's going to be a boring lecture.
I'm right.
The lecture was so boring that when I get home all thoughts of making my homework for tomorrow (about the subjects discussed in today's lecture) are being stoned to death inside my brain by the rest of my thoughts. So I go and check my Dutch blog. Nobody replied to my witty blog about the new tv show Merlin that is running on the BBC.
I manage to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day. I read all kinda of useless stuff online, eat dinner and watch some tv.
It's half past ten now and I am sitting in the bathtub shaving my legs. My brother shouts something from his room up in the attic that I can't quite make out, and because it startled me I cut off a large chunk of flesh from my leg. I curse and try to stop the bleeding with a piece of cotton.
This reminds me of the last scene in the movie the DaVinci code (I am pretty sure it was also in the book, but I am in no mood to check it) where the main character played by Tom Hanks cuts himself shaving and thereby solves the mystery of where Maria Magdelena's body is buried. The movie ends with him kneeling on top of one of the inverted pyramids in front of the Louvre.
I am kneeling too. I dropped my bottle of night cream and it has rolled under my bed, having emptied it's contents on my wooden floor. I sigh and clean it up.
My alarm clock goes off. I turn around, my body still feeling heavy and my brain still feeling sleepy. There were zombies in the dream i had. There were always zombies. I could dream about pleasant things like being an all powerful witch and wreaking havoc on the world and there those buggers would be, lurching towards me, craving my very tasty brains. Takes all the fun right out off dreaming.
The alarm is still beeping. I hit the snooze button and snuggle deeper under my blanket. It's nice and warm under here. No doubt it will be freezing cold in my room. I poke out a foot to investigate and yeah I am right. I want to stay in my warm bed, but I know that I can't. Bummer.
Downstairs I put my blanket on the nice soft couch that I usually sit on in the mornings and I lay under it for a moment. My brother says that I like sitting under my blanket in the morning because I am an insecure girl and the blanket is my safety guard that I hold unto for as long as possible until I have to go out into the mean cold world. He's wrong. I do it because I am just that lazy.
After eating a sandwich at the dinner table I scurry back to the couch and pick up the book I am currently reading. (Terry Pratchett's Small Gods) About four pages in my mother lurches into the living room. Mine is a family that doesn't function socially until we are fed enough coffee. Or alcohol in different circumstances.
We mumble good mornings to each other and she goes to make some coffee. I would have done this already if it wasn't for the fact that I am forbidden to come even near the coffee machine since the incident last spring where I managed to make the last one we had explode.
I eagerly drink from my steaming cup of coffee and talk with my mother. After some small talk she breaches the subject of my future. I hate talking about my future with my mom. Mainly because I can't really picture my future and also because my mom just isn't the type of person I want to discuss it with. Now don't get me wrong, I love her and all, but I just can't stand the fact that she expects me to be the next prime-minister or something like that. My planning for the future comes down to me catching the bus that leaves in an hour.
"You know, I'd always be happy if you are happy. I don't care if you are selling sausages at the Hema for a living. (This is a proverb used by parents and teachers all over the Netherlands. It's supposed to make kids want to learn more and work hard because otherwise they would get stuck with a sucky job at the Hema, selling sausages. This proverb had the opposite effect on my, since I figured that if I were a employee I would get discount on those yummy sausages the Hema sells.)
"Uhuh." I answer.
"Are you happy? Are you Marijke?"
I shrug.
"I don't think you are ...... When are you going to send one of your stories in to a publisher?"
I shrug again.
I'm a writer ..... Well I want to be a writer. The only problem is I can't write. Anytime I reread some of my work I have this urge to burn the paper it is written on, feed the ashes to a goat, put the goat on a boat to a faraway country and then nuke said country. The reason why I haven't given in to this urge is obvious, where on earth do I get a goat who would consent to all of this.
The rest of my morning goes by fast. A bit too fast. Next thing I know I need to hurry up and get dressed. My Snoopy PJ's are rather cute, but not exactly suited for a learning environment. So I stand in front of my closest. With an horrified look on my face. You see, all of my pants are in the washer. This isn't a bad thing in general, since I do own some rather pretty skirts that I could easily wear, if it weren't for the fact that I haven't shaved my legs in quite some time.
Thanks to me being lazy and me not having worn anything that shoes leg for over a month I am about as hairy as the Wolfman post transformation.
A quick shave is definitely out of the question, since I only have ten minutes until my bus leaves. Fuck it, I think as I pull my knee length black skirt from it's hanger. I'll put on my knee length, flat heeled boots with the skirt so that my offensive hair legs are out of the public eye. If River Tam can pull of this look then so can I!
Five minutes later I am sitting in my bus, mp3 on, staring out of the window. My mp3 is filled with the most diverse songs you van imagine. From the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack to Disney's The Lion King soundtrack. From Eminem to The Filthy Youth. I can proudly say that my mp3 suffers from multiple personality disorder.
It's only a thirty minute commute to Amsterdam, my nations capital, an international den of sin and the place where my university is seated. Ironically I learn about laws and crimes in a part of Amsterdam where the law is broken almost every minute of every day; the Red Light District.
I don't go straight to school, since I still have to pick up a book that I have been meaning to pick up for over two weeks now. On the way to the bookshop I shout and wave to a person across the street who I am certain is my best friend. Turns out to be a very feminine looking emo boy. Oops.
Inside the bookstore I gaze up at the stairs and take a deep breath before I make that long climb to the fifth floor where law books are displayed. Like I said earlier, I am lazy. Sloth isn't a sin for me but a lifestyle. I make it up the stairs without breaking out in a sweat, which is a reason to give myself a pat on the back. I pay for the book (33 euros for something I will probably only use twice in my studies) and walk back down.
I decide that I have enough time to go and stroll around the Kalverstraat. Whilst sipping from my frozen cappuccino with hazelnut flavor I decide that River Tam can pull the skirt with combat boots combination because she can kill people with her mind. Me, I'm just looking a tad ridiculous. Nevertheless I strut my stuff like I am a contestant on ANTM past the two coffee shops (the special kind) on my way to my building.
Me and about every female in the building decide to take a pee before classes start.
On the wall of the cubicle I am in there is an advert that I think is rather fishy. It says something along the lines of: "Are you a young woman in need of help? I am a male student who just graduated and who would love to help you out. I do repairs, housework and help with homework. I also am quite good at giving massages. I charge 5 euro's an hour, but you can pay less if you want. Contact me at ........." I scribble 'You're gonna get raped.' under it.
Taking my seat in the enormous lecture hall, I look up at the person who is going to give a lecture about International Public Law today and a wave of dread washes over me. Judging by the way she looks (Make-up plastered on as if she were a painting, clothes that are too thigh and a pair of glasses that is clinging on for dear life at the tip of her nose) I can tell it's going to be a boring lecture.
I'm right.
The lecture was so boring that when I get home all thoughts of making my homework for tomorrow (about the subjects discussed in today's lecture) are being stoned to death inside my brain by the rest of my thoughts. So I go and check my Dutch blog. Nobody replied to my witty blog about the new tv show Merlin that is running on the BBC.
I manage to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day. I read all kinda of useless stuff online, eat dinner and watch some tv.
It's half past ten now and I am sitting in the bathtub shaving my legs. My brother shouts something from his room up in the attic that I can't quite make out, and because it startled me I cut off a large chunk of flesh from my leg. I curse and try to stop the bleeding with a piece of cotton.
This reminds me of the last scene in the movie the DaVinci code (I am pretty sure it was also in the book, but I am in no mood to check it) where the main character played by Tom Hanks cuts himself shaving and thereby solves the mystery of where Maria Magdelena's body is buried. The movie ends with him kneeling on top of one of the inverted pyramids in front of the Louvre.
I am kneeling too. I dropped my bottle of night cream and it has rolled under my bed, having emptied it's contents on my wooden floor. I sigh and clean it up.