(no subject)
Kinda interesting.... about when i was little
The sun hadn’t even begun to alight upon me and my Cinderella covers, but the instant I woke up, I knew my mission. I descended the ladder of my bunk bed like an expert trapeze artist, nimbly jumping off the third to last rung and plopping on the ground with a satisfactory thud. Judges held scores - 9.3, 9.7, 9.5 - and I paused to bow and wave to my invisible crowd before I continued on my quest.
Stealth mode kicked in; one loud noise and Dad might wake up, terminating the mission. I slowly snuck out of my room, not forgetting to skip over the tattle-tale footer of the doorway that creaked only when you didn’t want it to. Scanning the premises, I proceeded to walk backwards through the living room, partly in order to keep my eyes on the doorknob of my dad’s room, and partly because I was undoubtedly the best backwards-walker in the first grade, and of course only practice makes perfect.
With only a few stumbles along the way, I finally arrived at my destination. Staggering metal appliances and formidable cabinets loomed ahead; I stretched to reach the light switch which gave off a bleak, incandescent glow to the room. I didn’t bat an eye as I crossed the threshold into this definitively kid-unfriendly zone.
I began to tackle my task step by step, like a SWAT team member systematically deactivates a bomb. First, I barricaded the kitchen entrance with a chair from the dining room, because I couldn’t risk being interrupted by our collie, Smokey. The entire bottom row of cabinets was locked by child safety devices - what a joke - so I slyly dragged another chair over to the counter and stood on it. From there I had no problem scrambling onto the countertop, where the two instruments I needed could be found, all in a top cabinet: a matching dinosaur plate and glass set. Setting these on the countertop, I returned to floor level, where I set down the plate and glass on the floor, and fumbled in a drawer above my head for a knife. I mistakenly grabbed two knives, and as I lifted them out of the drawer, one fell. I froze immediately. Once assured that the loud snoring of my father hadn’t missed a beat, I returned my attention to my mission. I opened the fridge and grabbed the milk (luckily less than halfway full) and the grape jelly. In the pantry I discovered the peanut butter and bread as well. Once all the necessary supplies were set in the center of the kitchen floor, I got to work.
Pouring milk is no easy task when you’re not even as tall as any counters, and especially if you’re not big enough to hold the gallon up with one hand. Nevertheless I poured myself a tall glass, with minimum spillage. Making the PB & J sandwich is much easier in comparison, and I even cut my sandwich in quarters, just like Mom used to. I put all the evidence away where I had found it and my meal was ready to eat.
Nothing would ever taste as good as those secret-mission-early-morning-lunch-food-for-breakfast sandwiches. At a very young age I learned the joy of independence, the fun that can be found in everyday routines, and the sweet taste of accomplishment. I have carried these concepts with me as I have grown, and they helped shape the person I am today. Who knew so much could be learned from a PB&J sandwich?
It's soooo fucking cold outside. I think if an alaskan came here he'd be like, "shit im going home its too cold here" I cant cant cant cant WAIT to go home.... but first I cant wiat to go to Casino nights. oh amyface and your awesome parties. and hanging out with my "new friend" john, cuz i love new people
ergh so much to do, so little time.... onward to homework land
The sun hadn’t even begun to alight upon me and my Cinderella covers, but the instant I woke up, I knew my mission. I descended the ladder of my bunk bed like an expert trapeze artist, nimbly jumping off the third to last rung and plopping on the ground with a satisfactory thud. Judges held scores - 9.3, 9.7, 9.5 - and I paused to bow and wave to my invisible crowd before I continued on my quest.
Stealth mode kicked in; one loud noise and Dad might wake up, terminating the mission. I slowly snuck out of my room, not forgetting to skip over the tattle-tale footer of the doorway that creaked only when you didn’t want it to. Scanning the premises, I proceeded to walk backwards through the living room, partly in order to keep my eyes on the doorknob of my dad’s room, and partly because I was undoubtedly the best backwards-walker in the first grade, and of course only practice makes perfect.
With only a few stumbles along the way, I finally arrived at my destination. Staggering metal appliances and formidable cabinets loomed ahead; I stretched to reach the light switch which gave off a bleak, incandescent glow to the room. I didn’t bat an eye as I crossed the threshold into this definitively kid-unfriendly zone.
I began to tackle my task step by step, like a SWAT team member systematically deactivates a bomb. First, I barricaded the kitchen entrance with a chair from the dining room, because I couldn’t risk being interrupted by our collie, Smokey. The entire bottom row of cabinets was locked by child safety devices - what a joke - so I slyly dragged another chair over to the counter and stood on it. From there I had no problem scrambling onto the countertop, where the two instruments I needed could be found, all in a top cabinet: a matching dinosaur plate and glass set. Setting these on the countertop, I returned to floor level, where I set down the plate and glass on the floor, and fumbled in a drawer above my head for a knife. I mistakenly grabbed two knives, and as I lifted them out of the drawer, one fell. I froze immediately. Once assured that the loud snoring of my father hadn’t missed a beat, I returned my attention to my mission. I opened the fridge and grabbed the milk (luckily less than halfway full) and the grape jelly. In the pantry I discovered the peanut butter and bread as well. Once all the necessary supplies were set in the center of the kitchen floor, I got to work.
Pouring milk is no easy task when you’re not even as tall as any counters, and especially if you’re not big enough to hold the gallon up with one hand. Nevertheless I poured myself a tall glass, with minimum spillage. Making the PB & J sandwich is much easier in comparison, and I even cut my sandwich in quarters, just like Mom used to. I put all the evidence away where I had found it and my meal was ready to eat.
Nothing would ever taste as good as those secret-mission-early-morning-lunch-food-for-breakfast sandwiches. At a very young age I learned the joy of independence, the fun that can be found in everyday routines, and the sweet taste of accomplishment. I have carried these concepts with me as I have grown, and they helped shape the person I am today. Who knew so much could be learned from a PB&J sandwich?
It's soooo fucking cold outside. I think if an alaskan came here he'd be like, "shit im going home its too cold here" I cant cant cant cant WAIT to go home.... but first I cant wiat to go to Casino nights. oh amyface and your awesome parties. and hanging out with my "new friend" john, cuz i love new people
ergh so much to do, so little time.... onward to homework land