(Nobody ever looks like this– perfect hair, perfect, nails, shaved legs, cute nightshirt– while chilling in their room… I repeat, nobody.)
An empty pint of Ben & Jerry’s, featuring lukewarm chocolate drippings around the folded white cardboard edge—poop stains, if you will– and a too-big metal spoon threatening to tip the carton over. Abdominal cramps and an expired bottle of ibuprofen with the label peeling off from age, that you noisily knock to the floor when you reach to turn off the lamp with the crooked lampshade that’s slowly turning brown in one spot as it’s burnt by the bulb. Rumpled blue flannel sheets, with a reddish brown stain from the last cycle. Twisted comforter… everything’s warm but not like cozy warm, like awkward warm from a body staying in bed way longer than it should.
A motivational “Listen, write, love” sign hanging drooping and bouncing slowly from when you caught your ponytail on it as you returned from the bathroom and made a beeline for the bed. Looks tacky & forced now in late afternoon daylight, though you love it when you return from a long day in the cold and plug in the Christmas lights to set the white letters aglow.
Real life looks like this: Clean laundry scattered on the floor, pants draped over the shoe-rack and shirt sleeves caught under the crumpled rug. Little flakes of old paper tags and stickers inexplicably stuck to the wood floor. Chargers, headphones, and power cords hanging off the desk… always with the cords. A true “real life” day will inevitably involve tangled cords.
Sweat nestled uncomfortably under your armpit, but not enough to make you get out of bed to fetch the deodorant. What would be the point, it’s not like you’re going anywhere with hair like this—knotted from the frizz of being tossed against the pillow throughout the afternoon in the attempt to stretch this side of your neck, then the other. Oh yeah, the neck. Real life includes neck pain at way too young of an age. This neck pain is whiplash from a car accident, but any neck pain will do. Typing on the computer, lifting heavy boxes or furniture improperly (nobody ever remembers to lift properly, in their daily life), general failure to be physically fit…
Crumbs in the keyboard. Books you “plan to read” piling higher and higher on your nightstand, gathering dust. Where does the dust come from anyway? Empty cups– ringed with that creepy calcium that’s not really supposed to be in your drinking water (which tastes awkwardly sweet)—that you meant to take to the kitchen the last three times you got out of bed but forgot, somewhere in between the neural firing and the swinging your legs (with a droopy too-big neon sock falling off, just clinging on by your big toe) down to the floor.
This is real life. Birds chirping outside in the sunshine that you willingly ignore by pulling down your shade and pretending it hasn’t really hit 4pm without you brushing your slick scummy teeth or answering a single email in your inbox. Well, maybe you answered a single email, but you only did it to prove the day isn’t entirely useless. See? You can be productive and relax too. Now, on to another episode of Game of Thrones…
“Do we have any more ice cream?” you wonder, before putting that thought out of your mind because it’s decidedly too far away for the benefit, and besides you’re trying to tone up for summer… but let’s be honest, you’ll probably only make it there once or twice because you’ll be too busy surfing the web on your computer… who needs real waves when you’ve got wi-fi?
A creeping suspicion that the weekend is almost over, and you neither lived it up nor fully relaxed—opting instead for a day in bed with the silent hum of your warm crum-covered computer making sure that you don’t miss a thing.