Author’s Note: Hi there! Here again you catch me with
another one of my concoctions. I take it upon myself not to call it a story
just for the people that might not think it as such. But in any case, it
doesn’t matter. Let me just explain just what it is I came up with here this
time around. Although it should be self explanatory, I’ll explain it anyway.
The text that are italicized are the lyrics to Just Another Day by Paul
McCartney. It’s sort of a reflective thing I’ve got going on now that the end
of the first term has come; I decided to look at my everyday life during that
period of time. And I just thought the lyrics were appropriate for the entire
theme. Of course, I don’t go to work—I go to school, but its work all the same
so I hope you read and enjoy. J
***************************
She lazily lifts her eyelids as she hears her alarm go off.
She releases a sigh and raises an equally lazy hand to grab her cell phone to
turn the alarm off.
“Bloody alarm,” she’d think.
She flips her phone open to see black, bold numbers staring
at her:
“Bloody time,” she’d think.
With much effort and not much consciousness, she gets up
from her bed and stretches her limbs. They hurt, probably from the bed. Her
foot is numb as every morning, but she goes on to close her lamp and opens the
door to go to the bathroom.
She washes her face, brushes her teeth and pulls open the
shower curtain to take a bath. From the other room she could hear two more
alarm clocks going off.
“Turn them off,” she’d think, and gets ready to take bath.
Every day she takes a morning bath
And as the ice cold water hits her, she curses silently.
She wets her hair,
She takes
her time until her entire body wakes up for the day.
wraps a towel around her
as she’s heading for the bedroom chair
She goes
to her room to get dressed for the day with “what to wear?” hanging in her
mind.
And that
is when her day truly begins.
It’s just another day.
Slipping into stockings,
stepping into shoes,
dipping in the pocket of her raincoat.
And by the
time her father revs the engine of their car, she’d have already gotten
dressed, packed her things for the day, eaten breakfast and brushed her teeth
again.
Ah, it’s just another day.
And after thirty
minutes of travel and dropping her brother off at his school, she arrives at
her own school. It is still early and there was nothing to do for class. So she
decides to go to her personal reflection spot; she then looks forward to lunch.
At the office where the papers
grow, she takes a break,
drinks another coffee
At
enjoys the first few hours of the day, but as the third class rolls by, she
finds herself fighting to stay awake or risk getting caught by her teacher. So
to deceive her teacher, she props her hand up and holds a pen, appearing to be
writing notes—at least, she hoped that’s what it looked like.
And she finds it hard to stay awake,
It's Just Another Day. Du Du Du Du Du
And when
classes end, she is thankful. Her friends invite her to eat doughnuts with
them, and she agrees as long as it isn’t raining. Still sleepy, she walks with
her friends, rides the elevator they all hate, walk about a gazillion miles to
the nearest exit of the campus, cross the “cars-could-kill-us” street and
finally arrive at the doughnut shop. And after an hour of cheerful exchange
with her peers: finding out another secret and being told of another
boy-sighting, it’s time to finally make her way home—or, actually, to the place
where she was to be fetched.
So she
goes on across the street once more with two of her friends and they climb the
dreadful stairs to the train station above them. She digs in the pocket of her
jeans to find her train ticket and she slips it in the slot that, in turn, spit
her ticket out.
“Bloody
ticket-thing,” she’d think as she stuffs the ticket back in her back pocket.
She and
her friends, after letting about four to five trains full of people pass,
finally get on one that isn’t quite as full—just pretty packed—and try to keep
their balance as it made its way to the station where they were going.
“Bloody
train,” she’d think as she almost tips over when the train stopped.
It's Just Another Day. Du Du Du Du
Du
And when
she gets off at the station, she and her friends make their way through the
hundreds of people who are all equally fighting their way through to get to the
ticket machine. She tries to avoid contact, as well as getting robbed and slips
her ticket in the ticket machine which, like in the other station, spit her
ticket out. They then battle again climbing the stairway that was so steep, it
seemed to lead up to heaven—at least, she hoped that’s where it led to.
And after
a short walk, she and her friends head to another train station. They push
their way again to pass the check point where they get their bags “checked” by
the security guards. They say about a hundred “excuse me” s before finally
making it through, what seemed like an ocean of people to get to the other side
of the station. They walk down the stairs that led to the trains, encountering
a counter-flow of people who had just gotten off of the train that had just
pulled into the station. She bites her tongue to keep herself from cursing and
breathes a sigh of relief as she and her friends settle into on car of the
train.
It's Just Another Day.
When she reaches
the station she is to get off in, she waves good bye to her friends. The doors
of the train open and that was when her lips parted to utter these words.
“Oh, for
the love of God!” she’d half-shout at the people who shoved their way into the
train. She pushes the man in front of her and she pushes herself free out of
the chaos of the train. She felt relieved, it seemed like the train had given
birth to her, and she pushed as well with much effort.
And so she
is at her destination and waits for her father to fetch her. She doesn’t mind
if he takes long—she is at the mall, after all. However, when she is fetched, she is relieved
all the same. She’s finally going home.
Upon
arriving home, she eats dinner with her family, shares the stories of the day
(which isn’t much since she slept through two classes), and finally goes up to
her room.
So sad, so sad,
sometimes she feels so sad.
She
decides to take another bath before doing anything else. She grabs some house clothes
from her closet and makes her way lazily to the bathroom once more.
Once she
is done, she encloses herself in her room and put on some music as she dries
her hair. She’d then turn on her computer and checks her email and other
accounts to check for any significant changes (which, there usually aren’t).
And, given that she isn’t thinking of the next homework to be done (which she
wouldn’t do either way, anyway), she ponders on her day—her day which she spent
half of being lazy—again.
She
wonders how this became of her. Although there was always something to spice
her day up, it was usually the same old thing—oh, but hey, she wasn’t
complaining. All in all, including the days where she was really lazy, she was
pretty contented on how her life, so far, was. There was no grave problem to
think of and she was living her life for herself and no one else.
Alone in her apartment she’d dwell,
till the man of her dreams comes to break the spell.
Her cell
phone would then beep, and she half-knew who it was already. Everyday, without
fail, he would text her, usually sharing a joke or a deep, random thought—she
enjoyed both all the same. And depending on the joke or the thought, she would
or would not reply to him, the fact that he sent that message to her was enough
to put a smile on her face. Sure, it was a group message thing, but what did it
matter? He made her day (or in this case, her night) happy all the same.
Ah, stay, don't stand around
and he comes and he stays
But he leaves the next day,
The smile doesn’t
last very long. It was enough to last her throughout the night and onto the
next morning. Still, she looked forward to his messages everyday, because it
was one of the many things that made her day feel bright—regardless of its
repetitiveness.
So Sad.
Sometimes she feels so sad.
It’s then
time to go back to reality as she chats with her peers on her computer. She
notices that there is now a group in her list that she talks to now everyday
without fail, while another group seems to just be there. Part of her then
wonders when they ever existed—and then her conscience slaps her. Of course
those friends existed. They still do exist. But it was probably like her
parents had warned her: college splits friends apart. She remembered promising
to herself that she wouldn’t let that happen to her. It may be true that she
had left them all adrift for such a long time without contact, but she believed
that things would be alright whether she talked to them or not. But still…she
should talk to them.
And just before
she could click a name—any name, of any one of her friends in high
school—another window pops up, and it is one of her classmates.
“We have a
bloody essay to write?” she’d shout in her head. And the thought of catching
up, sadly, leaves her mind as she is now filled with the thought of getting a
higher mark on this, once again, last minute essay.
As she posts another letter to the
Sound of Five,
people gather ‘round her
IN the
middle of her writing, or in this case, typing, more windows pop up from her
classmates, all of them asking for different things and asking for different
favors. She, of course, would get frustrated, but entertains their questions
all the same. But she then notices that she is not getting any work done.
And she finds it hard to stay
alive.
Then
drowsiness hits her like a cannon ball. She then can’t think straight and
starts typing gibberish in her essay. And she decides, it is now time to go to
sleep and really complete the essay in, literally, the last minute.
It's Just Another Day. Du Du Du Du
Du
She closes
all the windows in her computer.
It's Just Another Day. Du Du Du Du
Du
She shuts
down her computer.
It's Just Another Day.
She then
brushes her teeth, opens the night lamp and snuggles up in bed. She sets her
alarm for the next day.
So sad, so sad,
sometimes she feels so sad.
She got
nothing done once more. Was neither able to talk to her friends or write an
essay she hoped would end up being top-notch.
Alone in her apartment she’d dwell,
till the man of her dreams comes to break the spell.
At exactly
With that being the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes, she smiles.
It was all good.
Stay, don't stand around
and he comes and he stays
but he leaves the next day,
The smile
vanishes the next day.
So sad.
Sometimes she feels so sad.
She lazily lifts her eyelids
as she hears her alarm go off. She releases a sigh and raises an equally lazy
hand to grab her cell phone to turn the alarm off.
“Bloody alarm,” she’d think.
She flips her phone open to see black, bold numbers staring
at her:
“Bloody time,” she’d think.
With much effort and not much consciousness, she gets up
from her bed and stretches her limbs. They hurt, probably from the bed. Her
foot is numb as every morning, but she goes on to close her lamp and opens the
door to go to the bathroom.
She washes her face, brushes her teeth and pulls open the
shower curtain to take a bath. From the other room she could hear two more
alarm clocks going off.
“Turn them off,” she’d think, and gets ready to take bath.
Every day she takes a morning bath
And as the ice cold water hits her, she curses silently.
She wets her hair,
She takes
her time until her entire body wakes up for the day.
wraps a towel around her
as she’s heading for the bedroom chair
She goes
to her room to get dressed for the day with “what to wear?” hanging in her
mind.
And that
is when her day truly begins.
It’s just another day.
Slipping into stockings,
stepping into shoes,
dipping in the pocket of her raincoat.
And by the
time her father revs the engine of their car, she’d have already gotten
dressed, packed her things for the day, eaten breakfast and brushed her teeth
again.
Ah, it’s just another day.
