Wake upon hearing the metallic ring of water through the pipes. The sound of music permeating two doors, and a wall.

I know already how the day is going to go, just rush, just rush, just rush. Not always busy, just spurts of rush. Never time to think, to decide. It's the here and now kid, you've got to get up and go, go, go.

Blink at the jaundiced light illuminating the bedroom. Smack my lips, taste a mouth as dry as bones. Fumble with and shift the papers covering the clock, until they cascade off onto the wrinkled clothes on the floor. Up an hour earlier than planned. Is there any point in trying to go back to sleep now?

I could get a head start, I could organize the desk, I could have some breakfast, and I could look like I didn't just roll out of bed. All these things, I am very well capable of. Doesn't mean I want to. Doesn't mean I will. Productivity has never been one of my strong suits.

Lie half naked under tangled bed sheets. Contemplating, arguing with myself, as to why I need to do all of these things. All this time, just watching the light creep over cracks in the ceiling.  This is a very productive use of time.

"Bad with time management" in cold, straight letters, sans serif, on a pastel paper staring back at me. That's what the report cards always said when I was a kid. I've been judged from the very beginning by my ability to utilize and squeeze every drop of a moment out of a second. Am I always rushing because of my (lack of) time management? Or because I feel that quality is more important over quantity? This world doesn't give a damn about quality anymore.

The bones in my left leg grind and pop, while stretching and kicking off the mess of linens. Gasp as the rush of cold morning air hits my skin. 20 minutes until the alarm goes off, should I just turn over?

I don't want to get up and deal with them. Petty, and childish as it may seem, the irritation hardly seems worth the effort of getting up and pulling clothes over my head, and over my feet. Getting out and vying for the approval of people that just exasperate me seems pointless, and counterproductive.

I don't want to go today, Mom. Can I just stay home today?