I go and I go and I go, and then without warning, I crash. With the lights on, and my flip-flops, too. I know these sleeping habits are disordered. Three o’ clock in the afternoon to eight o’ clock at night can’t exactly be classified as a nap. Personally, I would not be content with a restricted, scheduled, and organized nap; or a restricted, scheduled, organized life for that matter. I relish every moment of the mess that is my life. I believe in the beauty of chaos.
My bedroom is a rugged terrain. A mixture of clean and dirty clothes, towels, papers, shoes, dog toys, jewelry, cd’s, candy wrappers, and other daily essentials create a pseudo-carpet on top of my actual carpet. I sometimes wish I knew the color of my bedroom carpet, but not knowing gives it some sauce, some excitement, some chaos…
For practically no reason at all, I rarely travel at the speed limit. At an average of ten over, I live on the edge; I let the wind bite at my skin as I weave through traffic, sans blinkers of course. The thrill of my bordering-reckless habits keep me alter at the wheel. I probably keep other driver’s on their toes, too.
I find myself driving about ten over on East Shore Rd. with my three best friends yet again. We are listening to a song, but it is indistinguishable. Not that it matters, any song will do. We’ll sing. Actually sing is an understatement, we belt the lyrics as loud as our voices will allow. And then we stop, look around at one another and laugh. Without cause, uncontrollable laughter possesses our bodies for minutes, the laughter I can feel in my abs. In the frenzy I throw my head back on the car seat. This chaotic feeling is my comfort, my own natural artesian well of freely-flowing happiness (or something wild like that).
I go into my house at the end of the night with barely enough time to kick off my flip-flops before my two dogs jump up on my stomach and bite at my hands. My smaller dog, Harry Potter (bizarre, I know), takes one of my flip-flops hostage and runs around the kitchen as fast as he can. He knocks over his own water dish and proceeds to run through the living room where I catch him and grab my slobbery sandal back. I touch him lovingly behind both of his ears. I love this mess.
I am up at 6:45 a.m. No shower, no make-up, no hairbrush, and I’m off. No better way to start my day than in this hectic style. I would not be content under different circumstances. I drive to school even more speedily than usual and am to choir by 7:10. Only ten minutes late, I walk in and flash a smile to my fellow choir members and they shake their heads at me in reply, knowingly.
I believe that the absolute rush and thrilling excitement of my chaotic life makes it worthwhile.
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