5am-3pm

I am sick and tired of sitting in front of my broken down six inch television watching infomercials for shit diet pills at three in the morning while doing curl-ups and crossing my fingers that the twelve I took for breakfast, lunch, and dinner that day are doing their job.

I woke up unknowing of the time, as per always. The Spider-Man blanket I keep strewn over my bedroom windows is there for a reason, and maturity isn’t it. I crawled up the stairs and started to brew enough coffee to caffeinate the entire North East. I slid down onto the cold tile floor and realized it was spotless. I had almost forgotten I spent hours scrubbing away at my apartment until the orange sunrise slipped through the windows. I don’t know why I do these things. Last week I purposely destroyed my entire closet just for the satisfaction of laying in the mess of clean laundry. Spring fresh scent. Too much time on my hands. I peered over the counter to see the coffee pot filled to the brim. I got onto my knees and slowly opened the cabinets. Spotless. Every mug just seemed too small. I sat back down on the ground and pushed open the pantry, grabbing a mixing bowl. I glanced at the clock on the stove. 3:14pm. What had my life come to? Alphabetizing the refrigerator at 4am and coffee in mixing bowls. I got up, placed the bowl on the table. Spotless. I closed the curtains. I fumbled around for the hundreds of lighters I thought I had. Useless. Grabbing a book of matches I lit up the six candles around the room, including the cigarette I had hid in the telephone book drawer a few days prior. Hiding things from myself. I flipped up my laptop, cracked and busted. Another reminder of too many drunken nights. As if I needed another. I just sat there at the kitchen table. Spotless. And yet such a mess at the same time.