Fineliner Stew

4:45 a.m. – Beep. Beep. BEEEEP. BEEEEEEP! My alarm screeches from across the room, taunting my very existence. I roll over. Fuck. The World. Who needs this shit, anyway? Not me. That’s for sure. In an attempt to roll over, I discover my blanket has, yet again, wrapped its non-existent octo-arms around me like a burrito with a death grip. Dammit. I guess I’ll have to fall back asleep like a twisted ogre who sweats too much.

4:46 a.m. – The incessant beeping has stopped. Thank the Fae above. Now to catch some more z’s before Morning, and her infamous glory decides to fuck with me again. I shake my fist as a general warning before I fade, yet again, from this treacherous day.

4:50 a.m. – I am zapped from the candy-riddled clouds I was floating on and plunked into the fiery pits of hell… also known as my bedroom. Morning is back, slapping me in the face with her obnoxious, relentless beeping. Whhhhhhy?

4:51 a.m. – Like a ninja, I jolt from bed, forgetting about the giant burrito-pus clinging to me like seaweed from the darkest bloody shadows of the sea. With a giant THUD, I hit the ground and begin the fight of my life attempting to escape the madness.

4:53 a.m. – I emerge from Hell relatively intact. Morning almost got me, but I lived to see another day. As I plop down in front of my computer, coffee magically in hand, I suddenly get an idea for a tutorial. Fast as a sloth, I rise from my chair with a renewed faith in humanity. Just kidding. That just sounded epic so I added it. My faith in humanity remains next to non-existent during my first cup of morning java.

4:55 a.m. – Crayons fly from the cupboard. Green. Blue. Red. No, not red. I scramble to pick the hideous beast from the ground and toss it out the window. Yellow, Purple, Pink. They’re landing in a scattered pile behind me. Fuck it. I chuck a few more for good measure. Yes. Yes, this will do, I cackle to myself.

4:56 a.m. – Grabbing a pot from the cupboard, I head over to my little crayon pile and get to work. I put the pot on the stove, turn the element to high, and then toss in the crayons, wrappers and all. I can hear them screaming as they pop, crack and melt down into crayon soup. This brings me joy. Then I zip over to get the fineliner markers, all of them, even the red, and toss those in, too.

5:10 a.m. – Smoke billows from my marker stew, threatening to set off the fire alarms. Quick as can be, I remove it from the stove and take a moment to relish in my victory. At long last… I’d understood the importance of blending. Who knew it could be this easy?

5:11 a.m. – T.J. Crayons darts from the bedroom yelling, “Evacuate! The house is on fire!”. I chuckle to myself. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m blending markers with crayons! I call this technique… Tip to Pot. Hah!”

T.J. frowns, clearly not pleased with my new-found blending skills, and heads back to the bathroom.

5:12 a.m. – Time to get ready for work. Until next time…


Author Notes

3 Comments for “Fineliner Stew”

Raymond Tobaygo

says:

Good morning, Anisa

Enjoyed the individual’s daily battle to escape from the shackles of sleep and the morning’s always persistent burdens. Being an early riser I can identify to a point with the trial and tribulations one must face every morning.
Observations:
Thank the Fae above. What is a Fae?
more z’s before (M) (m)orning, danger.
on fire!”(.) I chuckle t

Take care and stay safe,

Ray

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