I am Normal: Part 1

As my eyes languidly blinked open, a shy ceiling fan flickered to view, gently swiveling about in adagio. I moved my fur-blanket off of myself and onto my side, before I unwillingly rose to sit on my bed. Still half-asleep, I hoped that the feeling of water streaming down my throat would energise me for the long day ahead; can’t say it fully worked since my body still felt like it was in Neverland. Nonetheless, I lifted my body off of the sole refuge where I can truly find solace. As I placed the cup of water back on the end-table adjacent to me, a photograph of my parents and I graciously made itself known to me.

I stood centred on a grey empty background, and with the exception of a slight wince in my eyes, a dead vacant glare varnished my face, on which comfortably rested a left black eye. If I could recall, I was in a fight or something prior. Boy was that fun to explain to my parents. My mother perched left of me, embracing my arm; her fingers cradling and feminal, yet frigid & anemic. Her face notably chock-full of makeup, adorned with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. To be fair, it is quite difficult to present a genuine smile at will. My father, on the other hand, plonked himself right of me, gripping my shoulders with such degree, creases began materialising upon my flannel shirt. He had always been a stern and astringent man, this time being no different with his thousand-yard stare. The image burnt into my mind, a subtle smile having crept up on me. Tick, tick, tick; the cuckoo clock on the wall abruptly became audible; the clock struck eight-thirty. I could not spare more time idling.

As I spritzed and splashed the running water upon my heavy eyes, the somnolent drowsiness of the morning slinked away. I left the tap to flow as I reached for my brush and paste. Applying only the optimum amount, I began thrusting away the bacteria and plaque, leaving no wedge nor surface unfouled. After a minute or two of the same action, it was time to shower. The notion that many start their day smelling like a pair of wet socks frankly disgusts me. Anyways, I soon left to get started with my wo-


“Grumble”


Oh, I suppose I’ll need to eat my breakfast first. I trudged over the wintry ceramic ground, inching my way to the pantry, every step ever more awakening. I opened the fridge to see a morbid amount of food - a single stale loaf of bread and a few cartons of milk gracing it. A call for a journey to the grocery-store. I hastily took the loaf of bread and a butterknife to make my go-to breakfast - a Nutella spread sandwich. A chocolaty bliss lingered in my buds, sensations of savoury and crunch enticed the mind. Two loaves of bread, a tube of toothpaste, apples, tissue, bleach… I think that’s it? I slipped on some sandals, exited my house, and closed the door.


“Click”


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Gradually, as if emerging from the depths of a slumber, the world costively fluttered into mind; my retinas parched and singed, urging me to rush to the sink. I inclined, blankly staring upon a white canvas wall in front of me. I stretched my arms to reach the glass of water. I feel… something; a foreign texture; wooden, jagged and knotty. That’s… not my cup. I gyrated onto the end table next to me, realising I had overreached and instead grabbed the photograph of me and my parents. I lied perplexed, bewildered, frozen-in-time before lightly placing it face-first on the end table. I clutched the cup with both hands, quenching my thirst with a long-awaited sip of water.


I languorously rose from my bed, still heavily blinking from inertia, and gravitated towards the bathroom.


“Crunch”


Oh right, there was trash on the ground, wasn’t there? For now, I couldn’t be bothered to do something so annoying like cleaning. Instead, I just kicked aside the red plastic cup and continued pacing my way to my destination, crunching upon the wrappers and crumbs. As I got closer and closer, I diverted a few more pieces of trash - trash of used tissues, empty cartons of milk, and dirty plastic bags. I’ll clean it up, I promise, just… later.


I stood absent-mindedly over the sink, blankly staring into what had become of me. Once, a clean and proper man. Once diligent, once punctual, I ensured my house was immaculate - no spots of dirt or grime, every nook-and-cranny done and dusted. What more of myself. But now? It's filthy… my face housed an unkempt beard, countless sleepless nights symbolised by my deep eye bags, my physique and strength at an all-time low. Whatever. I’m sure I’ll bounce back soon. For now though, I can’t be bothered.


Ripping my line of sight from the mirror, I once again twisted the tap and splashed water on my face, as if in an attempt to rub away all that was wrong with me. I scrubbed away the dust and oil on my face, as well as the eye crust that built up over the course of the night, but to no avail. Through the eye bags emblematised a constant reminder of what I have become. I scurried away from the bathroom, if only not to look at myself any longer.