I had a nightmare about my grandmother yesterday morning. I think that's why I stayed up until four last night cleaning the bathtub.
I shouldn't expect for it to be pristine. I'm living in a student housing complex not the Four Seasons. But how is it that it get's dirty so quickly after I clean it the last time?
In all honesty, it doesn't take that long to clean, but once I was done I climbed in and sat staring at a stain on the tile wall that will not go away.
When I was six my grandmother played Cinderella with me. I'd sit on the kitchen floor and pretend to scrub and she would make her hands crawl around as if they were the little mice in the Disney movie.
It's weird that we never enacted the makeover scene because she was always so well dressed. She was a society girl, my dad tells me, the belle of the ball.
Eventually the light from the bathroom bothered Jason enough that he came in and growled at me to get the hell out.
He apologized when I wandered into the kitchen today at one in the afternoon. I've started cooking eggs with my left hand because my right hand cramps at odd moments.
"I'm bored as hell," I said, as I sat down at the rickety table wedged in the corner of the kitchen. "You wanna go out tonight?"
"Where?" asked Jason, without looking up from his stack of anthropology case studies.
"I don't know...I'm bored."
Jason sighed and leaned back in his chair to study her.
"I'm already meeting Francis at Lit tonight," he said finally. "I know you always whine about being the third wheel..."
"If I'm drunk it won't bother me so much."
Jason sighed and crossed his arms. "You're never drunk."
"What, do you not want me there?"
There was a pause. "Aren't you a little sick of us?"
"Oh, screw you, Jason," I said, pointing my fork at him. "I'm bored and I've been working my ass off, and I deserve a night out. I'm going to Lit tonight. If you happen to be there, we don't have to acknowledge each other." I stabbed into my eggs.
"Well if you're getting drunk I'll have to keep an eye on you."
"I never get drunk," I held my hand in front of my mouth to shield Jason from my mouthful of omelette.
"But I'm taking you home," he said.
"
I shouldn't expect for it to be pristine. I'm living in a student housing complex not the Four Seasons. But how is it that it get's dirty so quickly after I clean it the last time?
In all honesty, it doesn't take that long to clean, but once I was done I climbed in and sat staring at a stain on the tile wall that will not go away.
When I was six my grandmother played Cinderella with me. I'd sit on the kitchen floor and pretend to scrub and she would make her hands crawl around as if they were the little mice in the Disney movie.
It's weird that we never enacted the makeover scene because she was always so well dressed. She was a society girl, my dad tells me, the belle of the ball.
Eventually the light from the bathroom bothered Jason enough that he came in and growled at me to get the hell out.
He apologized when I wandered into the kitchen today at one in the afternoon. I've started cooking eggs with my left hand because my right hand cramps at odd moments.
"I'm bored as hell," I said, as I sat down at the rickety table wedged in the corner of the kitchen. "You wanna go out tonight?"
"Where?" asked Jason, without looking up from his stack of anthropology case studies.
"I don't know...I'm bored."
Jason sighed and leaned back in his chair to study her.
"I'm already meeting Francis at Lit tonight," he said finally. "I know you always whine about being the third wheel..."
"If I'm drunk it won't bother me so much."
Jason sighed and crossed his arms. "You're never drunk."
"What, do you not want me there?"
There was a pause. "Aren't you a little sick of us?"
"Oh, screw you, Jason," I said, pointing my fork at him. "I'm bored and I've been working my ass off, and I deserve a night out. I'm going to Lit tonight. If you happen to be there, we don't have to acknowledge each other." I stabbed into my eggs.
"Well if you're getting drunk I'll have to keep an eye on you."
"I never get drunk," I held my hand in front of my mouth to shield Jason from my mouthful of omelette.
"But I'm taking you home," he said.
"
