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The Crossings

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Fiction

A Day

by Brianne Larson

8:01  My alarm is still buzzing causing the vibrations to alert me that another day is beginning.

8:32  I choose to hit the snooze button three more times and my tired body is finally forced to roll over and sit up and get out of bed. I have to get up and get going.

9:03  I have approximately forty-seven minutes to achieve a certain level of perfection, which requires a full face of makeup and putting each blonde hair perfectly into place, yet this Monday morning I barely have enough energy to put on sweatpants. Yet, I rummage through my closet anyways and put on a shirt that cost me $42 but at least I know someone will let me know I look cute today, and for some reason it’s worth all the effort. I seek attention, and validation from other people is affirmation that I am worthy of their attention.

10:07  I sit in chapel and watch from my balcony seat as all the people walk by. I can pick out of the crowd a few people: some of them I hate, some of them I love, and some of them I wish I could switch places with. Why does it always feel like my life is a train that’s about to derail.

10:34  I’m tuning out the chapel speaker not because I’m not interested, but because the last time I listened, he brought up the topic of God being our Father. I lost the ability to see God as a father when my own father skewed my perception on what a father is. In my family, my father destroyed my happiness and abused my purity. I am incapable of imagining God as a father who seeks good for his children when I’ve never been given an earthly picture of what that looks like. So, I question myself and I question faith for 16 more minutes, but the day drags on and that’s all the time I am allowed to dwell on that subject.  I have to keep going but this thought haunts me.

10:57  I bump into my ex. I told him everything. He knows each and every part of who I am. Now he has become someone that I could never trust and never respect. I regret letting him into my life. I regret allowing him to walk through my darkest hours with me. But that was a year ago and my friends have told me I need to move on already. I dismiss the thought as I walk to class. I have to keep going.

11:06  As I finally sit down, I can’t get my mind to focus on what my professor is trying to say. There’s too much going through my head. I’m trying to block out all the anxiety. I have to be able to focus on this. I need to know this for the exam. I take a couple notes, but my mind still wanders back to the fact my grandpa is in the hospital and I have yet to call him. And my mind continues to wander to big life issues, the ones we don’t talk about. But the fact that we don’t talk about them doesn’t change the fact that they are still a part of my reality. But, I have to shut it down, block it out and keep going.

12:24  I sit in the dining commons writing, hoping I see a friendly face. I’m in need of a hug, because today has been exceptionally lonely. I don’t get one, so I stand up, throw out the food I barely touched this noon hour and keep going.

12:56  I sit down in class and take what feels like my first breath of the day. This class feels safe. That’s my favorite word and I probably use it too much but it’s the only way I can describe how my heart feels when I enter a space where I can let down my guard and let down my facade of perceived perfection and just be. There is no rush here, there’s a tranquility and a sense of peace. I can focus on the doing, instead of the going.

2:07  I rush into my last class of the day 2 minutes late. I am in the home stretch. This class is where I check my emails. I have 17 of them. Two are reminders that even though class ends at 3 pm, I still have commitments and responsibilities. I sigh, and cause the person in front of me to turn around. I smile at her as if to say “It’s alright.” Yet, to me it’s not because tonight I have to keep going.

3:11  I go see Taryn. She’s my saving grace. When life feels heavy and I am overwhelmed, she helps me breath and gives me the energy to keep moving. She’s my safe person and I know I pay her to listen to my problems, but I think she still would care regardless. She’s a phenomenal human. We talk, like we always do. I sit in her big comfy chair with my legs tucked up to my chest as she listens. And somehow, by listening, she makes the problems I face fade away. I know I can keep going.

4:47  My beige Ford Focus has seen me in my finest and darkest hours. It holds me as I cry. It zooms along as I blare the radio and have a mini jam session. The 8 minutes it takes me to get to work have become my favorite 8 minutes of every day. For those 8 minutes life is just blurring by me, and I do not have to be anyone or go anywhere. It’s just me. I no longer worry about the going or the doing. But 8 minutes is not very long, and I have to keep on going.

5:01 I walk into work, and place the hat on my head and a smile on my face as I clock in.

10:27 I finally clock out and find my way to my car.

11:42 I’ve been going all day. I have expanded all my energy. I am drained and exhausted. I curl up into a ball and lay my head on my pillow to get 6 hours of sleep before tomorrow comes and I have to keep going.

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