Night One:
I think today was a good day. Pretty productive, I might say. She came home, slammed the heavy backpack right next to my left cabinet on the floor, and only watched 30 minutes of randomness on Youtube before she opened a new tab and started her Spanish homework. She only took two half-hour breaks before returning diligently to her work. She had enough time to finish before midnight, and with a satisfied half-smile on her face, proudly turned off the lamp and dragged her feet to her loving bed, just a few feet away.
I wonder if she actually finished that math homework? I wonder what happened at school today that put her in such a productive mood? Did she watch another inspiring episode of Glee again? Whatever the cause, she used the hole puncher twice, she opened the drawer for the stapler once, and hasn’t touched the nail polishes for a week, so far. Good for her!
I wonder when she’s going to get to those magazines on top of me, that have been collecting dust for weeks upon weeks now? Maybe this weekend? The long weekend? Thanksgiving break? Christmas break? Easter? Next summer? Summer after senior year?
There’s so much useless clutter poking out from my shelves that she just can’t bear to throw away. She’s just too sentimental like that. She should really slide out the keyboard tray and get started on that PSAT prep…
Night Two:
Uh oh. Something’s wrong. I can tell by the fact that she watched old Hannah Montana episodes that mean almost nothing to her, while angrily eating chocolate pudding (extra chocolate chips) without a spoon. She startled me when she slammed the door. I wonder what happened today? Why did she procrastinate and not start her homework until 9 PM? She must have been really tired and mopey while she watched Hannah Montana Forever, until she finally slammed the screen down and went to the gym. I noticed afterwards that she was still huffy puffy but did her work straight for 3 hours before collapsing on her bed in a miserable heap.
She didn’t use the hole puncher today; she sent herself an email with her English paper which she promised herself that she’d print out at school tomorrow…if she gets to school early enough.
She restlessly sifted through the tissue box of old receipts and clothes tags, as if wanting to postpone doing work for as long as possible.
She was so tired, she forgot to put the pencils and pens back in their appropriate cups.
When am I gonna get a new home? This room is a little too small for my liking. Also, I’m too close to the window; the light tends to age my wood. I need a brighter color to contrast with my Ipswich Pine wood finish, like cerulean or lavender, like she used to have in her old room.
Come to think of it, she and I have been through everything together, haven’t we?
I remember when she was in third grade; she’d have one binder for every subject. She’ d do her homework the second she got home, and it never took her more than thirty minutes.
I remember the first time she brought home a computer, in 9th grade…it seems like that thing dominates her life these days. As much as I love her and I know she loves me, if she’s gonna maintain a healthy body, we need to be apart. She can’t keep sitting with me for hours everyday; she needs to go outside and breathe fresh air…once in a while.
P.S. I got this writing prompt from “642 Things to Write About”
Cat Zhang 