Euphoria

This morning, after a nice seven-and-a-half hour night of sleep, I woke up to the soft repetition of "The Cost of Resistance" by Xploding Plastix. Following my own resistance and final consent to disrupt the music's continuation, I languidly rolled out of my bed to rid myself of clingy fatigue. Once I set my feet on the Pom stained carpet, I stood still for a while to make sure that my foundation was as strong as I'd wished for it to be today. A good minute went by. My feet agreed to keep me standing and able to walk yet another day. On my way from the bed post to the vanity, I stumbled over a heap of nothing; I've always been a bit clumsy. Maybe my feet hadn't quite abandoned their own fatigue just yet. Luckily, I've tripped over myself plenty of times, so I managed to avoid a complete spill. I once again gathered myself and reestablished my balance. After I had safely made my way to the sink - with my head down to watch my feet take individual steps, parallel to each other - I tied my now semi-long hair up with a thin brown band which never leaves my person, grabbed my face wash to awaken the senses along with my mind, brushed my teeth with my green Pokemon toothbrush and finally, rinsed off my face and took my hair down- all without taking the slightest glance at my reflection. I have become quite accustomed to disregarding the presence of mirrors and going about my life without giving them the due respect of allowing them to serve their primary function: give back to us a smidgen of what we long to know without an ounce of questioning.

Every morning, some ulterior force provides me with yet another moment of life, but regardless of the endless love I have for those moments, I have not shown a fraction of the appreciation which I owe to that ulterior force. Every time a new day commences, the pages of my unwritten schedule close and reopen to the first page, starting at: Wake! Then, the sequence of events continues just as it did this morning; I get out of bed, find my ground, trip a bit, resist the mirror, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. My life could hardly be considered as boring, but repetition has the full capability of agitating, and it has done so in my own existence. To repeat something in one's mind triggers a memory, which creates a habit. Repetition is great for learning and obtaining new information! For life, on the other hand, to repeat is to hinder one's own experience on earth. And when one allows for hindrances to continuously occur in his or her life, life itself becomes something of less value than it would have been otherwise.

This morning, though, my typical schedule went against protocol and consisted of an unexpected violation; I turned away from the vanity, fresh and fully awake, to dress in the unflattering uniform the school presents as my solitary option of attire. Afterwards, I persisted to destroy my hair with a four hundred degree straightener in order to be a bit more pleased with my outward appearance. At last, after filling my autographed book bag with six or seven text books and spiral-bounds, I jumped to my feet and headed toward the door which was only about an inch cracked open. But right as I expanded the space between the door and it's frame, I stopped myself from stepping into the hall, and with a tinge of discomfort, I turned one hundred and eighty degrees to the right and faced myself in that reflective surface, once a pile of sand grains. To my surprise, I stared, and I did so with a bit of content. Another flaw did not leap out at me and carve at my self-esteem as I had expected. A form of remorse for exposing to myself an image which I rather disliked did not blanket my mind. Instead, I moved closer to the mirror and more delicately examined my anitomical features which had previously seemed to be an affliction to me. I saw my hair, and though it had been tortured by unbearable heat, I liked it. I saw my eyes, which have a small difference in shape, and I enjoyed their azure presence. I turned my head ninty degrees to see my nose, which now I know is nearly perfectly straight. Lastly, I turned back to a head-on position, and noticed a smile in the corner of my mouth. I giggled for a while at how silly I had been to hate my appearance for no real reason. I turned around, walked towards the door, flipped the light switch down, and left the room to live my repetition with a bounce in my step.