Writing about profound instances in one’s life is perhaps the easiest thing to do. Writing about an everyday, marginally pedestrian occurrence- now that is challenging. Recalling intricate details of entirely irrelevant, even forgotten, information seems near impossible; it is akin to recalling characters in a dream. And then, when you remember it, finding a way to write it so that it accurately reflects its own mundane-ness is a challenge unto itself.
I woke up this morning, the alarm buzzed by my ear. I rolled over, tangled in my blankets, to push the off button. It glowed 9:19. I toyed with the minutes, trying to figure out exactly how long I could stay in bed without risking falling back asleep.
My eyes opened. This time I faced my clock. It glowed 9:24.
My eyes opened. My head was buried under my pillow. I sat up. The clock glowed 9:27. I told myself to wake up, abandon the warmth of the heavy blankets, not to be felt again until night. I stretched my arms over my head, arching my back. Then I stood up and stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom.
The sun sank low, behind the trees and the snow was drifting endlessly. Beneath my feet I felt a crunch that was the piles of melted weather, laboring under my step. My bag was heavy, pulling me to the left, and my face hurt with cold. I could hear myself breathing loudly as I climbed back to my building, which stood solidly in front of me.
Cecilia Vatera is an expression of ideas. I post my thoughts and inspirations here, in the expectation that those who read it will question and challenge it, pass it to trusted friends and family who will also challenge it, and then explain to me their contradictory thoughts. Please, let this compilation broaden your way of thinking.