*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1876420-Le-sucre-me-rend-malade
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: · Monologue · Opinion · #1876420
Lack of sleep with two spoons of sugar and this is what you get
The sugar in my coffee has sunk to the bottom of the plastic cup. It is thick, brown, and very tempting to scoop out. The crimson lipstick I applied now paints the rim of this cup. The cup is light yellow. The coffee cost me a dollar. It is Nescafe with milk. I never asked for sugar. That is why I didn’t eat the sugar. There will be no forceful sugar consumption, stupid coffee machine. Who do you think you are?

I think I have a cold. Everyone in university is sneezing, congested noses; air of pneumonia generated as curricula is distributed. I am tired, worn out; I crammed for a business exam. I think I might have aced it. Was it worth it? I feel like shit.
I need some OJ. Pun intended. Those are my boyfriend’s initials; incidentally, it stands for Orange Juice, which is the remedy to my feeling-like-shitness. Some Vitamin C.

I had an orange this morning though, crack o’dawn. Woke the house up, not like that affected anyone’s REM cycle though. Heavy sleeping is genetic, if not, requisite for membership in my family.
This university sickens me with its sick students and arrogance. Its superficiality, which alienates, and divides. “Lower gate, upper gate”. Smoking sections reflect socio-economic status, political affiliations, degree of popularity.

I often doubt my choices. I question their point of origin, whose persona they reflect. The old me, the new me, the insecure me, the confident me, the naïve me. Every fucking facet of me has led to a stupid choice. It’s just a matter of which one has fucked me over the most.

It’s weird how Nescafe is recognizable by Word’s dictionary, so is shit, and fuck, and cunt. How about Lebanon? Or sexaholic? Took it too far, red squiggly lines started to appear.

And so I will conclude this literary quickie with a prediction, a forecast, if you will, for tonight. I will get shit drunk; get into a fight with either my friends, or my boyfriend. Conflict has to occur, it’s in the cards.
The sugar in my coffee officially looks like shit. I feel a sneeze stuck in my right nostril.
© Copyright 2012 honeyoatscrunch (honeybunny10 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1876420-Le-sucre-me-rend-malade