by Jane Doe
So, I woke up, thought of the impeccable Cillian Murphy whose movie performance I watched the other night. It was a fu**ing awesome thing to notice, his talent. Then I wondered a bit inside my head, going nowhere. I didn't even stretch before I glued the phone to my hand and began to torture myself. I tried to shake the devil of my hands but it was there. In my hand and in my head. It kinda pushed Cillian aside and indoctrinated my mind with more important things - lip gloss and what do the stars say about my life in the next month. If only I would listen to them telling me about how I will feel brave and flirtatious, right?
In the next moment I was sitting in the living room. Almost turned on the television, just to see what show I can watch for the fifth time. But I didn't. It kinda felt more important to see the comments on a post about a Muslim girl who was covered up in the pool. And believe me when I say, the comments were not nice. But I knew they won't be, I just still searched for at least one good comment or even a neutral one like ''I need to watch my seven dogs so I don't go to the pool, so I don't really care,'' or maybe one guy would post a meme about the flat Earth . I figured I do that quite a lot recently - read the comments, expect good, see bad, feel bad, and at last - ignore them. Alicia Vikander appeared in my head for a brief second then vanished.
Back in my room, trying to sort it out. Not really, because I couldn't care less about the dusty shelves and unorganized folders. I just moved a pile of clothes, that consisted of one sweater, wrinkly T-Shirt and sweatpants, on to the another surface. I put six books in a bag, ready to take them to the library. Then I sat on my bed and thought some more. Not about comments, lip gloss, stars (astronomical or human - that includes Mr. Murphy), just about how small my room feels on Monday. Or any other day of the week.