Monotonous

Everyday we wake up and do the same thing as the last. Hop out of bed. It's a race against time to get showered and throw on the four year old beaten up plaid skirt hanging on the back of the chair. A brush wiz's through my hair tugging at knots, scrutinizing my tardiness. Foaming toothpaste gathers around my mouth transforming me into a rabid dog as I leap for the sink, toothpaste leaking from my lips. Bouncing on one foot I fight to stay vertical while tying my tennis shoes. A quick spin leaves me face to face with my image staring back. Second nature I grab the tube of abused concealer and swipe it under my eyes. Concealing yet another night of mediocre sleep. Whipping my hair into a half hearted bun, scanning the room for any last task. Satisfied. Lunging for my backpack. I take runners stance and bolt out the door.