A Day in the Life of

I woke up raveled up in my down comforter, the sun blazing through the window panes of my bedroom in my parents' house at Sneads Ferry. I heard my parents, already awake and ready to start the day, bustling in the living room. As I lay in my bed, staring out the window and letting my eyes adjust to the bright light, I thought to myself that today was like a blank canvas. And I had the most beautiful colors set before me.

Yesterday I moved out of my apartment in Wilmington back into my parents' house. This morning, my car was still full to the roof with all of my clothes, books, and appliances. Before I started to unpack, however, I ate a hard-boiled egg and made myself a cup of coffee with milk and honey. I sat down at the computer, a ritual that has replaced sitting down with the newspaper for me. I waited for my mom to put on her bathing suit, as I already had mine on, and when I finished with my ritual, and she was ready, we sprayed sunblock on each other's backs.

My mom drove us over the bridge that separates our house from the ocean. The parking lot at the beach was crowded, and by Sneads Ferry's terms, that means there were about fifteen cars. We treaded the rocky sand lightly until we reached the stunted beach, which seems like it's disappearing by the day from erosion. By high tide, there is hardly any beach left. But we set for the pier anyway. That's where my dad already was, fishing.

We walked and we talked, about various things from surfing, to the purpose of life, to me complaining about the lack of nudist beaches. I told my mom, "Why can't we have nudist beaches in Wilmington? "Like they do in Miami?" she said. "Yeah! I hate getting tan-lines. You know, in Germany, people get naked all the time. They're so relaxed over there." I told her about the time when my German ex-boyfriend took me to a little spot by the lake at his university, where it was common for people to undress. We did it, too; I always said I would, but when I did, it was totally uncomfortable. I think my mom already knows that I'm a big talker, and not a big walker, so she let the issue drop.

But when I came home and saw big red spots and starking white spots all over my body, I complained again.

The sun always makes me sleepy, but before I could add another hour to my sleeping tally for the day, I helped my mom make spaghetti and a salad. I broke and boiled the noodles, peeled and sliced the cucumbers, added black and green olives and mushrooms. I poured hot tea into three cups, and added sugar and slices of lemon. My dad came home, and all three of us sat down together to eat. It was delicious.

And then I layed down on the couch and took a nap. Or tried to. My dad sat down next to me, and as my mom cleaned up after the meal, we discussed relatives from Poland who want to visit us this summer, and whether it's better to live here or live there. We decided it was better to be here.

I had a lot of homework to do. Plus, I still had to unpack my car, which is what I did when my dad went back fishing, and my mom went for another walk on the beach, this time alone. While I was unpacking I couldn't help thinking to myself, "I have too much crap."

After I moved all of my crap from my car into my room, I thought it was time for a bath. At my parents house we have jacuzzi baths and I like to fill up the tub with some sort of smelly shower stuff and turn the jets on--it makes for great bubbles that spill over the tub. I left the t.v. on in my room so I could soak in my bubble mountain and listen to Sigourney Weaver talk about underwater caves off the coasts of Australia and New Zealand.

After my bath, I primped. You know, girl stuff. And then I took another nap.

When I woke up my mom was already back, making a plate of salad with feta cheese on it. I ate a snack-sized bag of dorritos. While munching on the chips, I thought to myself, "I still have a lot of work to do." So I got in bed and snuggled up with Fyodor Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground, which I'm reading for another one of my classes. I started reading at about 5 p.m., but I didn't finish until sunset because I kept taking short little naps in between chapters. Dostoevsky was not made for sunny days resting by the seashore.

I still had more work to do. I had to finish my final essay for my blog writing class. I had no idea what to write about. I asked my mom, "Mom, what should I write about?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Write about the democratic debate." I thought it was a good idea, but when I started planning it out, I realized it would be way too short. "Obama was mad, Clinton was Clinton, some guy was really funny, some guy has a playboy bunny for a wife, another guy was pretty funny, and I forget the rest."

So I decided to write about what I did today. Now the canvas is not blank anymore, and I'm ready to go back to bed.