A Narration

You want to  know how my days going? 

Woken up at an hour too early, to discover a jacked-up nose and a throat that aches like no tomorrow.

Get yelled at by you*lovely* sister  and mother multiple times to get up, because 'we're leaving in an  hour' when it only takes you 30 minutes to get ready.  

Go downstairs and are rudely told to clean up a cat's projectile vomit from the couch, but right now you wouldn't be able to stomach the smell of water, so you opt to temporarily cover it with a towel.

On the way to church, you realize that your throat'a ache, and nose's stuffiness are not jut a passing winter morning feeling, but the beginning of a bought of sickness, but wait, there's more: you're starting to cough a lot.

Your sister teases you about not being awake yet, but you're just too focused on not coughing your head off to talk much. Next to that, she rudely asks if you brushed your teeth- which you realized you hadn't.

Now, you are worried to breath too close to someone, so you don't breath sick-morning breath all over them and become permanently repulsive.

Talking is painful, let alone singing worship, but you try one song anyway. It hurts. Oh well. 

After service, your sister attempts to abuse her power by demanding you help her take are of toddlers. 

You just barely manage to get her to let you alone. 

You're forced into taking embarrassing, dirty-haired pictures with a man in an Olaf costume, 

And then unintentionally third wheeled by your best friend and her new exploits. Onc you're finally home, you find zero suitable food, no warn soup to ease your sick feeling, so you just have cold ice cream, in November, which relieves you momentarily before your throat begins complaining more.

You can also hear your parents arguing in the other room, though they do that a lot these days, it still makes you sad.

You make it to your room, expecting relaxing solitude, maybe a nap, but are shouted at to clean the vomit you'd forgotten. Once you make it to the stairs, your mother proceeds to angrily tell you, essentially, to 'get off your lazy butt and clean the couch, and your room. No more reading till you're a perfect child.' When you were actually I in the midst of falling asleep, NOT reading, as she seems to hate.

At this point, you develope your now expected headache.

You then use a towel to practically scoop cat barf from the couch, and even get around to spraying fabric cleaner on the stain before you realize you're still in a nice shirt, and go to your room to change while the cleaner sits. Having not even made it up the stairs, your dad shouts for you, forcing you to change whilst walking, and he winds up shouting for you to clean the puke, so you hastily explain your absence.

No one cares that your head is screaming murder, or that it burns to breathe through your mouth, but it's easier than breathing through you out of order nose, 

But then again they may not have even noticed that you feel like the dog crap in the cold, wet backyard.  And on top of that, it's already raining, so I guess that means it can't get any worse. 

And on top of that, every time you think you get five minutes to sit down and breathe, someone yells at you for not doing anything, and at this point all I want to do is cry. So I am. 

Phrank Mc