Maltore
2009-08-12, 03:05 PM
Caz
The low buzzing from the next room warned Caz that her computer was getting ready to jumpstart her day again. She closed her diary again and carried the empty saucer that had held the olives back into the kitchen. This morning, computer decided that "White Rabbit" would set the tone for the rest of the day. Who was that group again? When she was nine, she would have known the answer. It was a game her father would play with her in the car, and it never failed to drive her mother bonkers. The difference was, of course, that her father would still be able to tell her, and Caz had given up on music quizzes a long time ago.
"♫...and the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all..." she hummed along while contemplating the dilemma of every morning: if she skipped her shower, she'd have the time to make a spanish omelet, or to bake pancakes. However, that would mean feeling dirty the entire day. And she'd already been avoiding the bathroom these past two days after the scare she had gotten Sunday evening when she had tried to find some relaxation in the bath. That really didn't leave her with any real option, she knew, but the idea of a copious breakfast to replenish her energy after a night with so little sleep was extremely tempting. After all, she could just quickly dash to her office and hide in there all day; no need to speak to anybody. Well, nobody who'd give a rat's arse what she looked or smelled like, anyway.
"... but our reporters haven't yet been able to get an official statement from any of the bank's ..."
The computer had switched to the news site, where they apparantly felt the need to do an in-depth report on a bankrobbery. This decisively tipped the scale in favour of "shower". Sure, she could've made the effort of walking over and selecting another item, but that would've defeated the purpose of having this routine in the first place; she'd take her time reading the interesting articles at work anyway, and if the tedious news didn't force her out of bed, she'd have no chance of ever arriving at work less than half an hour late. So, onward to the bathroom she must go.
Once in there, Caz eyed the drain hole mistrustfully. Funny how, as a small child, she'd been afraid of being sucked in with the bathwater, and on Sunday that exact scenario almost came to life. Time to face her fears, however, lest she get to relive that in another nightmare. Before long, the sensation of massaging nettle shampoo and honey-scented conditioner into her long hair had their usual effect. Now if only there were time for more than a few slices of bread with jam, she'd have been able to appear after her two days of sick leave looking focused and professional. She promised herself to pick up the largest latte available while waiting for the sub. Those things always left right at the time when she entered the platform anyway.
The low buzzing from the next room warned Caz that her computer was getting ready to jumpstart her day again. She closed her diary again and carried the empty saucer that had held the olives back into the kitchen. This morning, computer decided that "White Rabbit" would set the tone for the rest of the day. Who was that group again? When she was nine, she would have known the answer. It was a game her father would play with her in the car, and it never failed to drive her mother bonkers. The difference was, of course, that her father would still be able to tell her, and Caz had given up on music quizzes a long time ago.
"♫...and the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all..." she hummed along while contemplating the dilemma of every morning: if she skipped her shower, she'd have the time to make a spanish omelet, or to bake pancakes. However, that would mean feeling dirty the entire day. And she'd already been avoiding the bathroom these past two days after the scare she had gotten Sunday evening when she had tried to find some relaxation in the bath. That really didn't leave her with any real option, she knew, but the idea of a copious breakfast to replenish her energy after a night with so little sleep was extremely tempting. After all, she could just quickly dash to her office and hide in there all day; no need to speak to anybody. Well, nobody who'd give a rat's arse what she looked or smelled like, anyway.
"... but our reporters haven't yet been able to get an official statement from any of the bank's ..."
The computer had switched to the news site, where they apparantly felt the need to do an in-depth report on a bankrobbery. This decisively tipped the scale in favour of "shower". Sure, she could've made the effort of walking over and selecting another item, but that would've defeated the purpose of having this routine in the first place; she'd take her time reading the interesting articles at work anyway, and if the tedious news didn't force her out of bed, she'd have no chance of ever arriving at work less than half an hour late. So, onward to the bathroom she must go.
Once in there, Caz eyed the drain hole mistrustfully. Funny how, as a small child, she'd been afraid of being sucked in with the bathwater, and on Sunday that exact scenario almost came to life. Time to face her fears, however, lest she get to relive that in another nightmare. Before long, the sensation of massaging nettle shampoo and honey-scented conditioner into her long hair had their usual effect. Now if only there were time for more than a few slices of bread with jam, she'd have been able to appear after her two days of sick leave looking focused and professional. She promised herself to pick up the largest latte available while waiting for the sub. Those things always left right at the time when she entered the platform anyway.