File Cabinets THIS Big (Five Days a Week)

At 6:00 AM, five days a week, a little object would sing in my ear, and I would attempt to chuck it out the window. Five days a week, I would forget there were stubborn screens on my bedroom windows. Go downstairs, forget to feed the cats,
turn on the computer, chug a cup of tea with always too much lemon (the way I fancy it). Five days a week, I forgot it was too early and that nobody else was on the instant messenger but me.

Five days a week, I'd fall asleep in the living room, hoping Mom would allow me to stay home. "Just today," I thought, "I'll work so hard tomorrow!" Five days a week, she wouldn't fall for it either.

The "new" jail is what they call it, although it's the same intimidating monstrosity just with a different name. Everyday it was the same routine, walking through secure door after secure door and taking the elevator up to the fifth floor. Sometimes the
inmates would look up from their work in the kitchen to see Mom's sluggish shadow walking dutifully behind her. They offered us coffee, which I never accepted. Why? Because we worked on the fifth floor, and the bathroom is on the fourth floor. I couldn't go anywhere unless accompanied by Mumsy, so why take her away from work?

I must've purged a gajillion files (at least, that's how many it seemed like in my hazy state of mind) from file cabinets THIS big (this has turned into a fishing story), and then I went home to my comfy bed, and the alarm clock lay defeated beside of it.

The work wasn't difficult. I often had days off, even though I only worked four hours a day at the max. Now that school in the big city is beckoning me again, I'm wishing I had done more, instead of complaining. I mean, after I got home, Mother was still there, drinking her coffee and typing on her new-fangled computer. Who needs a mother to instill a guilt trip?