9:23am Snooze alarm again. It always seems like a battle even with the hour grace period for Ramadan. Flip over to switch on the light. Crap my body is soar, my hamstrings especially. I flip back over slamming my head back onto the pillow that has taken the form of the side of my head. 2 more minutes. 9:28 damn iPhone alarm ringing again as I was about to continue my interrupted dream. My eyes yank open to a lit room. I tear myself away from under the sheets and put my hand on my lip. My scar is still there… aghh bikini waxing was never as painful as this upper lip tear. I remind myself to never go back to her. I slip on my ballerina slippers and check my blackberry and iPhone for any messages or emails. Nothing, except for junk mail. There are a few status updates on my blackberry friends list. Why do I have a need to do that, it’s almost become automatic. I drag myself to my beauty cabinet, and take out my hydra-moisturizer. Damn scar still hurts every time I move my lips. I continue on as usual, Vaseline Rose lip balm from London, concealer, light pink blush, mascara. Now my hair, an untamed mess of brown locks. God bless the clip, I just grab my hair into a semi bun and clip it altogether. There this ought to do it. I swing open my closet door and stare blankly at the pile of clothes. I reach for the tanned jumpsuit that my mom bought me from her trip to from Greece, Corfu to be more exact. More importantly it is comfortable under my abaya. I open my door to my maltese acting like a circus monkey jumping and turning and dancing on his hind feet. How can anyone be that jolly in the morning? I pat him on his head before I go in to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
10:05am Glasses still on, I climb up one flight on stairs. My hamstrings are still tight, I need to tell Pat. I walk into the foyer and through the glass doors into my office floor. Another week, but I can’t eat or drink in the office. It’s a good thing I remembered to put yoghurt in my purse in case I got hungry later. I knock onto the door of the kitchenette and Jalal opens the door babbling in Urdu on the phone. I give him the yoghurt and packed spoon and give him one of those “I am sorry but can you please but this in the fridge” smiles. I quickly grab a bottle of Nestle water and place it in the women’s bathroom. I am ready to start my day. I love Saturday’s for one reason only, most markets are closed which means I can catch up on my reading. I sit on my black swivel chair and place my purse and laptop bag on the mahogany desk. I look at my calendar and realize that I have four days before I know my CFA fate. My heart is suddenly in my throat and I felt queasy. I really don’t want to fail.
10:05am Glasses still on, I climb up one flight on stairs. My hamstrings are still tight, I need to tell Pat. I walk into the foyer and through the glass doors into my office floor. Another week, but I can’t eat or drink in the office. It’s a good thing I remembered to put yoghurt in my purse in case I got hungry later. I knock onto the door of the kitchenette and Jalal opens the door babbling in Urdu on the phone. I give him the yoghurt and packed spoon and give him one of those “I am sorry but can you please but this in the fridge” smiles. I quickly grab a bottle of Nestle water and place it in the women’s bathroom. I am ready to start my day. I love Saturday’s for one reason only, most markets are closed which means I can catch up on my reading. I sit on my black swivel chair and place my purse and laptop bag on the mahogany desk. I look at my calendar and realize that I have four days before I know my CFA fate. My heart is suddenly in my throat and I felt queasy. I really don’t want to fail.
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