Perspective Exercise

 I trot to the kitchen to make breakfast before eventually having to trot some more to my morning class. My roommate’s coffeemaker hisses hot water into a yellow mug. I open the cabinet searching for bread. The shelves are near empty, crumbs of dried noodles and sauce packets occupying the closed space. I wish I had gone grocery shopping when I was offered a ride. Now I’m going to have to fucking carry plastic shopping bags around every protruding limb on my body to make it home in one go. Without bread, the thought of eggs makes me sick. At some point, particularly when they are not paired with something else, I am going to look at the pile of scrambled chicken fetus and gag. 

She sits down at the kitchen table, watching her roommate pan between cabinets. Though her coffee is ready, she chooses to ignore it, waiting for her friend to work through her brain’s decision making. Her hair is tied in a knot on top of her head. In the back, strands caress the nape of her neck. It is clear that she is struggling with what to eat. She watches her friend’s toes curl up against the dish washer as she reaches for something on the third shelf. Her underwear peaks out from her the band in her sweatpants.