Process Analysis Essay - Daily Ritual
The clock reads 5:02 when I'm viciously jerked out of an interesting dream by the sound of my father pounding on the door. "Time to get up," he calls.
I groan in response and lie in the dark for a few minutes. Then I drag myself up and try to maneuver myself off the bed without stepping on one of the many piles of notebooks, comics, textbooks and other oddities that congregate at the foot of my bed. I scoot all the way to the end before my feet can finally touch the floor. I have to pee, but my sister beats me to the bathroom. She always does. She never takes less than twenty minutes - she has this entire face-washing ritual that I completely do not understand - so I start down the hallway to the kitchen. My depth perception is off in the morning, so I walk into the wall when I try to turn the corner.
I do this so often it barely even phases me. So no, my parents do not beat me. The bruises are self-inflicted. I go through the living room, banging my shins on furniture, and waking up my mother who is asleep on the couch.
"Jesus Christ, Andrea! You always do that."
You think you'd be used to it by now, I think to myself. She gathers up her blanket and pillow and relocates to her bedroom. My father is sitting in the kitchen, laughing at me into his coffee. I zombie-walk to the fridge and pour myself some juice. I feel a little more awake by the time I finish. I sit at the table, trying not to fall asleep until my sister (at 5:23) calls out that the bathroom's free. I...