A Cold(play) Day...

Image credit: The Troubadour

When I woke up this morning, I was actually quite optimistic. I was all, “Good Morning Everyone! Today’s the day! The sun is shining, the tank is clean, and we are getting out of here... GASP!” 

Right at that GASP, I realized just how wrong I was. The sun wasn’t shining, because it was 5 am in Utah, and the moon still had about an hour and a half before it was going to let the sun get out of bed. The tank wasn’t clean, since my “tank” would be my house/room, and everything is in complete disorder because we’ve only been in this house for three days now. Worst of all, it was absolutely freezing cold. 

When I say absolutely freezing cold, I’m not kidding. I had been a total idiot and left my window open, which caused my usual, comfortable temperature of 69 (go ahead, be immature about it) degrees Fahrenheit, to drop to a frigid 42 degrees, and I don’t do well in the cold. I quickly slammed the window shut, stopping the flow of icy air from the outside world from further desecrating my cave of warmth and solitude. Shivering, I reluctantly changed from my oh-so-soft-warm-and-comfy pajamas into my race day gear, which consists of my cross country uniform (red tank top with white stripes, and red short-shorts with white stripes), sweats, since the shorts are definitely not dress code and it’s too cold to be wearing that little clothing all day, and my favorite zip-up sweatshirt, which is a black hoodie with a tiger on the front, and some flowers embroidered in various different places. I shove all my necessary items into my backpack and rush up the stairs, the cold still nipping at my heels as I am embraced by the warmth of my kitchen. 

I begin my normal morning routine, buttering up some bread for toast, grabbing a yogurt out of the fridge, and pouring the rest of my personal chai latte mixture into a mug, which I promptly pop into the microwave to be blasted with warmth giving radiation. When the food is all ready, I chow down, trying my best not to make a mess with the crumbs coming off of my flaky sourdough toast. I rip a piece of crust off of my toast and dip it into my yogurt, following my old habits to a “T”. After eating, I put my dishes in the sink, brush my teeth and all that jazz, and settle into my warm fleece coat and Gryffindor beanie, plugging in to my music before stepping out onto the street to begin my half mile walk to the bus stop.

The music slowly builds, and with the first few chords, I know this is exactly what I needed today. I let the rhythm consume me, singing loudly, for all the world to hear, harmonizing with Chris Martin as he sings “Paradise” to me through my headphones. For the next fifteen minutes, I am serenaded by the sweet, sweet sounds of Coldplay, and I start to think, maybe this day won’t be so bad after all.