This was another from the workshop. The idea behind this one was to think about one of your most boring days and describe it in a way where it seemed pretty entertaining.

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"Good morning Los Angeles!" my alarm clock greets me...not really. We're not in San Francisco. I rise from my bed, like a bear from hibernation. I growl towards the sun. The rays couldn't be more dead on as it pierces my half-opened eyes. But it rains later that day anyway. I laugh at the sun.

To the right, my eyes lock onto the calendar. Hallelujah, no school! A choir of angels fill the background. But the sun pierces my eyes...again. I growl. But more towards my mother - the commander of our house. My brother calls it the flying ship. SHE was the one to open the curtains. It wasn't right. My room is sacred territory - a temple. And I am the only one granted access. She never listens anyway.

I skip through the daises and into the bathroom. But not really. We have no flowers. I take an hour to wash up. Turns out, I fell asleep for awhile. I leave, thanking the sink for being my pillow.

Two hours pass by. I decide to meet Oprah. She lives in my black box. Along with Peter Griffin and Alex Trebek. She informs me of this new diet. I'm not interested this time. I turn my back on her and visit the freezer. I ask for two scoops of ice cream and sit back down. I eat, grinning in front of Oprah. But it is time for her to go.

I knock out on the couch, as the rain makes it way towards my window. I welcome their transparency in my dream.