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He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The room was filled with unwashed clothing lying around everywhere, and plates filled with leftovers were already half rotten; the stench spread everywhere.
He turned on his side, and looked at his alarm clock.
8:27 AM
To be honest, he hoped it was later; the day felt too long. They say time flies, but the moment you rely on it, time creeps by slower than a starfish in slow motion.
That's why his curtains were always closed; they blocked out the sunlight perfectly. They were his most trusted ally and only friend; Unlike time, curtains were always reliable.
He returned to his previous activity, staring at the ceiling. He noticed something: a grease stain. Strange, how did it get there? Had it been there all along?
That would need to be cleaned, just like the laundry. He'd need to pick up all his clothes, put them in the laundry basket, make sure there weren't any dark clothes mixed in with the light ones, fill the washing machine with the right amount of detergent, and start it up. Voilà, laundry done.
How many steps would that be, one, two, three, four, five, six…
Wait, was the washing machine even plugged in? For safety reasons, he usually unplugged it. So that would be seven…
No, wait, he'd have to set the washing machine too. So, eight. Eight—
Actually, it should already be set correctly, since it doesn't reset itself, and he would never reset it manually. So only seven.
Frustrated, he rubbed his tired eyes, not even starting to think about the dishes. He probably had dark circles so bad they would put even someone with fatal insomnia to shame.
What a terrible thought. Fatal insomnia was a serious illness; people died from it, thousands even. To even make such a comparison... horrible.
Was it even a thousand? Or just a hundred?
He pulled his smartphone out of his pocket, the brightness of the screen hurting his eyes, and looked it up.
Fatal insomnia cases per year
It only loaded for a brief moment before the answer popped up. The internet was always very convenient.
It is estimated that 1-2 people per million get it every year. Only 50-70 families worldwide carry the mutation…
<1 death per year.
Wow, there were fewer cases than he thought, so many fewer it was almost funny. Man, he truly was terrible at guessing.
He read a little more until he noticed a small imprint on his left hand. The imprint was from his phone; he always distributed the weight of it on his left hand, creating a small imprint. It hurt a little.
He turned off his phone and looked at his alarm clock.
5:46 PM
Once, twice, he blinked in disbelief. Now time decided to fly.
What about the laundry or the dishes? He didn't do anything that was supposed to be done. He didn't even remove the grease stain.
What about food? Breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Three meals a day were supposed to be healthy, but he didn't even eat a single meal. There was still time for dinner.
All he had to do was get up, go to the kitchen, look in the cupboard for instant noodles, boil water, wait until it was hot enough, and pour it into the cup. Voilà, dinner.
Only six steps, which was less than for the laundry.
Unless he didn't have any left, then he had to go to the store and buy more, which would require him to go outside and talk to the cashier. That would add a few more steps.
Why was everything so high-maintenance?
His body felt weak and icky, as if gravity was stronger than usual; it made it impossible to sit up, let alone stand. Where was motivation when one needed it most?
He was too tired to think about it anymore. He'll get it all done tomorrow. The laundry will be done, the dishes will be sparkling clean, and the ceiling will look as if the grease stain had never been there.
With his gaze directed at the grease stain, he closed his eyes and fell into his dreams. Falling asleep after reading about insomnia, how very ironic it was.
Tomorrow.