You woke up, the summer sun ruthlessly frying you through the window blinds. You slowly open your eyes to find out that the white sheet you were supposed to cover yourself with is a messy waistband. You close your eyes and open them one more time to double-check that it's actually morning. "Ok, Google, what's time is it?" you ask. "It's six-fourteen AM." Precisely sixteen minutes before the alarm is due. You roll over to the edge of the bed and sit yourself down in one smooth motion. You find your slippers without looking and proceed with the routine by walking towards the bathroom.
You open a white wooden door and turn on the light. The light is bright and cold and contributes a lot to helping you wake up, but you are not very happy about it right now. At the moment, you wish you would have installed dim, warm lights here — anything instead of these incredibly bright cold lights. You approach the sink and look at the reflection of yourself in the mirror cabinet. After a long second, you turn the faucet knob, fold your hands, pour some cool water in them, and wash your face. Woof! This is refreshing. Now you feel much better. The cold bathroom light is suddenly much more tolerable, probably, because you've come closer to its temperature. You look at yourself one more time as you open the cabinet door to get the toothbrush and toothpaste. You hold the toothbrush in an ideal horizontal line and squeeze out a bit of toothpaste on its bristles. Then, you water the toothpaste a little and start brushing your teeth. You are fast and precise, you are not leaving any spot, any gap, untouched. Less than two minutes have passed, and you are done.
You are in the kitchen when you pour some water into the electric kettle, and wait for it to boil. It boils fast; the kettle is brand-new and very efficient, but it feels like forever. Of course, it does; everything feels like forever to you. You want to move faster; you want to do more; you are as demanding to everything and everyone as you are to yourself.
Finally, the kettle boils and turns itself off. You take it off and pour some water into the cup with a teabag of good green tea. You prepared the cup right after you put the kettle to boil, and immediately before it had started to feel like the kettle was inexplicably slow at doing its job. You can't tell which tea it is since you didn't pay attention to which one you had taken, but you are sure that it's green and good; this is the only kind of tea you can find at home. You put a teaspoon of honey into the drink and stir. You taste it, put it down, and, after a slight hesitation, add another spoon of honey. It is now perfect. You are ready to move away from the kitchen, satisfied.
"You know that time never sleeps…," shouts your morning alarm with the words of a random song from your playlist. A song that you like but will never be able to remember if asked to do so. It startled you quite seriously and forcefully pulled you out of your train of thought. "Ok, Google, stop!" you immediately shout in response. The day has officially started. It's time to get things done.