not so vanilla

There was a period of time in my life when I would be late for school because it took me so long to swallow pills, even the small ones you could easily lose if you dropped on a tile floor. Now, I take several huge pills a day--calcium twice daily, fish oil three times a day, a multi vitamin with breakfast--all necessary to prevent a complete degeneration of my already debilitating joints. After dinner, as I sit at the counter popping the last round of pills, my family gathers in the adjoining room. The television is always on, and my sister pretends not to watch it as she does her homework. My father is either half-asleep and mumbling about the gym or releasing a full-throated laugh at Stewie's latest antics on Family Guy. My mother is either sending out emails and text messages, inevitably misspelled as she neglects to wear her glasses, or she is periodically shaking her arms during commercials, in efforts to build triceps. At times my father gains a sudden interest, and, filled with an arbitrary energy, he supervises my mother in her peculiar arm movements, shouting out instructions along the way. My sister yells at everyone to be quiet so she can watch her show, and then everyone yells at her to finish college apps, to finish her psych homework, to finish her breakfast every morning. When I finish overdosing myself, I sprawl across my mother's lap, stick my feet under my sister's butt to stay warm, and then loudly recap the contents of my lunch to no one in particular.

And after unsuccessfully resisting sleep for a few hours, we all head to our respective rooms, and four simultaneous screams of "good night" converge in the middle of the corridor, where they stay suspended until the first signs of morning.