{"id":5596,"date":"2025-05-15T21:04:30","date_gmt":"2025-05-15T19:04:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/?p=5596"},"modified":"2025-05-15T21:04:30","modified_gmt":"2025-05-15T19:04:30","slug":"la-routine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/2025\/05\/la-routine\/","title":{"rendered":"La Routine"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Author:<\/strong> Ags<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bloodshot<\/em>. He had read it on Health.com. Lack of sleep reduces oxygen to the eyes, making blood vessels dilate\u2014something about red eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a second, he pictured himself with vampiric eyes, arriving at work and terrifying the world. Quickly enough, however, the realization that irises weren\u2019t the ones that turned red hit him and he switched to noticing that he hadn’t blinked in far too long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyes burned the way they did before falling sick, though by now, he associated it more with waking up than illness. He didn\u2019t know if his eyes were bloodshot, but it certainly felt that way. Could eyes feel<\/em> bloodshot?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The consistent sound of his clock disappeared under the morning ringing, and a sigh of relief mixed with the alarm\u2014followed, almost immediately, by the daily groan of realization as whatever hopes he had fostered of dreaming evaporated with the morning dew. For the hundredth time since he had laid down last night, he switched positions. For the hundredth time, it did nothing but remind him of the tension in his back from the constant turning in the night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dorian sat up, only to slump forward like a ticking metronome.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Metronome. Music.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He turned to his phone, where the soft, regular melody was still playing, and his feet fell to the floor\u2014cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the screen: “Sleeping Playlist,” written in bold white letters. A compilation of every song he had downloaded off the internet to avoid paying for Spotify, mixed with whatever artists the app had randomly given him for free. What a joke. Still, somehow, the attempt at a solution had given him the illusion of control over his insomnia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sunlight peering through the shutters did nothing to alleviate the dreamless night\u2019s apathy in his mind, and he dragged himself to the bathroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked like a child pouting. His cheeks angled down to the corners of his mouth, his asymmetrical nose almost pointing at it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Smile<\/em>, he thought, staring at the mirror with a jaded look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His body obeyed\u2014surprisingly enough. Smiling usually helped with the swelling in his cheeks. Today, it did nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shaved, he showered. Somehow, standing in the water was more restful than lying in bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His hand reached for the foundation his ex had left behind\u2014practical, close enough to his skin color. It had proven a precious ally in the war against dark circles. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Water\u2014half of it on his face, the other half down his dry, dry throat. He winced. Water never tasted good in the morning. Something about the lack of taste.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hair\u2014automatically, his hand reached for the brush, raising it to his head. There was nothing to brush; he had buzzed off his curls a few weeks ago, hoping it would be one less thing to worry about in the morning. Still, he just liked the feeling of those plastic spikes against his scalp. And what was a morning without tradition?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Socks, pants. He buttoned up his shirt, eyes closed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bread. Butter. No jam\u2014no time. More water\u2014to compensate for the staleness of the bread.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The usual morning voice in his head insisted on narrating every action he took, like some overzealous dictation mode for blind iPhone users. Blind\u2026 It was<\/em>, in a way, how he felt after sleepless nights. One thing out of place, and it would be impossible to find.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He remembered a few weeks ago when his cousin had come squat at his place after her husband had quite literally kicked her out, calling her a\u2026 what was it? Drunken, cheating whore<\/em>? She had smiled and insisted that this was just a \u201ccasual Tuesday\u201d and that she\u2019d \u201cwait here for him to calm down.\u201d The implied request to stay had worked, and soon, she had moved everything around and he had been late to work every morning, almost getting lost in his own house. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He sighed again. This time, no relief\u2014just the hope that the difficulty in breathing would lift. It didn\u2019t. It was as though a smaller version of himself, still in denial of his constant insomnia, had decided to sleep on his chest, pressing down like a weight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Keys. Coat. He hesitated to wear a scarf and told himself the cold would keep him awake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The irony of it\u2014after a struggle for sleep, he was about to start his marathon of staying awake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was like pressing download fifty times on a lagging computer and getting nothing\u2014until suddenly, the sun came up, and every overdue hours of sleep file hit him at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he\u2019d manage. He always did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was all about the small moments of breaks\u2014waiting at a red light or during his\u00a0students’\u00a0rare moments of concentration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An instant to close those burning eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He walked out. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Car. Glasses\u2014Glasses!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dorian leaned his forehead on the car roof. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019d do without glasses. Again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He slid inside the vehicule, passing a hand through his absent curls and adjusted the rearview mirror before letting out a short, decisive breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome on.” He muttered, like a coach to his own life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The engine started. He drove.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His class was circling in front of the door like a flock of chickens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Mr Dead eyes’s here.” Basil whispered, somehow mocking and alarmed at the same time, as Dorian cursed himself for forgetting his glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Again.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

What kind of name was Basil, anyway? Who named their kid after a cooking plant?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He opened the door, letting the flood of children pour inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were all there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Felici, whose parents\u2019 divorce ensured they never showed up to a parent-teacher conference together. Milton, who never entered the classroom until everyone else was inside, too afraid to get trampled by the bigger kids. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The voices swelled around him, chaotic but familiar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dorian rubbed his temples, exhaled, and lifted his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood morning, everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The chorus of greetings hit him like a wave\u2014loud, mismatched, half-hearted, but real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It would do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He forced a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Author: Ags Bloodshot. He had read it on Health.com. Lack of sleep reduces oxygen to the eyes, making blood vessels dilate\u2014something about red eyes. For a second, he pictured himself with vampiric eyes, arriving at work and terrifying the world. Quickly enough, however, the realization that irises weren\u2019t the ones that turned red hit him and he […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1002876,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_seopress_robots_primary_cat":"","_seopress_titles_title":"","_seopress_titles_desc":"","_seopress_robots_index":"","footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[86],"tags":[37],"class_list":{"0":"post-5596","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-2025-spring","7":"tag-prose"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5596","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1002876"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5596"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5596\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5830,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5596\/revisions\/5830"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5596"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5596"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5596"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}