The Last Week of Summer

It's the last week of summer. Or is it? I can’t keep track of the days anymore. I lie lazily on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I can see the stain from five years ago when my mom decided to bring breakfast into my room and I slingshotted it onto the ceiling. Oh, the fun times. The dreary gray sky outside seems to mock me and my boredom. When was the last time I went out? When was the last time I saw my friends? Everything was moving in a blur. Then comes a knock on my bedroom door. “Honey, here’s your breakfast!” my mom calls. I sit up quickly. Time for some déjà vu.