A Day in the Liefe of Derek Williamson: The Derek Williamson Story.

Of 4 billion sold.

More than the bible.

“I'm not surprised,” ~ Taylor Horn.

Most days I don't wake up to my alarm. Instead, my alarm gets drowned out by the sound of something more pleasant. Something like a dream. When I do wake up, it is to find that I'm always late. I thought I avoided this situation by moving an hour closer to my school. I thought wrong

After getting ready, I plop back into my warm sheets and dream of being asleep again. If too much time passes, I make a call. Heads, go to class. Tales, skip class and just pretend I went. More often than not, my imaginary coin lands on heads and I am forced to remove myself from my so wanted pillow.

I hate mornings. They do nothing for society. In fact, they make 90% of the population miserable. I'm included in that statistic. But, as my life requires, I'm forced to embrace what is most hated.

I never have time for breakfast. I don't even remember what breakfast tastes like. Is it sweet? No, that can't be right. Maybe one day the memory will come back to me, but for now, this last resort pop-tart will do. I'll eat it when my stomach is louder than my train of thought.

Class is dull. The sound that is omitted by some of the students at this school is excruciating. At least they're not knitting, though. I hate when people knit in class—almost as much as I dislike the sight of people drinking a soda at 830 in the morning. Don't they know that that is against the law? Or is it me who is just thinking it should be?

After class, I'll attend a facility that helps me get to where I want to be in life. Most people call it employment, I call it work. I try to spend as much time conversing as I can, and do as little work as possible. I hate the society we've become. It seems there is a Monarch in the work force. If you're not wearing a crown, ermine cloak and holding a scepter, you're only a piece of shit. I want to be somewhere else. I dream of it often.

After too long, I return to my home. A long days work is never too long when you know you're long missed pillow is waiting for you to return home-with nothing but a smile on it's indented face an a wag in its metaphorical tail. When my sheets and I meet, it is like a storm of vivid imagination. Colors are sent through my head that can only be described as dreamy. On occasion, the colors correlate with each other and form images. These images create story lines and plots. The plot thickens when I roll over and discover that my bed has transformed into a boat floating on a sea of thought. So much for that train, this ride is much quicker.

I see a dock. It is made of wooden posts and has rope running across the entire structure. There are other boats made of sheets and blankets there. Some of them are flashing green symbols that I cannot quite make out from this distance. As the tide takes me closer, I begin to hear a sound. At first it is a subtle beep, but soon it becomes an impressive screech. One that begins to cloud the world I live in. The once blurry symbols are now legible. They read, 7:00 A.M.

I hate mornings.