Five minutes to ponder

My mother, who enjoys planning and bonding moments, just called "Five minutes" from the dining room. I sit in her cluttered bedroom, distracted from our imminent departure by the need to clear some space in my brain. The motivation is partially the haphazard arrangement of the room as well as the deformed desk chair whose back angles forward, causing my stomach to brush the top of my thighs when I fidget in protest. My hair sticks out in odd angles, stubbornly recalling its former arrangement with my beret. The moment is about self-awareness -- not a new-age euphemism for identity but truly being aware of my hunched matter punching the keyboard and my personality wanting to play with words and my restless intellect that constantly skips ahead, disregarding that the other two are loathe to take shortcuts.