Today I hit my snooze button five times. I do this on a daily basis. Every alarm I ever set is about an hour ahead of schedule because profound issues occur in my brain when it is time to wake. It isn’t that I don’t like life. I just like my bed’s warmth and sleeping cradle almost as much as anything else.
After deciding it was time to stop hitting the snooze button, my toes flung themselves over the side of my bed, reaching for solid ground all the while knowing that my knees would soon give way with a delicious crunch in greeting to the floor.
Post cracking and popping and actually getting out of bed, I looked around my room and realized that progress had been made. I was up and my eyes were open as a bonus. Self satisfaction laced its way into my soul.
This brief moment of glory spurred my energy to hang up my sleeping mask (on my floor lamp, as usual) and make up my bed covers. The day had officially begun.
Because of the day’s immediate success, I rewarded myself with not fixing my hair. Then I got to thinking about the glory days of my life-mainly in high school- when I actually made an effort to look nice and fix my hair and dress up. For a brief second, I missed those days until I remembered how terribly uncomfortable they were. I gave myself a mental pep talk about how making such little effort now meant that I am comfortable with myself and have self confidence, blah blah blah.
Necessity to study lurked in my doorway like a dark shadow and made me remember why I love sleeping so much: because that means I’m not studying myself into oblivion and I’m not in class.
After eating a ludicrously short breakfast and getting dressed, I raced to attend to my school books as a mother would race to attend to her newborn baby. Then I realized why things had changed: because college is hard.