Morning mournings
7:00.
The alarm clock sounds, and you smash it with a nearby textbook. I mean, after all, you haven’t missed class that many times, and you deserve to sleep in, right? Professor Nobbledy will probably not even notice your absence.
And then, from nowhere, tendrils of guilt slither into your mind, with their accompanying voices of accusation. If you miss class, you will fall behind that much more, and it will end up causing you more work in the long run. Logically, you can’t afford to miss another day.
Your weariness is not going to give in without a fight, however. You will just close your eyes for a couple of minutes, that’s all. Stop, the minions of guilt cry out desperately. A war begins to take place in your mind for control of your body. The voices say you are just being lazy, but you try to reason with them. Missing one day isn’t laziness; it’s just taking a break. Yes, but you’ve already missed three days, and you know it. Have you? Yawning, you attempt to recall the days you have missed, but they run together with other classes that you have skipped. Was it three in Physics or three in Comp? Scratching your head in irritation, you squint angrily at your clock, which is dangling from the nightstand by the cord.
7:04.
It could be fast, you muse, pursing your lips.
Setting the clock gingerly back on the nightstand, you apologize to it. It’s not the clock’s fault, after all. It’s just doing its job. It’s you who suffer from early morning anger management problems.
7:06.
You collapse back onto the bed, hiding your head in your pillow, closing your eyes tightly. Why should you feel guilty? Because you don’t want to be perceived as irresponsible, especially by yourself. So say the voices, anyway. Wait a minute, you don’t have actual voices in your head, do you? You make a mental note not to mention this to anyone.
7:09.
Well, there goes the shower, if you do end up going, that is. You still haven’t given in to the incessant pummeling you are receiving from reason and rationality.
7:11.
You suppose you won’t be shaving, either – there is simply not time. At this rate you won’t even have time to wear clothes, so why even bother trying to get up and rush around? You’ll probably be late, and you hate that. You have to walk in front of the entire class with everyone staring at you like you have grown horns. No, that certainly won’t do.
7:15.
You hurl the covers aside frantically and bolt out of bed, throwing on yesterday’s jeans and a shirt you don’t even recognize. You have lost. As you are sliding your feet into your shoes without untying them, you gaze up toward the ceiling, silently shaking your fist and snarling at the invisible faces of responsibility, guilt, and principle.
Your shirt half tucked in, you race out the door – and race right back in, realizing you have forgotten your keys. Where are those bloody things, anyway? You should really get organized.
7:24.
Having finally found your keys, you have reached your car, but suddenly realize that you have forgotten your backpack. Darting back into the house, you scour the house for your bag ‘o books, but to your increasing panic, you are unable to find it.
This time you scream out loud and decide to go to class without your books. As you get in your car, you see, there in the backseat, your backpack. Sighing with relief and laughing at yourself, you zoom off to the university.
7:35
The parking lots are packed as usual, but that’s not a problem for you, because you park in a special lot. Now, where is your wallet? You know, the one with your entry card in it? Yes, that one. There is a thud as your head repeatedly smites the steering wheel. The girl in the car behind you is looking at you as though you have begun to foam at the mouth. You have to get several cars to back up in order for you to negotiate your way out of the entry.
7:51.
There is still time. You end up parking two miles away and setting the world record for sprinting with a backpack. Sweat has beaded on your forehead, and your breathing is ragged.
8:04.
Carefully, you twist the knob and enter the classroom, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, though Professor Nobbledy, with his usual charm and professionalism, abates his lecture in mid sentence to glare at you with enough venom to make a cobra jealous. You finally make it to your accustomed seat near the back of the class. Greg Giglinod whispers to you, wondering if you realized that your zipper was undone. You were not privy to this information, and you thank him, laughing and rolling your eyes while inwardly wailing.
Reaching inside your backpack, you are unable to find the book you need for class. Your cheeks are twitching by this point, and your lips have begun to move wordlessly. You vaguely remember using a book to wallop your alarm clock earlier…Ah yes, Principles of Physics, a necessary item in the quest to follow Nobbledy’s monotonous ramblings. Lapsing into somewhat of a stupor of numbness, you envy that physics book, for it is still lying on your bed – a place you should never have left.
