It felt like torture. A bleating, rhythmic pounding in my ears that wrenched my thoughts from the cool drone of sleep to the harsh sounds of the alarm clock. The tune was supposed to be a gentle lullaby to coax me from my dreams, but to my ungrateful ears, it sounded like death itself thudding a jackhammer against my temples.
“Muuutthgshg,” I groaned, rolling over to glare at the time piece.
Who invented mornings?! I thought to myself as I oozed to the floor, dragging all my blankets with me. I attempted to mutter my morning prayers, but merely managed to mumble a few words before the nap gods in my brain commanded me back into slumber. I slumped there, kneeling with my face embedded in a pillow for several minutes until a second alarm, brilliantly setup by yours truly in case something like this ever happened (which it did, every morning), startled me to my feet.
An onslaught of morning emotions flooded over me; anger at being woken up, confusion of trying to figure out what day it was, sadness at the thought of going back to school for another grinding day of new terms to learn, and a strong desire to go to the bathroom.
Shuffling towards the door, I felt my brain slowly begin to turn its wheels. I could almost hear the whine of the gears churning my thoughts into the cloud of nonsense that usually occupies the space between my ears. Unfortunately for me, the thoughts of caution had yet to reach my brain cells, so I entirely forgot to open the door before walking through it. The sudden loud noise and sharp pain in my forehead shuffled ‘occupational awareness’ to the forefront of my mind.
With the need to pee alleviated, I felt slightly more prepared to face the next task at hand: choose an outfit.
I’m not sure why this simple chore encumbers me so, but alas, it does. Mayhaps the array of so many choices is too much for my mind at such early hours of the morning, or maybe it’s due to the fact that I feel too weak to push the hangers aside to really explore my options, or it could be credited to the fact that I simply don’t care.
Reaching my hand into my closet, I pulled out the first thing that came into contact with my fingers: a rain coat. Glancing over my shoulder to peer at the weather to see if it looked cloudy, I saw the blinds were closed and decided it would be far too much effort to walk over there and actually check, so I just shoved the coat back on its hanger and offered a silent prayer for any storm-like clouds to go away before I walked outside. Reaching in again, I extracted a bright orange shirt with a large stain on one side. Lucky for me the stain could be covered up if I wore a jacket all day.
Two birds with one stone. The jacket would both cover the unsightly stain, and provide some protection if it were indeed raining. I haphazardly pulled the shirt over my head, forgetting that I still hadn’t removed my jim-jams, and turned to the dresser to look for some pants.
I have this habit of scanning my clothes at the end of the day for any signs of filth. If it looks clean and smells clean, then by-george it’s clean! So I’ll just toss it on top of the actual clean clothes, and wear it again and again until it’s apparent that it needs a good wash. This also makes my life a lot easier, because my favorite pant options just so happen to go with anything, or at least that’s what I tell myself, so I don’t even have to think about it before pulling them on.
It wasn’t until I had one leg in my favorite army-striped harem pants that I realized I still had my pj’s on. Sighing with resignation, I deemed this day terrible, and began the long laborious process of undressing and redressing myself.
“I will never be a model,” I grunted, shuddering at the thought of changing in and out of so many clothes items.
Shoes are the easiest part, because I only have one pair. Well, technically I have four, but neither heels, flip flops nor hunting boots seemed all that comfortable to me, so I went with the red flats instead. True, they clashed terribly with the rest of my outfit, but I just hoped no one would look at me all at once and instead take in my appearance one piece at a time.
I think there should be a law preventing me from getting my hands on mascara that early in the morning, as I have more than once applied it to my lips because I thought it was chapstick. Thankfully today I remembered to turn on the light first, and managed to apply enough amount of makeup to slightly improve my facial features.
Bathroom routine, check….clothes, check…makeup, check…what am I missing?…
A side glance into my bedroom mirror clued me into what I still hadn’t done to get ready for the day. My hair still laid plastered to the side of my head like a stiff octopus with a polio problem. The hairbrush lying on the desk next to me seemed as though it were made of lead when I tried to pick it up. Deciding I’d better save my energy for the long walk through campus to get to class, I rolled up the tangled mass of hair on my scalp into a loose bun, and clipped it in place with a bright yellow flower clip.
Finally ready for the day, except for brushing my teeth of course, but I stashed a toothbrush kit in my car for that purpose, I hoisted my small-mountain-of-a-backpack onto my shoulders, grabbed my keys and headed out the door. It’s only after getting outside that I noted it was warm and sunny.
Guess my outfit wasn’t all that well planned out…ah well. Let the day begin..