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ENGL 302-03


Journal 3, Prompt 1

The First Thing I Want in the Morning…

In the Wee Small Hours

The first thing I want in the morning is to close my eyes and go back to sleep again. The alarm on my phone goes of, screaming out the song “Weightless” by All Time Low. Its a challenge between my phone and me: who will be most victorious over the other. I pride myself on my expert reflexes. As my cell phone alarm goes off, within two seconds, I have launched myself up, rolled onto my side, and forcefully mashed the “END” button on my phone.

Laying there again, I attempt to catch my breath as my heart races. I can’t figure out why I haven’t changed that song yet.  Early morning terror? There is no way that can possibly be good for a person.  Maybe I use that surprise attack on my ear drums as a way of validating my remaining in bed for another solid ten minutes or so, but I plea the fifth. Responsible, time managing, uses good self control—all great words to describe my morning behavior, right?

Eventually, I drag myself out of my bed, frequently with a grimace, sigh, and a grumble, and then tumble over the edge, relying on gravity to aid me in gaining my feet. Like a true college student, I shuffle over to my coffee maker, which holds a place of honor on the floor at the foot of the other bed. Crouching, I groggily dump in the coffee and water and hope my bleary eyes measure out something that will taste relatively decent.

Still squatting next to the coffee maker, I blindly jab at the touch screen panel. I’m beginning to doubt its abilities. Either I don’t know how to press a button, or my pride and joy panel is dying on me. My knees sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies as I stand. The characteristic snap, crackle, and pop of a senior citizen. It would seem the geriatrics unit is just a few creaky steps away.

I make my way to the cramped bathroom to grab a shower. By this point, I’ve wasted the majority of my allotted hour of prep time and must now scramble. I fancy myself shampoo master—I hurry through the process of squeezing a glob of Redken into my palm and lather it into my hair, making sure to get a substantial drip into my eyes. Oh, it wouldn’t be a good morning without that lovely wake up burn in my eyes!

Tripping out of the shower, I frequently blur through the process of drying off and throwing some semblance of an outfit on. Jeans and a t-shirt. This “hobo suit,” as my brother likes to refer to it, quoting the very excellent movie, The Incredibles, has been my default wardrobe for years. I still recall sitting on the couch with my mother one summer watching the show What Not To Wear on TLC. “Mc, I say we get you on that show. The t-shirts work for being a bum, but you really need to learn how to look nice.” Thanks, mom.

I rush through the remainder of my routine, dive into my jacket, and fling my backpack over a shoulder. That last minute glance at my bed is one of longing. It would be so easy to just climb back in…The first thing I want in the morning is to close my eyes and go back to sleep…but then again, that’s also the second, third, fourth fifth, eighteenth…and even the millionth thing I want.


One Response to “The Wee Small Hours (Journal 3)”

  1. Warren Rochelle on February 11th, 2011 12:31 pm

    Sleep, like the gods’ ambrosia.
    Good, vivid details.