School started almost one week ago. For almost two weeks now, I have had to be at work no later than 8 am. After two months of leisurely wake-ups, slowly sipping my International Coffee House coffee of the day, and reading until I am ready to get dress, this getting up early in the morning crap just doesn’t cut it.
My alarm goes off, and it is still dark outside. My mind says that this must be a joke, but it’s possible that I am still dreaming. My eyes feel heavy and swollen. I try to open them, but they revolt against my attempts. So . . . I think they will be better prepared to open if I let them rest for nine more minutes.
The alarm sounds again. Has it really been nine minutes? My eyes open enough for me to see the time, but they snap shut like they have springs. I feel my way to the bathroom, splash my face with cool water, then pat it dry. My eyes feel a little bit awake. They are less heavy, less sticky. My body, however, still feels the tug of the bed. I stand in front of the sink wondering what to do next. My hair? Make-up? I forgot moisturizer. I spread it on my face, then wonder again. It really needs some time to soak into my skin and work its magic. I should do something productive to get ready. But I stand in front of the sink, looking at my reflection, wondering what I can do about the bags under my eyes. I put on my make-up, brush my hair. Then I decide to straighten it, but there is a big hump in the back. I wet it down so I can start all over. While I wait for it to partially dry, I get dressed. The clothes in the closet taunt me. The outfit I picked out the night before doesn’t look the same in the early morning light. I put on white pants with the red shirt, but the pants are too tight. I try on a skirt, but this denim shirt looks better with it. I glance at the clock. 7:28. I have eight minutes to get dressed, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, fix my hair, put contacts in, feed the dog, feed the fish, make the bed, get my lunch and leave.