Tak Maga
Shannon Ward
English 10 3o
September 26th
A Singular Morning
The unremitting alarm on my phone never seems to go off at the time that I would like it to. This is probably due to the fact that if I had to choose, I would prefer that the alarm would not go off at all, but it always makes complete sense to set it at this particular time the night before. I slowly gyrate towards the edge of my seemingly enveloping mattress. With no great resolve, I trundle over to my phone and attempt to silence its incessant beeping with some wild gesticulations.
Amazed that this actually succeeds, I sit up and lean against the cool, supportive wall. It would seem altogether a tad bit too easy to close my heavy eyes and settle down for a few more winks of blissful sleep. The memory of warm blankets and soft pillows on my bed are still fresh on my mind. However, I also consider, I might want to be relatively on time to class. After weighing the two options, I come to the unsurprising conclusion that sleep should win out. I close my eyes and drift back into a very light sleep… before another alarm on my phone heralds the arrival of my day. I now distinguish between the snooze and stop buttons on my phone, and smash my finger down on the appropriate button. In the resulting silence, I survey my room. A desk cluttered with papers and other superfluous items, a floor strewn with random articles of clothing, and a bookshelf that seems to have more books facing the wrong way then right stare right back at me. With a sigh of finality, heave myself up and resolutely start the day.
Waltzing through my morning routine as if in a dream, I get dress and wash my face. The advantage of my wardrobe organization system is that I do not have to decide what to wear each morning. Rather, I passively pick up the first item of clothing in each pile (much to the chagrin of my more fashion-conscious family). After coming to the decision that a bright green graphic t-shirt and a blue over shirt was a bit to garish, I cobble together a workable outfit.
My morning ablutions conclude without incident, and while I dry my face I take a glance at the clock. The time is six fifty-five and twenty-three seconds on the sleek digital clock that was ten minutes and twenty-two seconds fast. This was a point of debate among our family, as there were those who said that we should fix the time, and others who said that it makes everybody think that they are late. (This seems to create a plethora of problems, certainly much more than it solves.) All I know is that the one second difference was really getting to me.
That was what I contemplated as I sprinted around my house, throwing all the necessary items into my gradually bulging backpack. Battered binders, tattered notebooks, and only slightly broken pencils are thrown into that compilation of fabric. My lunch is slapdash affair, with bread, meat, and cheese being thrown around with no regard to the sanctity of the kitchen. The end result is one meat sandwich and some grapes in a slightly dented tin box. This is the last item to be hastily thrown in my backpack before I zip it up and place it, with no great grace, on a bench by the front door. With a rush that seems common among high-schoolers that are running late to their classes, I hastily tie my shoes. My brother was right behind me, and we both made a dash to the car. With amazement, I look at the clock and ascertain that I would in fact be on time to school. With a sigh, I lean back in my seat.
Another day at school, another evening, and then it would all happen again. Maybe I should get up a tad bit earlier? Nah, I said to myself. I could manage it. How hard could it be to get up in the morning? Famous last words.
Shannon Ward
English 10 3o
September 26th
A Singular Morning
The unremitting alarm on my phone never seems to go off at the time that I would like it to. This is probably due to the fact that if I had to choose, I would prefer that the alarm would not go off at all, but it always makes complete sense to set it at this particular time the night before. I slowly gyrate towards the edge of my seemingly enveloping mattress. With no great resolve, I trundle over to my phone and attempt to silence its incessant beeping with some wild gesticulations.
Amazed that this actually succeeds, I sit up and lean against the cool, supportive wall. It would seem altogether a tad bit too easy to close my heavy eyes and settle down for a few more winks of blissful sleep. The memory of warm blankets and soft pillows on my bed are still fresh on my mind. However, I also consider, I might want to be relatively on time to class. After weighing the two options, I come to the unsurprising conclusion that sleep should win out. I close my eyes and drift back into a very light sleep… before another alarm on my phone heralds the arrival of my day. I now distinguish between the snooze and stop buttons on my phone, and smash my finger down on the appropriate button. In the resulting silence, I survey my room. A desk cluttered with papers and other superfluous items, a floor strewn with random articles of clothing, and a bookshelf that seems to have more books facing the wrong way then right stare right back at me. With a sigh of finality, heave myself up and resolutely start the day.
Waltzing through my morning routine as if in a dream, I get dress and wash my face. The advantage of my wardrobe organization system is that I do not have to decide what to wear each morning. Rather, I passively pick up the first item of clothing in each pile (much to the chagrin of my more fashion-conscious family). After coming to the decision that a bright green graphic t-shirt and a blue over shirt was a bit to garish, I cobble together a workable outfit.
My morning ablutions conclude without incident, and while I dry my face I take a glance at the clock. The time is six fifty-five and twenty-three seconds on the sleek digital clock that was ten minutes and twenty-two seconds fast. This was a point of debate among our family, as there were those who said that we should fix the time, and others who said that it makes everybody think that they are late. (This seems to create a plethora of problems, certainly much more than it solves.) All I know is that the one second difference was really getting to me.
That was what I contemplated as I sprinted around my house, throwing all the necessary items into my gradually bulging backpack. Battered binders, tattered notebooks, and only slightly broken pencils are thrown into that compilation of fabric. My lunch is slapdash affair, with bread, meat, and cheese being thrown around with no regard to the sanctity of the kitchen. The end result is one meat sandwich and some grapes in a slightly dented tin box. This is the last item to be hastily thrown in my backpack before I zip it up and place it, with no great grace, on a bench by the front door. With a rush that seems common among high-schoolers that are running late to their classes, I hastily tie my shoes. My brother was right behind me, and we both made a dash to the car. With amazement, I look at the clock and ascertain that I would in fact be on time to school. With a sigh, I lean back in my seat.
Another day at school, another evening, and then it would all happen again. Maybe I should get up a tad bit earlier? Nah, I said to myself. I could manage it. How hard could it be to get up in the morning? Famous last words.