Click here to return to my Homepage
|
Sleep
** Poor deluded thing. ** Sleep, absolutely the last frontier. These are the voyages through the mind of Jennifer. An ongoing mission: to explore this new world, to seek out a life and bring it into being, to boldly go where no one has explored before and lived to become insane. ** All right. Who opened my eyes? Why is my head beeping? Wait a minute. Yeah. My eyes are trying to focus. Uh-huh. Oh. A fuzzy yellow blob. An alarm clock? This is not cool. Two long fuzzy thingies appear to be straining towards two small round barely visible dollops, both on the bottom of the yellow blob. Six- twenty. Definitely not even in a close enough area of coolness to be slightly chilly. Oh. Have I mentioned that I wear glasses? "Get up Jen, or I promise I'll make you regret it for the rest of our time together. And Jen. I'm guaranteed for LIFE!" For some reason my roommate never seems to hear when my clock talks to me. Or threatens me rather. "Hush, now. Ignore that loudmouth battery-operated Rolex-wannabe. Just curl up and go back to sleep." She can't hear my sheets either, it seems. She also thinks I'm going insane. "Tramp." The conversation was getting interesting now. The yellow blob with fuzzy dollops decided to move time up to seven o'five, just to spite the bed. I have an eight o'clock class. I had to get up. Oh joy. Alright. Gather all your strength...deep breath...and...grunt. Great start! The sheet is away from the body! Ok. What now? I guess I can actually attempt to try to manage an effort to appear to be about to get out of bed this morning. Uygh. aaaaiiiiiiyyyyyyeeeeee!!!!!! The floor is cold. "Good morning, Kim." Kim is my roommate. Oh, you probably guessed that. Every morning I thank the god d'jour that she isn't one of those absolutely horrid and terrifyingly- persistent-in- trying-to-get-you-happy- that-you have-risen-before- the-rest-of-the-whole- entire-goddamn-universe morning people. Oh. Have I mentioned I hate mornings? Actually, they'd be okay, if they would wait until around, oh, say...noonish to start. I can handle noon. It has two digits. It all started back when I was in grade school. Math was hell. Especially nines. I developed a system. I forget it now, but I liked it a lot at the time. Point? I don't have to have a point. This is my story. Back to the agonies of d' feet:
Heh! We're past this part... Oh, yeah. Here we are. See what happens when you distract me with stupid questions about such unimportant things as meanings and points? Good god. If I had a nickel for every ti... What? Oh... Uhm. Yeah. The story. Okay: Kim is awake. She is up, dressed, walking. She is facing my direction, opening and closing her mouth, creating sounds in her larynx. My brain begins to run around in a panic in a vain attempt to fit pictures to the mangled garbling that it's receiving from my ears. It doesn't seem to be getting it quite right. At least I hope that Kim isn't saying "Have a new god, a great and black bass". Have I mentioned that I hate mornings? Oh. Well. It's true. Kim is waving her hand in front of my face. "Yellow waves, chin?" "Yeah, I'm awake. Leave off." I wave her away. I know I answered her last question right. I have become fluent in the language of mornings. It was the culture section that I flunked. Okay. I am officially awake. Well, as awake as a night-owl can be before midnight. It's not as if I had actually done anything last night. I just did my homework, listened to a few tapes, read a few books. It took me well into two o'clock, and I saw it and it was good. Have I mentioned that I have no life? A droll little something to add to that evergrowing list of fascinating facts about moi. All righty, righty. Here we are. Seven o'clock. Actually it's five after, but when it is this bright outside, I only care that it's too goddam early to be out of bed. Kim was right. I do have an eight o'clock class. Math. Oh. Joy. Ecstasy. Rapture. Need I go on? Too bad. My next class is another joy. Oh sure! When it's on a schedule, it sounds interesting. However, when you are sitting in the actual class, listening to the actual professor rambling the actual lecture, it is an actual pain to witness, let alone be an actual part of. This Prof. laughs. This Prof. crack jokes. This Prof is not funny. This Prof. is pretty pathetic. This Prof. can't spell, worth jack. Okay, so I've left that class. I have an hour till my next nap...I mean class. I believe I hear someone calling my name. It is my old friend and long-time supplier, Pepsi... I am a Caffeine addict, y'see. Coming... Oh. Hello Conscience. Nice to see you again. (Not!) How have you been? Hmm? No... I don't think I need this money for anyth... Laundry? Textbooks? Dinner? oh. You are so right! I do. Thank you for reminding me. (Sucker!) Have to be going now! Bye! Hurry! Back to the room; shut the door. Keep cool. One-one hundred, two-one hundred, three-one hundred, four-one hundred, five-one hundred... Okay. Now, slowly open the door and see if...
*SLAM*
I always get my can. Do do do. La la la. Well, here I am, going off to my next class. Gee, how much fun it is to have to go to yet another class and learn even more exciting stuffs. I hope I will not be late. Perhaps I should leave a few minutes early. (Someone hand me a shovel, quick.) Okay. Koch center. No sign of Conscience. Slowly reach into my pocket. Draw out the dollar. Smooth it out against the wall. Crease it and rub out all the small folds. Walk calmly towards the machine. Bow. Kill the sacrifice. Burn the incense. Dance the ritualistic Dance of the Caffeine Addicts dance. Raise arm, holding dollar firmly. Insert the dollar into the mouth of the great Caramel God. Gently press the red, white and blue panel on the idol's belly. Reach into its abdomen and retrieve the sweet nectar of...nothing. What?! Dear God! It cannot be! Conscience has tricked me! The red light is glowering at me...Screaming into my very essence! Three words that are bile to my soul: Out of Pepsi. I shall have to… compromise…settle for something else. O, Horror upon horrors! All the panels but one are alight with the artificial flame of injustice. The only thing there is to drink is...COKE!
Scratch that. I hope and pray that my day doesn't get any worse than this.
|