Monday Morning Min

27 April 2011Min K

Beep-beep-beep, blip. Beep-beep-beep blip. Wham! This is my Monday morning. The end of my one-day weekend. Sigh. I loath Monday mornings. The blaring red sign of 6:00 am signals the abrupt halt of my blissful sleep and the start of my own personal hell. Stubbornly, I try to go back to my fetal position and desperately seek the last waves of receding serotonin. The rustling of my roommate’s blankets indicates her awakening, but I refuse. I refuse to acknowledge mine. Sadly, my wishful thinking is not enough and I am now awake. The blinds are drawn and the sun, my mortal enemy, streams in, searing my retinas. Photophobic, I burrow as fast as I can while screaming, ‘It burns, it burns’ and seek refuge under my blankets. But it is not enough. My paradise is lost. The power of the sun is too strong and it bleeds through my shelter. With a sigh, I admit my millionth defeat and trudge to my closet for clothing. And apparently, I left the house with only one sock and one shoe. And I didn’t really notice until I got to the cafeteria. I swear the world is out to get me. I really don’t understand why the world should hold a grudge against me. I only seek sleep. Macbeth’s idealized sleep:
“the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feas” No, I am not a masochist. I love my sleep. I hate waking up, and like some sort of beast, I greet each day with bleary eyes, morning breath, and barbaric grunts. Seriously, wouldn’t the world just be all dandy if everyone just slept in. There would be no gun fights, only pillow fights. Sleep Country would be rich. Garfield would be forever thankful. And nobody would have to look at their spouses in the morning and scream. Yes, life would indeed be special. However, some things never go according to plan and I blame it on the cursed sign-in sheet. It possesses such power; one un-ticked box immediately gives you bathroom or compost duty on every floor. One time I even tried to get my roommate to sign me in. Very original I know, but a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do. Anyways, that didn’t quite work out. The duty staff are getting smarter. They wait for you to sign the person in and then as you leave, erase the pencil marking. Sneaky stuff. All in all, it’s a tough decision to make, a Clash of ideals: should I sleep or should I go?

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