Hear my iPhone’s alarm going off, it’s the really cranky robot one that my ex-girlfriend used and it’s quite effective because it’s so damn annoying, and swipe away at my desk in order to grab the phone and swipe again to turn it off. Oh, it’s been going off for about 4 minutes now. So this is how I sleep through fire alarms.
Lie in bed, think about what I want to do for the day, think about what I want to do with my life, contemplate my existence, have an existential crisis, convince myself that closing my eyes will help with the thinking.
Wake up again. This time no alarm, and it’s a couple hours after I had set my alarm. Damn it, not again.
Start to think again, but then I tell myself that the last time I did this I fell back asleep and have an internal war where my sleepy side tries to convince my rational side that sleeping is good and that I should do it. Sometimes it wins. Most of the time it wins.
Finally roll out of bed, eyes even smaller from having just woken up. Saunter over to the restroom in black flip flops with a small white towel in one hand and my bag of toiletries in the other.
Brush teeth. My crest toothpaste is running out so I’m squeezing the very last, very last bits. I ponder whether I have another tube left in my room and I hope I do because I don’t want to buy another one just a couple days before heading home. Contemplate the repercussions of not brushing my teeth for a couple days if it turns out that I don’t have any more toothpaste. When I was a kid, I only showered once a week and thought it was normal, and maybe that’s what brushing my teeth every couple days would be like. How did teeth brushing get invented anyway? No, but seriously. At what point in time did people decide to put some paste on their teeth after waking up and before going to sleep and what were people’s breaths like before that time?
Wash face. Put on some Target brand face wash scrub thing that has a bunch of orange little dots that hide all over my face and make me struggle in washing it all off. My sister insists that this face wash is obviously not working and that I should revert to a different one that she’s had much success with, but I bought this damn orange face wash and I’m going to finish it. It’s a big tube.
Dry face with small, white towel. I make sure to dab instead of wipe my face because I don’t like having bloody dots magically appear on my towel. I also take special care not to run the towel too vigorously over my eyebrow piercing in the fear that it’ll get caught somehow and I’ll just have lots of blood and a big hole on my face. Kind of like a big hole that some people have in their ears after stretching out their earlobe with one gauge after another. What do those people do when they want to get a job where having a huge gaping hole in their ear is a big no-no?
Put on my contacts. Right one first, then the left one. I go back to wipe my eyes some more because I’m pretty sure some of the pesky orange dots from my face wash are still lingering around my eyes and I would hate to squish them under my contacts and have them stuck there for the entire day. I hold each of my contacts up to the light, although this is quite the dangerous maneuver because this is how I always end up dropping my contacts onto the dirty, dirty floor or the dirty, dirty sink, and make sure that they’re right side up. There’s nothing worse than putting in a contact lens inside out and feeling the pain of a thousand needles piercing through your eye. Since I have astigmatism on my left eye, I look for the small text in the lens that indicates that it’s the right direction going on. Heh, the right direction. Okay, that was pretty bad.
Walk back to my room, a little more awake, and decide to write a blog post about how I wake up as an excuse to delay the rest of my morning ritual which includes, but is not limited to, taking a shower. Think about what I want to do for the day, think about what I want to do with my life, contemplate my existence. This time, I don’t fall back asleep. But my bed looks so very inviting…