Eat, sleep, rave, repeat
The myth of the morning person
It seems everyone around me is eternally exhausted. Think about it: when was the last time you slept in confidently, without the stress of homework swallowing you the moment you open your eyelids?
Given the options of sleeping, studying and socializing, the average student can only properly balance two, but never all three, of these activities. I did not used to think it was the case, but I’ve become a living example of how aptly true it can be. I blame this vicious cycle on the torture that is mornings. Is anyone inherently a morning person? If so, I’d wager they were breastfed caffeine as an infant.
When my alarm rings at 8 a.m., my body slowly and sluggishly squirms beneath my highlighter-pink jersey sheets, consciously ignoring the alien ringtone blaring from my phone. An eye mask is my only friend at this early hour, and I cannot find the emotional or physical motivation to remove myself from the dreamy bliss that is my bed. Since the advent of a two-inch memory foam topper for my top bunk fortress, my willingness to become an active member of society before noon has dramatically diminished.
Despite these struggles, I awake — though not unlike Dracula. Emerging from my coffin, I am insatiably hungry — often for peanut butter, occasionally for human blood. I descend the ladder and stare hopelessly around my room, hoping one of my three roommates will tell me to go back to sleep, allowing me to avoid any sense of personal responsibility. When no one comes to my defense, I decide it’s probably time to put on pants and find a toothbrush.
Brushing one’s teeth is actually a very philosophical, self-reflective experience. For two uninterrupted minutes, I stare at the reflection of my almond-shaped eyes, thinking about what type of person I am going to be that day. Questions run through my mind about my seemingly busy, yet overly social, life. I make a mental to-do list for the day, usually with no intention of actually executing it — at least having a plan offers some comfort.
And as usual, my mind begins to wander. Did I have any weird dreams last night? Oh yeah, something about elephant seals. And then the careful observations of my exhausted, undecorated face begin. Luckily, my eyes are so tired I can barely distinguish zits from freckles. Act I of the morning ritual is in no way bittersweet — it is simply bitter and dreadful.
Cue intermission and coffee.
With the aid of my non-fat vanilla latte, I begin to breathe life again. No longer a zombie of the morning, my eyes begin to take on their natural shape, and the world seems a happier place. My legs, finally released from lethargic density, regain their bounce, and I begin to walk without the appearance of a dog on its hind legs. Exhaustion has a funny way of instilling misery, and caffeine is sometimes the only remedy to make it through Act II of my day without falling back asleep.
It is not until I am back in my top bunk, encased in my memory foam, that I reach a state of comfort. While thinking about the next day’s morning haunts my attempts to fall asleep, once the eye mask goes on there is no turning back. My mind eventually stops zigzagging in its state of madness. My eyes feel as if they are sinking back into my brain, ready to be tucked in. And then I drift off into the sublime land of sleep. So then the cycle begins again — eat, sleep, rave, repeat.