Good Morning, Sunshine.

My 4:30 ramblings

It's already the morning, but the sky is still ablaze with stars. Or, it would be if I could see it. Instead I'm left with a surrogate, a fake, a copy. The ceiling remains, for me, a constant reminder of my limits  a metaphorical grade-school child telling me that I'm not tall enough to play basketball, or strong enough to lift the dumbbell before me. I shouted at it in true John Locke fashion, "Don't tell me what I can't do!" No response. Again, I shouted. This time, my cries were met. Or, rather, reciprocated by my mother.
 "Stop yelling!" she called. "It's Five o'clock in the morning!" I felt like correcting her, as it was only 4:43, but I abstained. There really was no reason to start a fight with a woman, let alone a cranky one.

So again, I got comfy under the covers and turned off the light via the nifty remote control by my bed. I fancied a spoon of peanut butter, so I turned on the light once more, and slid my arm out from under my pillow. I grabbed the spoon I keep on my bedside table, brought it to my face, and plopped it down. The cold metal seared my skin, and gave me a jolt. In my newly awakened state, I sat up slightly, turned, and picked up the peanut butter from the nightstand. It was the creamy kind. Not just the type without nuts in it. The peanut butter that came loaded with so much sugar that it made Nutella taste like hummus.  I brought it, too, to my bed, and set it down. Confident in the look of my ersatz chemistry set, and unable to bear another minute without peanut butter in my face, I twisted the cap off of the jar. Luckily, no residue had accumulated (1) on the top, so I tossed it aside carelessly and got to work. It wasn't until I slid the spoon into the peanut butter that I realized just how cold it was outside of my blankets. It took an unexpected amount of effort to cut through the stuff, and when I finally removed it, it didn't look like butter at all. It closer resembled a chunk of grainy, brown obsidian, chipped and broken at the edges.
Nonetheless, a snack was a snack, and I needed it desperately.

Even as I popped the spoon and its cargo into my mouth, my stomach yearned loudly for sustenance, like a beggar on the streets of New York pleading with strangers to feed him. I had to ignore him, though, for I had important things to get to, and he wasn't a part of them. But what did I have to do? The beautiful young lady I'd been courting had long ago surrendered to Morpheus, and I too was feeling sleep's numbing appeal. But I knew that if I succumbed now, there would be no awakening in three hours for my daily education.  Three hours! It sounded like such a long time! Why, three hours ago, it was two o'clock, and I could have certainly woken up  albeit with some effort  in the morning.

I glanced at my watch. It was flashing between 1:01 and 9:04. Clearly, it wasn't as waterproof as its packaging had led me to believe. Oh well. Twenty dollars later, I could be sporting a brand-new watch.

Bored and hoping to distract myself, I opened my window and gazed out into the open tundra. Good god, I hoped that school would be cancelled. I couldn't handle another sleepless groggy day of academic failure. A two-hour delay is a half measure, I thought. Half measures are for cowards. Always the Hypocrite, Fin. Always the hypocrite...

I suddenly heard sounds outside my door, so I quickly shut the light and pretended to sleep. Minutes went by with no interruption. I began to believe that the disturbance I heard was my dog, or a falling toiletry. Either way, the perceived threat had been eliminated, and only silence remained. When I labored to lift my head, though, I found that it was stuck to the pillow! I panicked. I couldn't move any part of my body. I was paralyzed, and sleep chased my consciousness through the labyrinth city of my mind like a flood, washing away all thoughts and worries, and leaving behind a moist, refreshing silence. Finally, I could fight it no more. I conceded  Threw up my arms in submission and surrendered my consciousness to the beast, leaving but one thought uncleansed from my mind: There's no way I'm waking up tomorrow.

Author's Note

(1) Purple?

Reviews

[Pete Langley]

Fin,
Your self-awareness is not extraordinary, but the way you are able to observe yourself is. You have a desciptive talent which makes me want to keep reading, which is unusual and you musn`t lose as you get older and assimilate other people`s work.
If you can hang your talent onto good story lines, you`ll do well. Well done P.

[Finesse]

Thank you, Peter. I appreciate the compliment. I've never been a particularly "creative" writer, but I have always wanted to write fiction.
Perhaps I'll deviate from reality, but only enough to call it fiction.

[Lucien Maier]

your words and structure are very good.