An average morning

I am awakened

by the rude blaring of my alarm.

It startles me into consciousness, and I express my rebellion at the coming day by slapping down hard on the snooze button.

I know that I have only bought myself 10 more minutes, but I pretend for that it will last forever.

At last I succumb to its final warning  and peel myself out from underneath the covers. 

Stepping onto the cold, unforgiving floor I stumble around my room attempting to dress myself.

I do not want it to be morning yet. My warm and comfortable bed has held me captive with dreams of faraway lands for the past 7 hours, and no, I am not ready for it to be over.

Peering out the window, one glance tells me that the sky doesn't give a damn about what I feel.

The sun is rising and the day will continue to occur whether I like it or not.

Plodding down the stairs, I can only hope and pray that my clumsy state of being has not woken up the girl who sometimes sleeps across the hall from me. However, at this moment, I care only minimally. She usually comes in late and reeks up the whole upstairs like cigarette smoke.

Following my bathroom routine is the first real decision of the day: breakfast. 

It's such a shame that nature has chosen the most important meal decision of the day to occur at a time at which we, as humans who are in a state of half-comatose, often practice the weakest judgement. Pop-tarts and hot cocoa it is.

Munching on my nutritious choice of energy for the day, I check my windows. It looks like it will take about ten minutes to scrape off the amount of frost on my windshield. Because, of course, it will not come off in nice large sheets. Oh, no. It will choose to surrender itself from my windshield in small, insignificantly-sized pieces no matter how hard I press down on the ice scraper.

I slowly back out of the driveway, gingerly avoiding the large curb awaiting me directly behind my back tires, and pull out onto the foggy street. Waiting for every. single. car. on the road to pass before pulling onto the main drag, my drive to work is uneventful. I sing along to my i-pod's music and glance down at the clock every so often to make sure I am still running on time.

Pulling into the parking lot of the facility, I send a prayer to God to help me get through another anxiety-filled morning, where I do my best to remain professional and sane throughout each change that occurs and each patient that needs treating. I linger in my car and enjoy a few last moments of silence and serenity before braving the challenges awaiting to pounce on me the moment I walk through the door.

Time to face another average morning.