It’s 8 a.m. on Thursday as I think, “Good morning world” — about to drift back into a light sleep.

Then reality hits: “Oh my gosh, it’s 8 a.m. on Thursday morning!” Class begins in 10 minutes, and I’m still pajama-clad and sleepy-eyed.

What a wonderful way to begin a morning — with the realization I have once again slept through the six alarms I put on the snooze setting last night. I now have 10 minutes before I’m expected to arrive at my class and the journey takes me an average of 15 minutes when walking briskly.

I jump out of my warm bed, scramble around and throw on the first pair of jeans I find. They might have been from last night, but at this point it doesn’t matter.

With no time for breakfast, I almost run out the door but screech to a halt as I remember to load my backpack with books necessary for class.

By the time I actually get out the door, it has become apparent the only way to possibly make it to class within the remaining eight minutes that remain until the clock strikes 8:10 is to run. I throw my hood over my tangled hair and begin jogging.

After 30 seconds, I am out of breath. I keep my head down to avoid the stares of on-time bystanders, but the stares persist. They are clearly wondering why this crazy girl in wrinkled jeans and an old sweatshirt is running like a maniac.

My cheeks burn pink — I can feel the humiliation. I try to avoid thoughts of embarrassment, but my head is filled with irritated thoughts directed at me and others.

My thoughts are almost as messy as my appearance.

“If only you had gone to bed earlier,” I think to myself. “I must start my homework ahead of time. How in the world did I sleep through six alarms again? I wish people would stop looking at me.”

After what feels like an eternity, I arrive at the Graphic Arts building and dash inside. I sit down in class — surprisingly with one minute to spare — and attempt to catch my breath from the tiring and disgraceful journey.

My teacher stands up, commanding the attention of the now silent classroom. He begins taking roll. To my astonishment, the punctual teacher decides to delay class for 10 minutes while we wait for two tardy students to show up.

Furthering my frustrations, the absent kids never showed. In other words, I ran to class and made myself look like a buffoon for no reason.

To add salt to my already bloodied and battered ego, I was stopped on my walk home by a student in need of help for her class. The persistent girl needed me to answer a couple of questions, which I was totally fine with, until I found out that she had to record me answering on video. I was already roped into helping the girl out, so I agreed, despite my careless, unattractive appearance.

Looking back on my childhood and teenage years, I realize now how nice it was to have a mother who woke me up each morning. Although at the time I would bicker with my mom for waking me up, I now wish I had not taken her for granted. It is apparent now her determination to get me out of bed each morning was more helpful than I’d ever realized.

But this is college, and now that I am independent, I must attempt to wake up earlier all on my own.

Even if it takes six alarms.

Sydney Ray is a journalism freshman.

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