Good Morning

Alarm. The dream wasn’t too interesting anyway. It was about… zebras? I already can’t remember. It must have really not been interesting.

The alarm continues for a minute, then waits for another four. My grogged lids open the slightest bit, only to see a pile of clean clothes on the carpet, asking to be put away. I think, I should pick them up, then roll over and let my body and mind once again sigh into a rest that is total. Alarm rings out for a second time, and naturally, I don’t move, though I have gone from unconscious to semi-conscious at this point. Next one I’ll get up. Nope. Next one. Rings again. Oh crap, Rivers probably gets annoyed when it rings forever. I wrap the covers around me and walk to the lights, flipping them on. Turn off my alarm and check my phone. Two messages, both from some group message I forgot I was a part of. I make the vast trek of five feet and, still hugged by blankets, sit cross-legged on my bed, and stare at my feet.

Gah I hate getting up. Has it always been like this, with my head all dazed, eyes filled with sleepies and stuff? I guess so, yeah. That time when I was nine and stayed in bed until like noon and the bro came and got me and I was annoyed. Haha, Georgie. I guess I should say George now. He’s married. Mm. But I guess this is just me waking up. But I can’t just say that it’s me. What about when I’m responsible for people? What if everyone was like that? I’ve gotta change. How could anyone love me when they see that waking up takes like two hours? No girl would want to have a husband who isn’t chipper. I’m supposed to be a leader, and I’m just sitting here not feeling like getting up. How dumb is that. I don’t think a lot of other people have that problem. Everyone’s got their own problems though haha. From the outside, I absurdly let out a single nose-snicker after doing nothing except staring at my feet for ten minutes.

Phew, Lord, I’m going to need you to be with me today. I’m so weak. I’m such a fool. Let me love people, and you. But are you even there? What if it’s all fake? Nietzsche’s words and things make so much sense. I just don’t know, I just don’t know anything. I don’t know anything. I really know nothing. Really, I know nothing. Spiral and spiral, with grief. Oh Lord, be with me. I do know you are there. But do I? Are you just some fairy tale that ignorant people invented to explain things a while back? Why do I have to convince myself over and over about this? (Dang, I still forgot to buy eggs. I’ll have to just drink orange juice again. At least that gives me some more time to get ready.) Is it because I don’t really believe in you? Are you an invention of the priests’ imagination, subconsciously used to control us? No, no, you rose from the dead. The Bible just rings so true about that fact. It talks about it and stuff, and how if the resurrection was false then Jesus was false and stuff. And the disciples were shocked about Jesus being raised. That just feels so real. And I’ve looked into it good enough. I think. Phew, Lord, be with me. If it be your will, let me breathe with peace and joy, for my sake and for those around me. But more than that, I want to be your servant. Whatever allows me to serve you best, let it be done to me. But peace would be nice.

I glance at the clock. Shoot, I’m gonna be late. I’ll have to skip Lewis. Dang, that was so dumb. I really just need to get up, that’s dumb. Walk over and get some clothes on. Sweet, I still got a clean cool shirt. Oh and these jeans are good too. Ha, it’s like I’m trying to impress someone, thinking about what to wear. Am I? Maybe I am without knowing it. I will be seeing that girl and that girl today. Hmm… Eh, no, I just like these clothes.

“Prince Ali” playing in the back burner, I open my door and stick on the deodes, then head to the kitchen. “Hey Gare Bear.” “Hey.” I pour myself a glass of bountiful OJ and revel in its citrus-y glory. Dang, there is seriously no better drink. Ah! This is the good stuff. Quick brush my teeth and see that my hair is again bed-headed. I lumber into the bathroom and turn on the faucet, sticking my head in, carefully turning this way and that, to make sure all those hairs get completely soaked, but not letting my shirt get wet. I dry the hairs off good enough, though my towel is still a tad damp from last night’s shower, and see that my carpool pals have already arrived. I’m soon in the living room and they are talking about March Madness or class or some such? I’m tired. I don’t really feel like saying anything. So I don’t. We mosey on to the car, and they are evidently amused at my lack of words. Lulz.

Welp, time for another day, a new day. Oh it’s quite warm, that’s nice. Are they still talking about classes? I really don’t get why they talk. I’m really so much more of a prehistoric man or a middle-tier member of some animal herd than I am a civilized, modern person. I just want like hunting crouched with a spear almost naked with stripes down my chest and thighs, bright white and red. Stalking and killing a beast in the jungle with my brothers and like shouting with our thick voices, shouting triumph and stuff, yeah, then bringing it home and dancing around a bonfire with our wives and feasting on the meat and stuff, then lazily being together, truly being together, in the grass and the plains as the sun sets, lying at ease near the fire, warm, with only the happiness of each other and our mud hut village, maybe one of us talking poetry or literature or singing a low song about ancient heroes and kind deeds, making us feel, yeah, one of our few bards speaking those silver, wispy words, none of the rest of us interfering, just listening and being carried along by those silver words of our bard, being together in the plains where the sun sets. Ha! That’d be the best. But I guess I’m doing college so I can go to work and then have free time. And my friends are pretty cool too. “… and then he called up a random student and had him answer questions in front of the whole class! He’s seriously the worst.” Dang, that sucks. I guess in life if no one talked that’d be lame. I enjoy the pleasant and variable hum of conversations, the talking of this and that. Being a wallflower does have its perks. But so does being in the midst of it. I dunno, sometimes I think I should just quit all this and go out in the bush alone or something, cause there are just too many problems with people and modern life and all that complex stuff. But the bush is Australia. Out in the woods like Thoreau, sucking out the bone marrow of life and stuff, getting to the real stuff. Nah, that would get old I guess. I already don’t know what to do when I have free time. I’m more like an animal who doesn’t talk and just “affirms life” simple as that. But that’s not true, I like poetry and the arts and movies and books and compassion too. I dunno. I guess it’s a new day, and it’s warm.

We reach our parking spot, and get out our backpacks from the trunk. I think of it and say, “In Australia the trunk is called the ‘boot.’” I hope George is doing well. I know he is. They all laugh that this is the only thing I’ve said all morning. I laugh too, once they point it out. We say bye and part ways, each to our own classes and doings and livings and story buildings and internal-external world interactions, and the Spirit is with us all the time, though we rarely remember it. I walk past Reflection pond today because it’s political philosophy day. What a lovely place I’ve got here. Thank you, Lord. Ya know, I like the idea of calling God, “Father” more than calling him, “Lord.” I should do that, because of adoption and stuff. But I’ve thought that thought before. “Lord” just flows off my tongue I think. Wow, look at that lovely bird! Lord, let me have the strength for the day today. Thanks that it is warm and sunshiny.