Mornings. Consciousness ebbs like a wayward tide. Sights, sounds, feelings; they all blur together and serve to bludgeon my already numb mind.
It’s some sort of vicious cycle, really. The late night sessions into the 4A.M territories, and the 7A.M alarm. It’s always the same, the procrastination, drunken orgies of lonely complatency – prodding the puddle, but never mopping the mess till the end. Is it just some sort of masochistic tendency both we and I have? Is there something fetishistic about stretching the limits of our bodies, and torturing ourselves with caffeine and all night jam sessions of the studious kind?
You bet. We’re college students.
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