My turn: The constant struggle against the snuggles
Laura Butler
Issue date: 2/4/10 Section: Perspective
I hate to break it to Ke$ha, but I do not wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy.
I have no idea what she's talking about.
If I've got my glasses and run out the door, it's because the night before was a long one and I have five minutes to make it across campus to class.
I wake up every morning feeling like someone who wants nothing more than to stay under the covers.
Believe me: I really wish I were a morning person.
I know my days would be so much more productive and I could go to bed at night with a sense of accomplishment instead of a sense of dread for the pain I know I will face in seven hours or less.
I often joke that I learned to sleep anywhere and anytime after coming to college, but it's definitely true.
I value every minute of sleep I can get.
I should've been a founder of the Facebook group "When I was a kid, I hated going to bed. Now I cherish every hour of sleep."
Sleeping is a beautiful thing.
I get to put on my soft, flannel pajama pants and toasty slipper socks and finally be tranquil. When I hit my bed after a long day of fighting the losing battle against my ever-growing agenda, the feeling is pure bliss.
I fluff up my two pillows and slowly lower my head to meet them. I stretch my limbs, arch my back and ease it onto my mattress-my mattress lined with a Tempur-Pedic topper.
As I pull my blankets up to my chin and snuggle down with my penguin stuffed animals, I close my eyes and soak in the feeling of pure relaxation and undisturbed peace.
And then, before I know it, it's over. No more snuggling. No more dreaming.
My perfect slumber is rudely interrupted by a blaring sound worse than the starlings that used to reside by our window.
There's that blasted alarm again.
ERRR! ERRR! ERRR!
Annoying little pre-programmed chimes and beeps.
I've even started using my cheery Britney Spears and Mariah Carey ringtones to prompt my eyes to open, but it never works-it's a battle to peek through my eyelids when they start singing.
I have no idea what she's talking about.
If I've got my glasses and run out the door, it's because the night before was a long one and I have five minutes to make it across campus to class.
I wake up every morning feeling like someone who wants nothing more than to stay under the covers.
Believe me: I really wish I were a morning person.
I know my days would be so much more productive and I could go to bed at night with a sense of accomplishment instead of a sense of dread for the pain I know I will face in seven hours or less.
I often joke that I learned to sleep anywhere and anytime after coming to college, but it's definitely true.
I value every minute of sleep I can get.
I should've been a founder of the Facebook group "When I was a kid, I hated going to bed. Now I cherish every hour of sleep."
Sleeping is a beautiful thing.
I get to put on my soft, flannel pajama pants and toasty slipper socks and finally be tranquil. When I hit my bed after a long day of fighting the losing battle against my ever-growing agenda, the feeling is pure bliss.
I fluff up my two pillows and slowly lower my head to meet them. I stretch my limbs, arch my back and ease it onto my mattress-my mattress lined with a Tempur-Pedic topper.
As I pull my blankets up to my chin and snuggle down with my penguin stuffed animals, I close my eyes and soak in the feeling of pure relaxation and undisturbed peace.
And then, before I know it, it's over. No more snuggling. No more dreaming.
My perfect slumber is rudely interrupted by a blaring sound worse than the starlings that used to reside by our window.
There's that blasted alarm again.
ERRR! ERRR! ERRR!
Annoying little pre-programmed chimes and beeps.
I've even started using my cheery Britney Spears and Mariah Carey ringtones to prompt my eyes to open, but it never works-it's a battle to peek through my eyelids when they start singing.
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