Is that a 6? Can’t be. Feels like I crashed into my squeaky mattress just a couple of hours ago. More like passed out. I thought I had coffee after dinner, what happened? Right, forgot that I’ve grown immune to caffeine.
That is a 6, for 6:00 am. I already feel a kink in my neck, the kind that lasts two to three days, and I mutter something as I reach across to silence the alarm with vengeance.
With one eye squinted open, I drag my carcass out of bed and into the kitchen. I’m on autopilot, one hand grabbing the cereal box, the other searching for coffee. I curse the world as I realize that I am fresh out of milk and coffee. No way I was going to get through the thirty pages of Civil Procedure reading I had left without my black liquid gold.
A quick, hot shower, grab a protein bar, and out the door. The cool autumn breeze of the District has now turned into chilling walls of wind, as dry leaves start to pile and swirl in the still empty streets. Not a soul in sight. Wait, maybe I see someone from my section, jaywalking, with what seems to be a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. Lucky bastard.
If jaywalking is a crime (yes, it is), then I’ve committed countless crimes all semester, my eyes darting across the street before strutting towards Starbucks. Hey, it’s not my fault that both crosswalks are fifty yards away. We’re law students, after all.
Sixth-floor cafeteria coffee? It’s cheap, it’s decent I guess. Wait, was it really decent? I thought it tasted like detergent the last time around. Maybe it was just me. No really, it really was detergent. It’s cheap though, maybe a few cents? With this debate engulfing my brain, my legs are jaywalking on their own towards a grande bold coffee.
Civ Pro, man, thirty pages of that is like an eternity. An eternity that feels like stale bread, bland, interesting only with butter and strawberry preserves. Class is at 9:00 am, still got some time. What a way to start the morning. Was this the class with the on-call list? Wait, no, that was Contracts. Right, this one is the one with the deck of playing cards. It’s just that kind of day, a day where your name will inevitably be drawn out of a possible ninety. What are the odds, you say. I’m hungry, cold, and I still have that kink in my neck. The gamble could be worth it. But yet again, I haven’t been called on yet, so this could be the day. Risk it? The humiliation, oh, it would be too great. But hell, even if I read the thing, I probably couldn’t answer any questions anyway. Fail.
Yes, finally, hot, bold coffee dancing on my tongue and sliding down my throat. Hot, but soothing. Soon I’ll feel the caffeine trickle through my veins. My guts will warm, and my brain will jump-start itself. Coffee with a peanut butter protein bar. An ever so slight glimpse of heaven before the day comes roaring in.
With these thoughts, I enter the library. It’s only Tuesday?
To be continued…