My morning

Pain. Never ending pain racks my body as I slowly awake from distant slumber. Like a baby kicking and screaming as it's brought into a cold new world, I slowly rise from my coffin like bed with the realization that if I do not, I will not be able to eat.

Scalding hot water cascades down on my shriveled flesh, steam rising to clog my breathing passages and obscure my vacant stare. Slowly, I reach for the shampoo and begin the morning ritual of clean. Quickly, for I'm late again, I eviscerate the dirt and grime of yesterday and emerge from the shower shiny and new. Nose dripping, I blow dirty gray barnacles idly wondering how many toxic carcinogens I inhale walking the streets of London every day.

Scraping a razor across my brittle flesh in a desperate attempt to destubblize my face, I feel woozy from exhaustion. Glancing around, I wonder if anyone has ever passed out shaving, hit their head on a bureau behind them, causing the blade to slide forward into neck, slicing jugular, and bleeding out. Admitting there was a possibility, I attempt to focus on the task at hand - getting as many nicks and cuts to match the razorburn as possible. Finally satisfied, I dress slowly and without direction.

An apple and a cup of cranberry juice make my morning ritual complete. I eat perfunctorily, without interest, yet with the knowledge that if I don't, I will consume my desk at work. Finally, I select a shabby red hand-me down tie and manage to secure it around my neck on the second try. A black jacket donned to fight the morning chill and I'm off to surf through the human morass that is the morning tube ride.

I need to get more sleep. Yet, I know that I cannot.

My life is out of balance and I have little means to restabilize things at the moment. If I had my way, I would have slept half the day and spent the other half with Miss Colombia. But as with much in life, I can not have my way. Instead I have to toil mindlessly at a job that a Neanderthal could adequately survive, vigilantly on the watch for drool drippings as I hang my head in disgust and fatigue.

I need a vacation from myself.

If I had known that three classes in one term was going to put me in such a state, I may have reconsidered. A snapshot of yesterday:

-Rise 800
-Work 930-100
-School work 200-500
-Class 500-915
-Work at home 945-300

That's no sort of life. But I have little choice. If I had been a little less social over the weekend and a little more dutiful, I would not be in such a state. But I wasn't, so here I am. There has to be a way to find balance between work, school, social life, and personal time. Because I'm tired the zombie life.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go hook up an IV drip of caffeine.