Sophomore Blues : It Was Fridat the Thirteenth

My alarm didn't go off.

I woke up facing the wall, the first of my four days' stay at Molave.

Everything that ran on electricity was dead.

Or unplugged, on which case I plugged in. Nope, still dead.

Brownout pala.

I woke up at around quarter to ten.

My mind wanted to stand; my body wanted to roll around the bed some more.

Mind over matter didn't work. My mind had to succumb to the my body's carnal urge to roll.

I realized my class was at ten.

I checked my schedule. Yep, Art Stud 1 at ten in the morning.

TEN!

I rushed to the bathroom. Other than the four people in the showers, three more were in line.

Screw long lines.

I ran to the basement bathroom. Thank God there was no pila.

Shower. Shower. Shower.

Dripping wet and running like a madman back to my room.

My tummy's not cooperating.

Bless the inventor of my blue wrap-around pants. You saved me.

Grabbed the first shirt in the pile.

Ten-fifteen.

Damn. I forgot to eat breakfast.

Walked. More like ran. Maybe flew.

CAL 206.

I abhor stairs.

First Art Stud 1 meeting, and I was late.

After about an hour, class was dismissed.

And I was left with nothing else to do in the world.

June 13, 2008.

It was a Friday.