The 4-Year Itch Tormented by too many commitments one senior longs for release
By Liz Gibson, Jayplay writer
I've learned to set two alarms: one for waking, the other for rising. The first is like the warning bell before a high school class — annoying, but helpful if you're afraid of being tardy. The latter buzzer means business. It's like the final boarding call when flying.
My two alarms are essential because I work at 7:30 a.m. every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Typically I'm not a morning person, but I've gotten used to lifting my saggy eyelids and stiff, sleepy bones knowing that a paycheck will be my reward.
Most days, I'm up at 6:20 a.m., and it's cold. I'm huddled in my bed, snug as a bug, dreading putting my toes on the numbing wooden planks of my bedroom floor. Think money, think money. You're poor. Think money. Call in sick — they don't need you today. No! Think money, think money. Hesitantly, I push my denim comforter away from my chin. Without turning on the lights, I blindly shuffle to the bathroom.
My morning ritual of bathing, teeth brushing, make-up applying and hair blow drying takes roughly 30 minutes. Now I've got 10 minutes to dress, grab breakfast and scurry out the door.
I usually don't warm up the car in advance, so I'm forced to wear gloves while driving because the steering wheel stings my bare hands. Cold air circulates through the car's vents. I blast the radio to distract me from my shivering. I try singing, but my teeth chatter uncontrollably. God it's freaking cold; never mind it's early.
As I turn south on Tennessee Street, I'm startled by its stillness and solitude. I notice what's unnoticeable during a midday or evening drive down the same street. Snow blankets the earth, sidewalks and cars. Long, menacing icicles have grown on the overhangs of steeply pitched roofs. Jagged limbs are shiny and almost iridescent as the suns peaks out from under the horizon.
But this quiet, peaceful world is busy. While the campus rests, people are living. A soccer mom carpools her kids and the neighbors' kids to school; an electrician with a white van with a ladder on its roof travels
Illustration: Scott Drummond
to his job site; a city worker bulldozes the snow to the side of the street. Everyone's moving, living their own routines.
As a student, I've never been that fortunate. My day is full of erratic appointments, responsibilities and agendas. Sure, there are the basics: school, work, homework, social life. But everything's so jumbled. It's no wonder I forget about assignments. I jot down notes and reminders and even scribble important dates in my planner, but things still get missed.
At the end of my workday, I'm coming home to group meetings, homework and studying. Even though I've stepped into the realm of 8 to 5, my other foot is still planted in Collegetown, U.S.A. I want to get out before the roots grow too deep. I'm relishing the transition that most people fear after they've received their diploma: go to work, then the gym, eat dinner, watch TV and fall asleep. It seems pretty monotonous, but the idea of having no other responsibilities besides work sounds delightful.
As I drive and peer into the cars of strangers, I wonder about their lives and routines. Is she a bank teller, is he a house painter or a bus driver? Are they up with the sun and home before happy hour? Do they go home to kids, a dog or the television?
I might not be a morning person, but I look forward to permanently adding Tuesdays and Thursdays to my early morning routine. When that happens, not only will it mean that I'm employed full-time (which my dad will love), but it will symbolize another step towards maturity. For now, I'll keep tugging on the foot that's been left behind. I think I feel it breaking free.
— Liz Gibson can be reached at lgibson@kansan.com.
2.26.04 Jayplay
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