morning phase

Some mornings are harder than others. Especially Mondays, when waking up feels like swimming through a fog, and the light through the window is a dagger to your eyes, and six hours before leaving bed, you were still at a desk on the other side of campus. Some things make it easier — soft, new-age Beck, blue skies, friends, toast. Every day starts the same, in an endless loop of dreamy sun and vanilla coffee. 16 hours until the day ends, and 24 until it starts again. Though it lasts only an hour or so, this morning phase is infinite.

On Mondays my roommate wakes up early, before me, and is gone by the time I open my eyes.
The heat in the building skyrocketed overnight so I woke up with my sheets tangled.
Down the hall, my suitemate wears pumpkin-patterned shorts and washes her face.
Light streams in through the blackout curtains — morning forcing its way inside.
Before we moved in, Julianne made customized jars for us. They used to be cleaner.
I really liked the New York Times Magazine Nicki Minaj cover — now she greets me every morning.
No clouds, no snow, thank God.
I reunite with my roommate at the Rat, where we drink watery coffee — better than nothing.
Butter melts into the craggy hilltops and valleys of the whole-grain toast.
Class soon, but first, the morning ends, and everyone separates.