Morning Routine

Three weeks into school and I'd say I've got it down. Wake up at eight when my roommate does. Groggily wish him good luck. Back to sleep. Wake up forty-five minutes later when my alarm goes off. Snooze it. Snooze it. Snooze it. Out of bed at nine.

Shower shoes on. Grab keys, soap, and shampoo. On the way to the bathroom, lock the door. Double check (we have a burgeoning collection of homies; losing them would be heart-breaking). In the bathroom: keys next to sink, hang towel, soap and shampoo on the shower-side counter, turn the knob 315 degrees counter-clockwise, use the toilet while the water gets hot. Enter shower. Black out for twenty minutes. Emerge, clean.

Dry off. In the room: undies, socks, pants, shoes, belt, shirt. I've got Time to kill. I don my dynamic-titanium super suit, custom designed by a freshman wizkid in the engineering school. Hop out the window, activate thrusters and take off. Coast.

Scanning the campus below, I see students rushing to class, some walking, others power walking, still more trotting, and the rest in full sprint. No Time in sight. I land by an old oak where a family of chipmunks scurries, collecting acorns for the coming cold. No Time at all. I notice an impatient classroom of students, packed up to go and anxiously waiting for their professor to finish her last thought. Where did Time go? I take off again, this time thrusting from rooftop to rooftop, noticing the effortless lifestyles of the pigeons eating yesterday's cornbread from a dumpster, pecking their lives away, when I see him.

I quickly change course, increasing my altitude dramatically. I calculate a strategic trajectory and adjust my body into a dive. The wind bites my face as I approach terminal velocity. I point my toes and prepare to land. I roll, springboarding my body into a flying kick. I land Time square in the 12 on his forehead. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, I follow up with an uppercut. But Time slows down. I can't reach him in time. He catches my fist with his seconds hand and in seconds (I know because I kept an eye on that hand) I find my body shattering through a brick wall. As I recover, Time flies.

I get to my feet, punch my thruster, but all I get is smoke and empty whirring sounds. I check my watch. Late for class. I race back to my room. Grab my books, throw them in my knapsack, zip up and hotfoot it to Barnum hall. Only five minutes late. What a routine.

P.S. Isn't it refreshing to read something that isn't a haiku?

P.P.S. The moral? Time flies when you're having fun.

*Pics from D'Arcy Norman and zappowbang