hello, good friend

I spent this morning on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, guzzling coffee and watching The Today Show. My cell phone alarm had sounded at 8:30 a.m., much earlier than my sleeping self anticipated, and I stumbled out of bed (literally – I’m on the top bunk and missed the lower rung) in a groggy state of pseudo existence. I didn’t bother with turning on the lights or opening the shades, preferring to leave my roommate’s younger sister – our weekend visitor – blissfully unaware of the post-dawn day. My roommates were nowhere to be found. (Ah yes, the concept termed “classes” rings a bell) I stumbled to the living room, groping the walls for light switches. The refrigerator light temporarily blinded me as I searched for milk. I shoved down multiple, consecutive bowls of Corn Flakes to stay awake; my eyes weren’t yet open. Somehow I brewed a pot of coffee, traversed our cluttered floorspace safely, collapsed into the couch, and flipped on the TV for noise. Anything to prevent myself from reverting back to dormancy.

This is how I passed the morning. Or, the morning passed me. Mind you, Fridays usually discipline me toward productivity, prompting me to make use of the 24 hours of class-liberation. Yet today, despite my lengthy to-do list, I accomplished virtually nothing. I didn’t go to the gym. I didn’t read the assigned chapters in my senior seminar book. I didn’t catch up on my required literary criticism blogs (I’m eleven behind, excellently enough). I didn’t read the dog-eared articles in the news magazine. I didn’t print out the couples surveys my fiancé and I are supposed to tote to this weekend’s marriage seminar. I didn’t create lighting sequences for the upcoming dance performance.

Around ten o’clock I endeavored to crack down on the blogging. I poured another mug of coffee, pried open the textbook, and fired up my laptop. Then watched TV. Then read a page. Then turned off the TV. Then read a paragraph. Then opened InStyle magazine. Then gave up.

Nearing noonish, a knock on our door. I didn’t bother to get off the couch, and croaked “Come in.” I shouldn’t have done that. First, they were the first words I had uttered all day, and they sounded like frog audibles; second, I had forgotten that the rest of the world was long awake and running. Me: in my pajamas, minutes away from my third siesta of the day. A classmate opens the door timidly, observes my sorry state, asks if I’m sick. We’re just trying to organize an end-of-the-year furniture and appliance giveaway, ya know, the stuff you’d otherwise throw away; we’ll donate it for you, he explains. Oh yeah, we’d actually love to give away this couch, I say. If I can detach myself from it, I think. He doesn’t sound convinced. And his facial expression reads concern in all forms.

Maybe I should be concerned, too. A perfectly fine Friday, filled with unfulfilling laziness. Unashamed, unabashed. And here I am at work, blogging about it. (Articles yet unwritten, of course.) Some call this ‘senioritis.’ Whatever it is, today I’m the posterchild.