Grace Hall
Bory
Dance 101
Every day I start my morning laying on my right side closed off in a tight ball-like circle, facing the tan wall of my dorm. Under a white comforter, two big grey blankets, and lots of pillows, I sleep like a baby. Under my chin, my hands grip on to a grey wool blanket as if someone were trying to take it away from me. RING! RING! A shock is sent through my body thanks to the handy tornado-siren-sounding alarm from my iPhone. Slowly I open one eye then begrudgingly I open the other.
In a molasses-like fashion I roll over and snooze my alarm. I roll back over into my cozy curled-up ball and close my eyes for the next glorious 8 minutes. RING! RING! The dreaded alarm has gone off again. I shift from my ball like cocoon and stretch into a horizontal pin-like board on my back, desperately trying to wake up my muscles. In a flash, I roll over onto my stomach with strong and bound energy. Using my hips, I lightly and freely swing my legs off my bed and onto my little white stool; not giving myself enough time to second guess my decision to start my morning process. I let my body melt off the side of my bed, pulling my comforter with me as if this was our last goodbye.
After finding my parallel standing position, I find my earphones from under my pillow and put them in my ears. I turn on music so loud and energetic you would think I am at a concert. I briskly walk to the beautiful Keurig that rests on top of my mini fridge-microwave duo. I stretch on my tippy toes to retrieve my mug from the top of my brown target shelf that houses clean mugs and damp towels. I place my mug under the dispenser, and ferociously search for a Starbucks House Blend K-Cup as if it were gold. When I find it my heart soars, because coffee is life, and put the K-Cup in the Keurig. Immediately I see the dreaded blue light, my stomach drops, the water tank needs to be filled. I bend over at the hips, embracing in the back stretch, open the mini fridge, and pull out the Brita water pitcher. My face goes pale as if I have seen a ghost; like every morning, the Brita pitcher is empty. Using my back, I rise up with the water pitcher and like sludge, slowly glide my way over to the laundry room. Passing my other zombie neighbors with early classes, they look at me with understanding pity. I fling myself through the door of the laundry room and go straight to the water fountain. I stand stagnant and dull, as I watch the pitcher fill up in slow motion. After the pitcher is full, I slowly carry the cinderblock of water with shaky hands. Feeling successful, I fill up the Keurig. I proceed to click the medium size button and like a kid on Christmas morning, await my beloved Starbucks coffee.
I slide over to the sink, take a nice fold over at my waist to retrieve my face wash from my shower caddy, rolling up taking the time to stretch my back one vertebra at a time. Using mainly my hands and arms, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and put on deodorant, like any other responsible, hygienic, and mildly vain young adult. I quickly sink into my desk chair and put on my make-up using my hands and arms. The luxurious smell of coffee wafts in the air; like a strong and free bull in a china shop, I sprint over to my steaming cup of coffee. The majority of these movements are broken into chunks but are all leading up to one goal: getting myself ready for my day.
Feeling refreshed, like a crisp spring morning, I bounce over to my closet and freely open the doors with overwhelming excitement. Quickly, I find my phone on my bed and check the time, like a kid in a candy shop, I can easily spend too much time thinking about the endless fashion statements I could make that day. What outfit to wear today. With the current weather, I typically choose my top first, using my arms to slide the hangers across the squeaky metal bar. Then find a skirt or pant that fits my look. Like any good sentimental southerner, I keep strictly to my traditions; therefore, the final touch for my outfit are my Adidas Superstar sneakers. My last power move is to retrieve my computer by bending at the hips. Taking the computer from its charging cord, I slide it into my bag, zip up my bag, and in one motion forcefully sling my backpack over my right shoulder. I absorb the hit in my bent knees, because books weigh so much more than you think. I end my routine looking at myself in the mirror that hangs over the back of my door. I have just traveled quite a bit over a small area, and hopefully this locomotive morning, with the help of the glorious coffee in my hand, will have woken me up enough for my day. I open the door, breathe in the recycled Base Rich air, exhale said stale air from my lungs, and start my trek to Chambers.
PLEGDED
