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Curly hair is sticking out every which way. It's not the beautiful, perfect curls that they wake up with in the movies but the frizzy medusa looking curls that would make someone run away. The alarm clock goes off, accompanied by a loud groan and arms flailing around to find that magical switch that turns off that annoying sound. This is one of the biggest problems. If you haven't noticed, for whatever the reason, alarm clocks have become one of the most complicated devices known to man and no matter what button you push or what switch you touch the thing just won't shut off. At least this seems to happen to me almost every morning.

Pushing the mop of hair away from my face I start fumbling around for my glasses. Shoot! I realize I'm laying on them. Thank God I got the flexible frames. I tend to fall asleep reading and lay them by my side right before drifting off. With my glasses on my face at last I blink twice rolling slowly to the edge of my bed to find clothes. I hate sleeping in clothes because I'm a kicker and they get tangled around me. In short I'm probably never going to find that significant other because I'll kick, steal the covers, and who knows what else.

Finally I stumble across my grandfather's old flannel that I stole when I was little and throw it on peeling back the covers. As I basically crawl out of my room my roommate makes a mock horror face and a scream to go with it. I make a face and a remark not to be repeated. There is a rule in my house. Do not speak to me for at least 20 minutes after I wake up and even then speak at your own risk. I turn on VH1 jumpstart, maybe upbeat music would help. It's a slow song about heartbreak; it just makes me more agitated. I catch a glimpse of my out of control hair with my glasses and red checked flannel in a mirror. I think I might scream too. I make a mental note to get rid of that mirror.

My roommate starts a breakfast complete with bacon and eggs. He starts the toast so I try to be nice (highly uncharacteristic) and flip the bacon. I am immediately snapped with hot grease and in my frenzy to get away I knock an egg to the floor and step in it. I swear and flash my laughing roommate one of those if looks could kill you'd drop to the floor here and now looks. I clean everything up still grumbling under my breath.

Then I hear the coffee maker spitting out the last of the water into the pot. Oh the sweet sound, and then the smell hits me. "AHHHH" and the angels from the heavens sing down to me. I get my favorite cup. It's from Ikea, it's bright orange, and it's huge. I pour the beautiful black liquid into my cup. I take it black and stronger than the average morning bear. I take a glorious sip, look up at my roommate and smile for the first time since last night. "Good morning," I tell him.

Learn more about this author, Jillian Mccutcheon.
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