Getting to sleep with the best of intentions. Setting an alarm for 6:15 sharp. Announcing to all your predicated knowledge of sleeps' noxious power. You crash and fall into dream land. Fitfully waking as a drone of tones welcomes the morning. 10 more minutes. snooze. dream of luscious gardens only to wake to the drones. 10 more minutes. snooze. A pallid tone of gray and an unbecoming shadow of morning light falls on the objects placed haphazardly in the studio apartment. Dragging yourself to the sink. Look into the mirrored frame. Art? not hardly. Mascara smears near a swollen pimple. Deciding tea is the best remedy start the kettle in the kitchen. A rolling boil. You wait for the white hot liquid to steep your neck. You stare again in the mirror. a face illuminated by florescent suns. No natural light today. Only the gray tones of the clouded sky peeking through the lonely window. Somehow you put makeup on. Forgetting to brush your teeth. who cares anyway. Eat some oatmeal. Feed the cat. Find your keys because somehow they are never in the same place twice. Take one last look in the mirror... wistfully wishing you'd taken time to shower. But now you're out of time. Turning the keys in the lock you realize you forgot the umbrella. You vaguely remember the possibility of rain today... well too late now. Guess i'll survive somehow. On the way down the hall you zip your purse full of receipts for coffee, and gas station sandwiches. Why do they always give you receipts? You push the button on the elevator hoping it's empty. The door opens and inside is an elderly man leaning on his walker. For some reason he's wearing a scarecrow sweatshirt in February. how strange. You check your phone absentmindedly saying good morning as you lean on the far wall of the elevator. He says good morning. Between levels 1 and 2 the old man says plainly "One day you'll get old and you'll realize how good it is to wake up".