I wake up to the warm, fuzzy feeling of being cocooned inside my blankets, I hear the sound of my alarm clock blaring by my head. With my eyes still half closed, I grope blindly for the snooze button. My fingers refuse to locate the button, so, desperately, I grasp the cord and pull it from the wall. The noise stops abruptly. The silence and the comfort of my bunk bed lulls me into a doze.
In my dreams, I often relive scenes from my life. I don’t know if this is normal, or just me. Now, I dream of a day of school from last year, in grade 6. I sit alone in the back of the classroom. I know that I will never be included, that I will always be the “weird kid”.
I wake for the second time, unfortunately to my mother shaking me out of my slumber. I am going to be late for school. My mother leaves the room to prepare for work. I drag myself out of bed and stagger to my dresser, my brain subdued by the remnants of sleep. I groggily choose clothes and dress myself quickly, knowing my chances of making it to school on time are slim.
As I rush out of my room I run my fingers through my long, brown hair, attempting to tame the wild mane. I throw on my coat and shoes, with no time for breakfast, and race out the door. All traces of sleepiness has left me. I am outside the door just as I see the bus pull to a screeching stop in front of my house. The doors open with a hiss and I mount the steps up into the bus, selecting an unoccupied seat towards the front.
I am relieved that I am not late for the bus, and that I will make it to school on time. And so begins another day of school.