By Christina Bivona, inside columnist

My alarm repeatedly blares at me as I swiftly swing a punch to shut it off. A bright, gray light leaks through my window shades to tell me the day has begun, whether I like it or not. I twist into my covers more tightly, hoping the bed will just swallow me whole, searching my mind for a reason not to go to class today. I can’t think of anything, so I plant my cold feet on the ground and let out a tired sigh as I brush wisps of hair away from my face. The routine has begun.

I walk to class with a groggy mind, trying to mentally write a list of all the things I have to do for the day. Head down, I make minimal eye contact with the students passing. I have four minutes before class starts. I left too late again. I listen to the same songs I do every morning and walk the same steps as I hustle my way to my math lecture. No thinking, just acting. What day is it again?

Mornings mesh into nights and days into weeks, the only motivation getting me through is that it’s “almost over.” I’m almost “there,” wherever “there” may be. The idea of ever taking time to do something for me has escaped my mind. I can’t tell you the last time I went to yoga class or took a long walk through the city at night to enjoy its peace. The occasional beer with friends gives me a momentary gasp of air before I fall back into life’s routine, but even that has grown old.

It gets to a point where it doesn’t even feel like living anymore, just surviving – a constant countdown in my head until when the next weekend will arrive, when the next class will end, when I can leave the library, when I get to go home, when I get to come back. The words “I hate everything” have become so familiar to my lips, I forget that I’m saying them. Class, library, class, library.

I keep telling myself I’ll get through it, but all I seem to think about are places I’d rather be – places like the newsroom on a Friday morning, with the hum of fluorescent lights and the smell of freshly brewed coffee as the telephone rings on a constant loop, or walking through the streets of New York on a hot summer’s day, exploring a food festival or admiring a street artist’s work. I’d rather be taking a jog down by the Washington Monument, grabbing brunch with friends at our favorite place in Georgetown, or taking a break from my day to visit the Air and Space Museum.

What I would do to just get in the car and drive away. Maybe I’d go to Montauk and sit on the cold beach somewhere and watch the waves crash endlessly, then get some fresh seafood for dinner at a local hub from nearby fishermen. I could buy a plane ticket to Arizona, see the Grand Canyon like I’ve always wanted. Since I’d be close, I could stop in Colorado and ski the slopes of Beaver Creek, maybe make reservations at that Italian restaurant we love in Vail, the one with the small room tucked in the back and the big painting of a vineyard.

What about Napa? Walking through the grapevines and sipping a glass of wine, the California sun rays basking on my skin. I’d love to go back and hike the hills of Yosemite, or stand under the trees in Sequoia National Park and gaze above in awe.

And then I wake myself up from this daydream. I float back down to reality and realize where I am in life, what big things are ahead and what important parts I’m currently living. Because before I know it: it’ll be over. I’ll realize that, although sometimes dull, these days are cherished. They’ll be the moments I will one day wish to remember vividly. I’ll be done with school and it will be up to me to choose what path is next. I’m the pilot.

So when I wake up tomorrow, maybe I’ll get up before my alarm. I’ll stretch, take a deep breath, and listen to a new song, because it’s time to switch things up. Tomorrow, I’ll take the long way to class.

-Christina Bivona can be reached at [email protected]

Photo courtesy GFDL, Creative Commons