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Three A.M. Whining by Ray Printer Friendly

Itís three in the morning, which has never been my favorite hour of the day. I used to have all kinds of theories about three in the morning, back when I was working the graveyard shift at a pancake house. Seems like three in the morning is when people are at their lowest; their weakest. And three is when the demons of old memories, of mistrust, of worry, itís when theyíre at their peak strength.

There are worse things in the world than waking up at three in the morning with a troubled mind or a guilty heart, but that doesnít make it any better.

I have speech class at nineósix hours away. Six hours is a full nightís sleep, easy. I dozed off around five in the evening and slept until just now, so it isnít like Iím hurting for rest. I thought I could go back to sleep, but I should have known better. Thereís no going back to sleep at three in the morning, not if you have something to worry on.

I do.

In the long run, my worries are small ones, but at three in the morning, they seem big and important and unsolvable. I missed class all last week: three classes, twice a week. It wouldnít be so bad, but Iíve already missed one of them four times (once due to a flat tire, once due to a sickness my princess brought from her germ factory job, and now the sciatic nerve thing). I missed a test on Monday, which, so far, is the only grade in that class.

I also missed my algebra class. The instructor doesnít allow late assignments for any reason. He doesnít give a zero, I donít thinkóhe just doesnít average it in. If I knew what the hell I was dong math-wise, this wouldnít be an issue. As it is, I need every good grade I can get to raise my average for when I bomb a test.

Then thereís digital publishing. Not a bad class, really, except I donít have any of the software at home, so Iím going to have to figure out how to get caught up.

Like I saidónone of this is terribly upsetting. As I type it, I realize how trivial it all seems. What concerns me is that I know Iíll be missing another week of class at the end of the month when I return to my hometown. Plane tickets are already bought, no refunds.

What concerns me is that Iíve been missing a bunch of work lately. My paychecks have already been suffering because of the fact that Iíve been going to school instead of going to work.

This going-back-to-school thing was a financial tightrope to begin with. I never would have had the balls to try it if my princess hadnít been so adamant about it, and so sure that weíd be able to afford it. I donít think she factored in the work-time I missed because of my lousy injury, or the money weíd spend on doctor visits, drugs, etc.

Little stuff, all of it. I know that it will work out. Probably, it wonít even be all that difficult to work out. But at three in the morning, these problems seem overpowering, and failure seems inevitable.

At three in the morning, I canít stop thinking about my empty wallet. Or the pile of books in the corner, filled with information that Iím supposed to understand. Or the pain in my leg that reminds me that no matter how many things I need to get done, I have to be able to walk first.

I have speech class tomorrow at nine. I suppose Iíll have to get my princess to take me. Driving with an unresponsive leg probably isnít a good idea, and driving while taking pain killers probably isnít, either. Once there, Iíll have to maneuver myself across the parking lot and up a flight of stairs. Since I got back from the doctor on Monday, the farthest Iíve walked has been to the bathroom and backóabout ten feet, round trip. I stand up long enough to get a bowl of cereal, I end up panting from the pain.

I know I said I wasnít going to bitch and moan about it, but weíre talking about my three in the morning worries here, and not being able to stand up or walk around definitely fits into that category. Plus, you know I always lie when I say Iím not going to talk about my ailments.

Also, itís been several days since I posted anything, so I felt like I needed to get something new up. Turns out, I canít write for shit when Iím taking pain killers.

So this is what weíre stuck withóme rambling on about my silly problems at three in the morning. The good news is, those bastards at the drug store shorted me on my pills, so we wonít have to worry about the pain-killer thing for much longer.

All right, thatís it. I think I can go back to sleep now. Thanks for listening.


posted 10/06/07


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