enter spring

Maya always leaves her door unlocked, which soothes my slowly declining faith that trust exists in humanity. I've noticed this from time to time, but most clearly in the morning. Something in the air, the lighter springtime air, makes this semester vastly different than the rest. I wake up at 9:30 - a time unprecedented for my usual sleeping schedule but perfectly fitting for my new 1 o'clock bedtime. Maybe a moment of backtracking is in order, because a 9:30 lucid-curtain-call is hardly unattainable to the normal human being. But me, full of stimulants at nighttime and inherited insomnia pulsing through my veins and shooting between my receptors, well, i don't even know what 9:30 looks like. So my body has begun to adjust - my eyesight much sharper as the darkness of foreboding night sets in, hearing more alert amidst the partyboy music blasting from oversized speakers across the street and hoards of invisible insects that have only just begun their day, mind more ready for my new oddly enlightening encounters that are sure to come with passing time. Likewise, the pierce of even a single meddling ray of light stings my entire being, first eyelids, then neck, invading my torso and continuing down my legs to the tips of my toes. My only shield in this kind of guerrilla warfare are very, very sturdy blinds. But i tried something new, inspired by the feel of my spring semester, and i dropped my guard, left my blinds up. In truth i deserve no credit for what i am claiming to be an attempt at self-improvement. It was all an accident, merely the aftershock of realizing i can climb out onto my roof. However, change comes where it is most necessary, and the blinds were up nonetheless. Day one, that sting, that noticeable stab resonated in and out of my eardrums, but in my bitter awakening, i forgot to close them again. Day two, the pain seems more friendly - i develop a better understanding of my distant masochist side. Day three - some pain, some gain. And so on and so fourth until i learned to love that pestering little light that so often shakes me from my necessary slumber.

Once i address the day, in the most direct way possible, i stumble to the bathroom, faucet turned completely to cold, and wake the rest of my body with equally brutal splashes, and turn back towards my room to recollect. On my way, i watch her lock dangle on turned out latch, a stoic reminder to be more inviting. At 2 pm, this would not seem such a great invitation, such a glorious symbol of openness and certainty, but 9:30 is apparently a groundbreaking time, where everything is glossed with my new found appreciation.