A shrill ringing noise. I groggily pick up my alarm. It's not making a sound. Why would I be getting up at seven? I think, confused. I'm positive that my first thing today is 10 a.m. chapel. Then I realize the buzzing is my roommate's alarm. She's got a 7:45 class. And she's not shutting off the alarm. I consider kicking her top bunk, but instead I roll over and return to my dream.

My alarm rings just inches from my ear, and I sleepily reach for the granola bars under my bed. I reset the alarm.

Now I've got to get up. My roommate's still in the top bunk. Looks like she skipped class. I head to the bathroom.

It's my usual mad-dash morning. By 9:55 I'm dressed and ready for chapel. My roommate rolls over. "You going to chapel?" I ask.

"Give me a second and I'll go with you," she says.

Chapel. The singing is good, it wakes me up. The speaker is enthusiastic—and talks longer than his allotted time, and I get to class 10 minutes late. That's OK though; the prof was in chapel, too.

Psychology. Our professor talks about the most effective form of therapy for treating phobias. By the end of the class my hand is sore from taking notes, and I'm wondering if it's possible to have a phobia of psychology professors.

Now, I've got only 20 minutes to get through the lunch line, eat and change clothes for ballet class. I get a vegetarian burger and some pasta; my mother's voice in my head reminds me to pick up a few carrots. I scan the lunchroom for friends and sit down at their table. They're talking about a movie they watched for the fifteenth time. I want to add a comment but then glance down at my watch—AAAGGGHHH! I've got to run.

I dash over to the student center, check my empty mailbox out of habit, quickly change in the locker room and go to dance class.

As we go through bar exercises I think of how sore I was after the first few days of this class. I'd moan all the way up the steps to my third floor dorm room, my roommate laughing at me, asks, "Do you need to take the elevator?"

I've changed back into normal clothes, and it's time for my next class, Theatre Production Ensemble. I pass my roommate on the way to the theatre, and we chat. She's already done with classes for the day, but I don't mind. My afternoon classes mean I get to sleep late—without guilt.

In class, the prof is trying to quiet us down so she can take attendance. "What prayer requests do you have?" she asks, and we pray for Katy's grandmother who's having surgery, for Carl's friend who is depressed, and for the light crew members who were hanging lights until four in the morning. Then it's time to break up into crews and get to work on the upcoming show, A Purple Dawn.

It's suppertime. I finish eating in about 20 minutes, but friends keep arriving, so I stay in the cafeteria and talk for over an hour.

Finally, I tear myself away from the warm laughter and head to my room to check e-mail and study. I need to get some homework done before play rehearsal, but my roommate's there and we end up talking. When she leaves for a movie committee meeting at 7:00, I start reading articles for my World Religions class.

I've got rehearsal for a one-act play I'm in. Student directed, student written. I love this time of day.

Rehearsal's done, and I've got to do some reading. Eighty pages for World Religions plus I need to finish the chapter for Oral Interpretation. The articles for World Religions are more interesting, and I'm a chapter behind, but I know I'll have a quiz in Oral Interp tomorrow. Why do I have to be such a slow reader? No, I'm a careful reader.

Read … visit the vending machines … read … jump up and down to wake up … read …

My roommate says she's going to bed. An hour later we're still talking—about nothing. "If you were a fire hydrant, what color would you want to be painted?" I ask. "I've got to get to bed," she finally says. "I'm going to stop talking and pretend to be asleep."

Read … fall asleep. I move to the study room. Read … OK, I'm not going to get this all done by tomorrow. I'm going to bed.

I read my Bible and turn off the light. My roommate's talking in her sleep. I look at the clock. 2 a.m.

A shrill ringing noise. I pick up my alarm clock. Why would I be getting up at 7?

Collette is a graduate of Northwestern College in Orange City, Iowa.

Copyright © 2008 by the author or Christianity Today International/Campus Life magazine.
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