getting out of bed

orig_bise2post

See this needle. See my hand. Drop. Drop. Droppin' it down.
Oh so gently. It's one in the morning and Phil's alarm blasts
his coveted Pearl Jam bootleg from East Troy. His pounding
headache keeps his eyes closed; the pain of sleep deprivation
has been setting in for a few days. Phil sits up in his bed
exposing his bare chest. He wipes the crusty build-up from the
corners of his eyes. He thinks about the day's schedule: work at
the radio station from three to ten, classes from then 'til two,
sleep for an hour, off to a night class and sleep for another two
hours. It's so cold his chest shakes uncontrollably. Phil can't
bring himself to remove the inadequate shelter of his green
tattered bed cover to close the window. He remembers he left it
open to aerate his room; the all-encompassing stench of dirty
clothes and last week's Stouffer's Macaroni and Cheese container
had taken over. Partly because he has to get ready for work and
partly because he wants to escape the unbearable odor, Phil gets
out of bed as everybody else goes to sleep.