My Mornings

My mornings are usually spent either rushing to an 830 class, barely making it in time for a 930 class or sleeping until the afternoon. Once a week, however, I get the privilege of my roommate's one-sided conversation.

Now, I don't know how many girls he's had over to his old place in the middle of the night, or how many public sleepovers he's been involved in, but Dude doesn't snore. Well, yes, he does, but only when he's getting to sleep. If you think it's weird to notice something like that, try sleeping ten feet away from someone who snores like a motorcycle for an hour or two every night. Then get back to me on how prying and invasive I am when I'm bleary-eyed at 830 in the morning from getting to sleep at 3. No, what he does is a lot more Freudian.

Dude talks in his sleep.

I've yet to put a microphone on him, record it and make millions with his underground rap skills, but the day isn't far off. The worst part is that I don't know if he's actually asleep or not. All I know is that he's one of the chattiest sleepCathys ever. Not to mention, Dude won't wake up for love of pussy. He just hangs out in bed all day talking to himself. I can hear him over my music.

And he often starts just after his phone rings, so I'm not sure if he's trying to maintain an actual conversation or if that's just his alarm and he still has issues with letting his entire body go numb when he sleeps. The same problem is the cause of sleepwalking.

I wish he was a sleepwalker so that he'd notice it in the mornings. Then again, I like my stuff untrampled. . .--

Oh, Dude's up. Seeya.