Precious Sleep

Two words I hated as a child: nap time.

Whenever my kindergarten teacher advised us to lie down on our squishy maps, I squirmed and started a conversation with my nap chat friends.

Not anymore.

When I get any opportunity to take a power nap, my head transforms like a paperweight.

So many countries around the world schedule mid-afternoon siestas. Sometimes I wish America could take mid-afternoon siestas like Spain. Unfortunately, children and adults in the United States don’t have that opportunity.

In college, sleeping an extra 30 minutes is like finding a scarce resource. When my alarm clock goes off at 7:45 a.m., I constantly choose between an extra 30 minutes of sleep or going to the Hickey Dining Hall for breakfast. This usually results in pressing snooze while my roommate goes to breakfast and me reluctantly rolling out of bed at 8:15, 15 minutes before calculus.

Although I never have time for a vegetarian omelet or a scrumptious muffin, those extra 30 minutes allow me to function without the recommended eight hours of sleep.

So does the power nap I take after lunch.

Unlike in kindergarten, there are two words that now bring a smile to my face as a college student: nap time. And by smile, I also mean the highlight of a long day of classes and work.

Package Slips

As a curious toddler, whenever I caught a glimpse of a UPS truck, I would grin from ear to ear. Sadly, the truck always passed my home to stop at my neighbor's door.

Now as an adult, another brown and yellow-colored theme gets me excited, but it never fails to disappoint me.

Even with all the perks of modern technology, the packages and letters I pick up from my PO box at St. Bonaventure’s post office always seems to put a smile on my face.

My parents even wondered if part of the appeal for their eldest daughter to attend Bonaventure was that the college has it’s own post office.

There is no greater thrill then walking over to the campus post office, turning that three-letter combination, on the first attempt, and finding a handwritten envelope or, better yet, a package slip in my PO box.

According to family folklore, my passion and fervor for the striking color combination of brown and yellow started early.

My mom says my next package filled with vitamins and treats is on route to my PO Box.

The College Cold

All I want is my mom to bring a bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup and a glass of orange juice. And my bathtub.

Because I have a cold, in college, 785 miles away from mom who used to take care of me.

Getting a cold in college is like playing tag with kindergarteners that wash their hands when teachers tell them to. Germs unfortunately run rampant on elevator buttons, vending machines, stair banisters, in the laundry room and, ironically, bathroom doors.

Many students start to show the nasty signs of aches and pains, a stuffy nose and coughing. Then his or her roommate comes down with the virus. Soon, every resident on your floor will show signs of the common cold.

The good news is if you wash your hands regularly, you are less likely to spread germs. The Health Center is available for care, but it’s just not the same as being home.

Sadly the Hickey Dining Hall does not offer room service, and I have not seen a bathtub.

But even if it did, I’d rather have the luxury of mom taking care of my cold with love.

Class Registration Time

Upperclassmen warned me class registration could be like a meager attempt to complete a 1,000-piece puzzle missing a few of the key pieces.

I come from a high school where students didn’t get to pick what they wanted to eat, let alone what courses to take.

With the newfound freedom of choice, I’ve been overwhelmed with the number of options. So when it came down to picking my schedule for next semester, the word balance keeps ringing in my ears. Yes, I am slowly learning the key word to everything in college your freshman year is balance.

Unfortunately, I have not yet mastered the art of maintaining equilibrium in college. If balance is the key to registering and planning my course load for next semester, then I must try to offset my harder classes with easier ones.

This may sound easy until I enter a class I thought might be less time consuming, but requires tons of work.

My recurrent nightmare is I enter a classroom and there sits an overeager, dedicated new professor wanting me to read 20-plus thicker-than–the-Bible textbooks and write intensely concentrated and thought-provoking research papers on each volume.

I guess we’ll find out come January 17 if it’s going to be that nightmare or a dream come true.