A shrill noise blasts into my ears and I wake up instantly. It’s my phone. The alarm had just gone off.  I get up and use my eyes, stinging from a lack of sleep, to search my bed for where the sound I dread every morning is coming from. I scan and scan but still cannot find it. I grow increasingly frustrated with the beeping sound, the oscillating sound rattles my ears. Realizing that my phone must be buried somewhere, I continue my hunt using my hands, feeling around my unsheeted bed and coarse blankets. Reaching under my warm pillows, I feel cold glass. My phone has surfaced. I pull it from under my pillows, turn my phone on, and recoil from the bright light. Face scrunched, and with some animosity towards the inanimate object, I turn the alarm off.

   Freedom from my morning tedium does not last long. My phone, shining that brilliant light in my face, reads 7:10, only 5 minutes until school starts. I quickly get something to eat from the downstairs kitchen. There’s no one home, no one to say good morning to. “It’s just another day in the grinder,” I tell myself.  “Just get through it.” I meander back upstairs, seeking the solace of my warm bed and start logging into Zoom.

   Classes begin, and with my phone gnawing at the back of my mind, it comes to the forefront of my attention. Classes can wait, teachers can’t tell whether or not I’m paying attention. To them, I am just a black screen; I don’t exist. To me, the teachers are talking heads. What class I’m in doesn’t matter; they’re all the same, all unable to keep me from the myriad of distractions around me. My phone, my computer, sleep -- I care far more for those three  things than school. 

    eyes grow weary, and I’m struggling to stay awake; I’ve only gotten two hours of sleep. My eyes are dry, and my brain is starting to shut down. It’s a slow process, but fatigue overtakes me, and I set an alarm for the next class. My Chromebook now rests beside my bed, volume muted. If a teacher were to call my name, they would get no response. I lay on the cusp of failing all of my classes.

  I awake again, that shrill noise in my ears once more. I was not given enough time to toss and turn in my bed, so my phone lies exactly where I had left it. I turn off the alarm, blankly stare at my phone for a few moments, and attend the next class. I feel exactly the same as when I had fallen asleep -- deprived. There’s no rest, no reprieve. Class after class after class, it all blends together, the days blend together. Weekday or weekend, it doesn’t matter; I’m doing nothing all day nonetheless.

  180 days: an exciting new year that had quickly spiraled out of control. 

   During the remote school year, I felt unfettered by responsibility, yet the shame my poor grades brought with them proved to be a heavy burden. My parents worried, and defeat loomed over my head. I didn’t feel that my education was legitimate, so I didn’t bother to partake in it. I remained idle. My apathetic view towards school grew worse and worse with every D and F that I received.

   Like all school years, this one came to an end. There was no relief, what changed after all? Summer came, days still blending and mixing and grinding together, until a new year was to arrive.