If you’re not going to sleep enough, at least wear protective headwear.

My inability to commit to anything until my last two years of undergrad for fear of spending too much time away from my chemistry book has paid off in exactly one way: I still have four years of eligibility to play college ultimate frisbee.

Thanks to my formerly reclusive self, I get to spend my Monday and Wednesday nights kicking it with Flywheel, the Michigan ultimate team. While the “kicking it” is actually happening, I think this is 100% awesome. However, on Thursday mornings when my alarm goes off at 7:00am after a practice that ended at 11:30pm the night before, I realize Wednesday-night-ultimate Kati is a fool.

Thanks to gallons of coffee and short naps, I have been able to manage this cycle relatively well. This morning that stopped being true.

My alarm jolted me out of deep sleep and into panic-stricken crisis mode. After realizing the only crisis was my impending two-hour biostatistics class, I was able to begin shuffling about getting ready for the day. I thought I was in good shape when I remembered to make some changes to my homework and print another copy without the aid of a helpful post-it. But then I decided to brush my teeth.

Everything was going swimmingly. It was plaque removal like you read about. Then I happened to catch my reflection in the mirror. There was something weird about my hair. So I stopped brushing my teeth to fix it. But instead of gently placing my brushing implement on the sink, I just let go of it mid-brushstroke as if it would remain suspended in front of my mouth without my assistance. Obviously I was wrong about this and instead my toothbrush plummeted towards my shirt and actually managed to adhere itself by the bristles. So now my reflection is looking back with unkempt hair and a toothbrush swinging from its front.

I managed to remove most of the evidence of my screeching mental halt and the rest of the morning proceeded rather uneventfully. Until I was preparing to leave for school on my bicycle. Thankfully my routine involves donning my helmet before I maneuver my bike out the door, down the stairs, and onto the sidewalk, because I somehow managed to bang my head on the doorframe and nearly trip over my bike, my own feet, and the old red chair on the porch. Thankfully the residents of my street consider 7:50am to be an ungodly hour for people watching. Otherwise they would all be wondering where that girl who just moved in across the street was planning on drunkenly riding her bicycle to at such an early hour.

Thankfully there is no photographic evidence of my remarkably shambly morning. Instead, enjoy these uproarious photos from this spring’s From (this is frisbee prom, not a glorification of the word “from”, though I understand how you may get that impression).

Cheers to teammates and adapting to catching fewer Zs.

Happy Thursday.