Morning thus far:

7:45 AM - Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
8:45 AM - Finally get up. Think I have enough time for everything.
8:55 AM - Make tea, put Poptarts in the toaster, wash an apple. Feed Ragnar the last handful of food in the bag and pray that my new credit card comes in the mail ASAP because I can't afford to buy him a new bag of food otherwise.
9:15 AM - Realize that I'm seriously running late, and WHY didn't my brain put that together when my alarm went off. Gulp down tea, pack apple to go. Throw on dance clothes that I'd set out the night before, do hair, brush teeth at warp speed.
9:25 AM - Speed out the door, heart sinks when I remember that I emptied my gas tank last night. Pray that I have enough left to get to school. Start eating the apple, which tastes sour. Make mental note to throw out the rest of the apples in the fridge later. Throw out the Poptarts because I'm not hungry anymore.
9:40 AM - Turn onto Rural Road. Class starts in five minutes.
9:45 to 9:50 AM - Get to the Rural garage, try to find a parking space. Realize that this is stupid, that by the time I get to class I'll be something like 20 minutes late. Instantly regret staying up a little later than I should have to sew elastic on my ballet shoes. Stomach sinks because I realize my name is still on the stupid ballet roster, am embarrassed that my classmates will witness me missing another class for the millionth time.
9:50 AM - Drive out of the Rural garage and head back to Baseline Rd. Wonder why I questioned dropping ballet in the first place. Send Steve multiple texts since he's in training at his new job and can't pick up the phone. Call my Mom multiple times; get voice mail. Can't fucking believe she isn't home the one time I actually need to talk. Leave a message telling her I'm dropping ballet and not sure why I thought I could do this in the first place. Mind is racing.
9:55 AM - Pull into QuikTrip and get $6 worth of gas. I now have $5 left in my bank account.
10:10 AM - Get home. Slam doors.
10:20 AM - Drop ballet. Wishing I could punch walls like an emotionally repressed boy.