My turn: The constant struggle against the snuggles

I hate to break it to Ke$ha, but I do not wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy.I have no idea what she's talking about.

If I've got my glasses and run out the door, it's because the night before was a long one and I have five minutes to make it across campus to class.

I wake up every morning feeling like someone who wants nothing more than to stay under the covers.

Believe me: I really wish I were a morning person.

I know my days would be so much more productive and I could go to bed at night with a sense of accomplishment instead of a sense of dread for the pain I know I will face in seven hours or less.

I often joke that I learned to sleep anywhere and anytime after coming to college, but it's definitely true.

I value every minute of sleep I can get.

I should've been a founder of the Facebook group "When I was a kid, I hated going to bed. Now I cherish every hour of sleep."

Sleeping is a beautiful thing.

I get to put on my soft, flannel pajama pants and toasty slipper socks and finally be tranquil. When I hit my bed after a long day of fighting the losing battle against my ever-growing agenda, the feeling is pure bliss.

I fluff up my two pillows and slowly lower my head to meet them. I stretch my limbs, arch my back and ease it onto my mattress-my mattress lined with a Tempur-Pedic topper.

As I pull my blankets up to my chin and snuggle down with my penguin stuffed animals, I close my eyes and soak in the feeling of pure relaxation and undisturbed peace.

And then, before I know it, it's over. No more snuggling. No more dreaming.

My perfect slumber is rudely interrupted by a blaring sound worse than the starlings that used to reside by our window.

There's that blasted alarm again.

ERRR! ERRR! ERRR!

Annoying little pre-programmed chimes and beeps.

I've even started using my cheery Britney Spears and Mariah Carey ringtones to prompt my eyes to open, but it never works-it's a battle to peek through my eyelids when they start singing.

I hate that noise and my involuntary reaction is to find a way to make it stop. So I fumble around for the snooze button and collapse once again onto my pillows.

This is when everyone should start to feel sorry for my roommate.

It takes a lot to get me up in the morning, especially when I don't even hear the squawking, thinking it's part of a dream or something.

I set three different alarms and always end up snoozing through all of them at least once.

My poor roommate gets to hear all three of them almost every day.

When I finally open my sleep-encrusted eyes enough to see the time and know I absolutely HAVE to get up if there's any hope of me being responsible that day, it's almost painful.

My nose (pretty much the only thing sticking out of my covers) serves as my thermometer to tell me how much colder it's going to be outside the comforts of my layers of blankets.

That's when I start to think about my feet shuffling across the ice-cold tiles of our bathroom and the cool water splashing on my face.

And just when I think I can't do it, and the urge to turn over and drift back to sleep makes it's strongest pull, I think of the smooth, hot coffee that I can get in my little paper cup from Starbucks.

Most of the time, that's my only relief.