By MARY SABACINSKI

Few people have ever experienced anything as undesirable as a morning‑ particularly Monday mornings, which have a way of making your skin crawl.

Naturally you lie wide awake Sunday night, with insomnia, usually dozing off around 3:30 a.m., all the while knowing you have three short hours to enjoy the comfort of your warm bed and wooly pajamas. At 6:30 sharp the radio alarm screams out Frampton. For some unknown reason, you don't appreciate Frampton at dawn.

With a 3 degree temperature difference between in bed and not in bed, even threats of pulling out all your teeth and putting bamboo shoots in your fingernails can't get you out of bed. At exactly 6:33 your mother breezes in and yanks the covers off. After recovery, the victim stumbles to the shower.

Lathering your hair, you notice the water begins to run a bit cooler. You realize that your mother, father, and beloved little brother have all enjoyed the luxury of a hot shower this morning, which has left you with probably about 30 seconds of lukewarm water. Panic strikes and you furiously rinse the suds from your hair. So you finish your shower in near‑freezing water. Now you are awake, no doubt.

As you stand on the bathroom floor shivering and dripping, you quickly realize you have no towel. Figuring Mom would evict you from home if you borrowed the bathroom curtains, you take the next alternative and scream for someone to bring you a towel.

Next, you amble back to the privacy of your room in search of the blow dryer. Not even bothering to look in your dryer's usual place. you pound on dear brother's door screaming threats of shaving his head if he does not immediately return your hair dryer.

Next, you leap to your closet for something to wear. Instead, you receive a cold stare from 36 empty hangers. You remember your faithful Levis alone in your dresser drawer. After searching for socks with less than four holes you succeed in finding a pair with only two holes. At this point it doesn't matter that you found some strange fuzzy growth on them. You stuff your feet into your trusty Pro Keds, not even bothering to tie them, due to a lack of shoelaces.

Tripping down to the kitchen, you discover your brother has consumed the last four Pop Tarts and six Eggo Waffles, and keen observation tells you the Golden Grahams are also missing. Murder crosses your mind, and you would love to put him out of your misery, but you keep yourself under control. After all, if you lived through the morning, nothing is impossible.