I thought I could make it. I really thought I could make it. The early rise is the hardest step, each day departing slightly later than the last. I shuffle out the wooden doorway, unprepared for what my day will entail. Sitting at my first red light of three I contemplate the worst of my rise, finding a place to park. Round and round the everlasting circle or parallel, just to not find a spot. I begin to lose hope and accept my fate of being late once again and go round once more. With hopes that a parent leaves, I find myself short to my goal. I really thought I could make it on time.