Monday, 3:00 a.m.: I realize that watching Carrie today was probably a bad idea, because I can’t close my eyes without thinking about crazy, crazy Julianne Moore and the headmaster who can’t talk about a girl on her period without breaking into a cold sweat but somehow handles the entire destruction of his school by a girl drenched in pigs blood like it ain’t no thang. (Oh, sorry, did you not want to know the plot of Carrie? Stop reading the Humor section, I’m only going to ruin things for you. Like your ability to interact normally in social situations).
Monday, 9:30 a.m.: I turn off my alarm that is entitled “LILY YOU REALLY HAVE TO SHOWER TODAY. SERIOUSLY. GET UP”. Sorry, past Lily, I don’t have time for your socially constructed ideas about “personal hygiene” or how people need to shower “at least once a week” or the reminder that “my housemates complained.”
Monday, 10:00 a.m.: I literally roll out of bed, onto the ground. I immediately regret my decision not to shower. Turns out, my natural body odor does NOT smell like the flower after which I was named.
Monday, 10:45 a.m.: I consider what seems to be the scientific impossibility that I have only been sitting in this class for 15 minutes. There is no way that’s true. Is it daylight savings time again? Did I sleep through Christmas and the rest of winter season because I was in a fear-induced coma after watching Carrie? LILY, you know you need at least 6 years to recover from watching horror movies. You were barely over The Ring.
Monday, 10:46 a.m.: Nope. It’s not a fear-induced coma.
Monday, 10:47 a.m.: Professors do NOT react well when you whisper “seven days” as a response to their question, even if it is a totally reasonable way to test out if you are in a weird, semi-waking, semi-comatose dream state.
Monday, 2:35 p.m.: It’s my third class in a row and my stomach is growling so loudly that I have begun eyeing the girl sitting next to me in what could be described as a menacing “I am going to eat your arm” type of way. It could also be described as complimentary.
Monday, 3:00 p.m.: I literally stand on the path in front of the Library for 10 minutes before deciding that if it was Hogwarts itself and Ron Weasley was standing there shirtless with a rose between his teeth gesturing at me seductively I would still rather go home and eat a snack then go inside and actually do my homework. (I realize that I just inadvertently told the entire school that I both have a thing for Ron Weasley and choose food over men regularly. Over it).
Monday, 5:00 p.m.: Despite the fact that only senior citizens go to dinner at this hour of the day, my housemate and I go to Mole Mole. There is, shockingly, no one in there, except a buser who tells me it’s “good to see me again.” This is my first time in there this year. Not sure if this means that I look like every other white girl in Poughkeepsie, New York, or if I am sleep eating at Mole Mole. Honestly, it’s a toss up..
Monday, 6:00 p.m.: I come home and drink two cups of coffee within 5 minutes, which gives me not only a stomach ache but also causes my left leg to twitch uncontrollably. I am still not positive that this was not a seizure.
Monday, 9:00 p.m.: I successfully perform the bare necessities of my work study job at UpC by turning on the lights. I am inordinately proud of myself, and celebrate by telling everyone that I know through at least 12 different kinds of social media.
Monday, 9:02 p.m.: I realize that I don’t know how to raise or lower the desk chair. I spend the next hour weeping quietly to myself and doubting my ability to graduate. In other words, your typical Monday night.