This morning, like most mornings, my cell phone alarm blares from a mere three inches away from my face, still clutched between my sleep deprived hands. My poor pinkies have lost all feeling, so I say a prayer to god, thanking him for inventing the pop socket. This glorious invention allows me to rightfully feed my technology addiction, horizontally, and from the comforts of my queen sized mattress. Without lifting a pinky I scroll through a no longer chronological Instagram feed from my 1,000 closest friends, I think to myself, what significantly over edited square am I going to bless the world with today? Genius takes time, so I decide to brew a vanilla latte with extra cream and sugar, because I don’t respect myself, and carry on with my morning routine.
While my sugar high begins to kick in, I slip on my overpriced lululemon leggings and roll out the yoga mat I told myself I would use to do ab exercises. I call out, “Alexa, play some zen music”, and she is happy to oblige. Assuming the crisscross applesauce position, I place myself in front of my full length mirror. When I finally manage to stop admiring myself, I let my eyes draw to a close. My head clicks into gear and I repeat my mantra, “you’ve made it this far, you might as well keep going”, 30 times in a row.
At this point I’m finally ready to acknowledge that there is life outside of my creamy blue historical Charleston apartment, thus I start my invigorating three minute bike ride to class. My backpack is stuffed with five books, one I need for class, and the rest to remind everyone that I’m an English major who has a passion for classics like The Canterbury Tales and John Dryden’s heroic couplets.
Once I enter my 12pm class I find a seat toward the back . . . I’m fucking cool, in case you hadn’t caught on yet. I kick my right foot forward and rest my ankle on the front bar of my desk, proudly displaying my douchebag tattoo so as to show everyone within three feet how complex and adventurous I am. I’m strangely very single, so I use this as a means of attracting the four guys that attend College of Charleston. When the lecture begins I start a cycle of opening and closing my s’well bottle, checking my phone, and answering class questions with other impromptu questions. Every 7 minutes I switch tasks, because that is how long my attention span can lasts.
Finally, my 50 minute basket weaving class is over, and I can pretend like I’m excited for the weekend. Being a junior makes me feel #blessed.