Don't ask me about the kitchen floor. That's between me and the tiles. (I know this isn't technically a "story.")
(But now it is.)
Just a few weeks ago, I had my first day of school!
..for the eighteenth time.
I had class at 9:00am. The only reason I was still awake at three in the morning was because I couldn't decide if I wanted to shower or not. Wait - let me rephrase that. I had decided that I did not want to shower but I had not decided if I should have. Wait - I definitely should have because I had fleas and my hair looked like the BP oil spill, but I didn't know if I would.
I remember the days when I loved picking out my "first day of school" outfit. That was five years ago.
I remember the days when I loved getting to meet new classmates. That was ten years ago.
I remember the days when I loved waking up at 7 in the morning. That was never.
(Line of a time? Time for a line?)
1:00am - I start deliriously blogging about my indecision to bathe, which is just now getting posted.
3:00am - I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering why I can't fall asleep.
4:00am - I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering how much glow-in-the-dark stars cost.
5:00am - I'm still awake.
6:00am - You know you're going to have a long day when you have yet to go to bed and you hear your morning alarm go off. I hit "snooze" and watch in envy as my phone sleeps. Fuck you, phone.
7:00am - My sister informs me that she will not be able to give me a ride to school. I leave my house and begin walking to campus.
7:01am - It begins to pour. I have no umbrella, no raincoat, and bowling shoes.
8:15am - The streets of downtown Chattanooga start echoing with my screams of profanity.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"
8:16am - I look over to see a line of ten cars waiting at a stoplight. I make eye contact with three of the drivers, awkwardly nod my head, and continue screaming cuss words.
8:49am - I run into a campus bathroom and peel my soaking wet clothes off and change into a dress I had in my backpack.
8:59am - I make it to class with one minute to spare.
9:50am - Class is dismissed. I rise from my seat and slip on the puddle I had no idea I had created.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my first day of school.
Setting: Japanese restaurant.
me: Are they playing Mariah Carey?
friend: Yeah...they are...
me: Honestly, I love Mariah Carey. I don't know why. I'm obsessed with all her songs.
friend: Do you like her song, "Obsessed?"
me: I've actually never heard that one...when I said "all" her songs, I really meant the "all three that I know."
friend: You should listen to it, I really like it. She wrote it after she allegedly cheated on Nick Cannon with Eminem.
me: WHAT? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?!
friend: Eight years ago.
...if anyone has any other shocking news that happened eight years ago, please tell me now. Chances are I haven't heard about it.
This procrastinating thing is getting out of hand. One moment I have sat down to write a paper and the next thing I know, I'm looking up Space Jam action figures. I open up my textbook to read an assigned chapter, and suddenly I'm online looking at Harold and Maude refrigerator magnets. I managed to neglect an entire assignment last night due to my inexplicable urge to design a lifesize cardboard-cutout of myself. Why myself? Because it'd be hilarious, that's why. It's a humor thing. Not some weird sexual thing. Don't even get me started on the Nic Cage pillowcases...(which are on sale on Amazon for $15.18 if you ever feel the need to make my wildest dreams come true).
I was on the kitchen floor because of the fleas in my bedroom. There. I said it. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY. You owe me now, though.