I’m a senior. I’m too GD old to be taking the freshmen campus shuttle, but I’m also too damn old to keep these legs walking miles to campus a day (Okay, exaggeration, but too lazy is most definitely accurate). But the more I ride the shuttle, the more I realize that so many people are doing it so wrong.
- Wait your damn turn to get on the bus. You wait for the other people to get off. It’s like an elevator. You’re not going to shove your way on just to have it clear out two seconds later. Just slow down, it won’t leave without you. You will get on. Calm the f*ck down.
- If there is an open seat behind me, across from me, any damn where on the bus, do not f*cking sit with me. This tiny ass bus seat is my personal space and you’re invading it. It’s only acceptable when there is literally no other seats available. Otherwise, f*ck right off.
- Say thank you to the shuttle driver, think about how much you hate riding the RamVan and realize that the driver is on it for an 8 hour shift. Be gracious, you rude little assh*les.
Follow these rules and you can avoid making everyone else’s time spent on that miserable glorified school bus just a tiny bit better.
I don’t wanna. I can’t. Stop making me.
I’m at that point where I am so close to graduation, so it would be a total waste of an investment of $80k+ to drop out, but not gonna lie, I consider it daily.
College would not be so bad if there wasn’t homework and we got paid to be there. Oh right, so a job.
College is a job and I’m not even getting paid. And don’t whine at me with this bullish*t about “you get paid with grades and a degree.” No. That is not payment. That is good collateral damage after sleepless nights, billions of written words, grade haggling with professors, and so many meals not made by my chef/genius mom.
I thought that last semester was hard. I was a whiny lil b*tch because I was heart broken, I was eating my feelings and London was 3,500 miles away. But no, nope, I think it might just be that being a senior sucks.
I can’t d*ck around with my friends every single night because the thesis writing has amassed in not sleeping due to writing endlessly. I can’t keep drinking because my liver can’t handle it. Neither can my metabolism. I have to find a job because I have to pay my student loans six months after graduation. I have to pay rent and bills and still have spending money when my friends want to do adult things like having real conversations over a nice dinner. What the hell?
I’m over it. Can I be a junior again? Less commitment to adulthood.
I don’t know if this is just a me thing, or if it happens to other people; but when I have a hangover, it doesn’t normally happen the worst until two days after the incident.
So naturally, as I sit through 5 classes today, I am between 68% and 84% positive that I am going to die.
Every few minutes I get the nausea clamminess. It’s to the point where I am just about to stand up to run to the bathroom to puke, but it subsides just before I push my chair out.
I also am pretty convinced that I have some form of concussion because my eyes are sensitive to the light, my head feels like I hit a brick wall, twice, and every time I close my eyes, the room starts to spin.
It’s not great.
But, I guess that’s the price that I pay for not serving my hangover sentence yesterday.
Ever have those days where you just want to yell at the world?
Don’t look at me!
Don’t breathe on me!
Don’t touch me!
Don’t come closer than my six-foot personal space bubble!
Don’t ask me if I’m okay!
It’s a cranky situation.
My “Don’t Look At Me” Complex is running straight to my soul today. I’m chalking it up to the fact that I have either strep throat or tonsillitis and I’m having a challenging enough time trying to keep my own head up, literally, that I really don’t have a single drop of energy more to entertain the masses. So no, I’m not acting like myself and no, I really don’t want to be around you. It’s not your fault though, so don’t take it personally. Give me a hot minute and I’ll get over it, but for right now; don’t look at me.
I just started my senior year of classes.
Oh my god.
When did this happen?
I’m not so sure. But after being on campus for nearly 20 minutes a ton of harsh realities sucker punched me square in the face:
- This is legitimately my last first day of school. Unless I go to grad school, in which case, I’m still going to send my mom a picture of my first day of school outfit.
- I don’t know anyone on campus. You’d think because I’m going on four years, I may have accrued a few friends or acquaintances, but no. Nope. I look around and I see all these fresh-faced youths and I feel like the crypt keeper.
- My sense of “I care so much about this!” has severely dwindled. I went to the library between two classes to take a nap.
- It’s only syllabus week. I have not had a single class that has lasted its entire duration. One of them got out in 45 minutes, another in 30 and another in 20. I actually have no idea what my full class load is going to feel like and I am terrified. If I’m already cat-napping in the study room, how the F*CK am I going to make a five class-a-day schedule all the way through?
- I keep saying things like: “Remember freshman year when…” and “Back when I lived on campus…”
- After traveling the world for more than half of the year, going back to school is more mundane than having a chocolate tootsie pop. I just don’t want it. I should be waking up in London at noon. Not Philadelphia at 8 AM.
- I don’t even own a notebook.
- My rent, cable, water, gas and electric bills all seem vastly more important than buying that book for class. Although I would love to read all about entrepreneurship and world philosophies, I also really want to catch up on Game of Thrones, so…
- I have approximately 15 months until I have to start paying back my student loans.
- I haven’t even thought about applying for my loan to cover this year.
- I have to be a real, full time, no-nonsense adult, super soon. The age of d*cking around and kicking rocks is quickly reaching its end and I have absolutely no idea at what else I’m good at doing.
Someone, anyone, send help.
Fun fact, here I am, in London, sick, once again.
I know that I have posted about this before, but I just really hate being sick.
I hate breathing through my mouth.
I hate having to pack up all of my stuff at the library, just so I can go to the bathroom to blow my nose.
I hate how it looks like I’m crying because my eyes are watering so much, I swear, I’m not, you can stop asking if I’m okay.
I hate that I’m so tired. Like no. I just slept for 12 straight hours, but I need to have a nap at 2 PM to get through the rest of the day.
I hate that I feel like I’m dying, even though it’s probably only just a cold.
I hate that this sickness has made my level of production decrease by about 85% since last week.
I hate that I’m leaving in 2 days for Spring Break and that my immune system needs to really work itself out or else, I’m going to be real pissed.
I also hate that my being sick has made me bitter and complain-y.
So, I am going to try my damnedest to get back on track for the fanz. No more b*tching and whining, only when it’s truly necessary. I am making the promise to be more optimistic the rest of the week! Hope that you’re still with me!
One of the ultimate pet peeves of the world is when I have a dream and I know how it left me feeling when I woke up, but I can’t for the life of me remember what happened in the dream. Or even worse, I’ll go to tell my friends about it and the second I start to tell them the story, I totally forget what happened.
It’s so annoying. I used to keep a journal by my bed or I would write it down in my notes on my phone the second I woke up, but since I’ve stopped doing that, I find it a giant challenge to keep them in my head after like ten minutes.
But, the past few nights I have been having a real sh*t time at sleeping. I can fall asleep no problem, but it’s just so restless, and then I wake up all in a tizzy because I have some weird dreams, but I can’t remember what they are. Like I can remember clips of them, one night; being at an airport, someone stealing my bags, another night; some old dude stealing my favorite rings. Then another night I just woke up crying and I have no idea why. It’s stressing me out!
I need some dream remedies. I think it’s because I don’t have my dream catchers hanging up all around me to counteract the bad juju. When I have my dream catcher, things are wonderful. I go on dates with Niall Horan. I get proposed to in the middle of Piccadilly Circus by a beautiful stranger, people sing and dance and everything is so happy.
Without it, it’s like I’m trapped in some spooky weird dream limbo that I can’t even remember when I wake up, but I just know it was bad.