It is nine in the morning and my roommate is rattling around the medicine cabinet. The light from the window falls across my face, and I curl into a ball.
It’s a quarter past nine and I’m beginning to feel guilty for lying in bed. I get up. It’s cold and the abrupt change from warm to cold makes me angry. I brush my teeth and notice that the medicine cabinet is gross from toothpaste and other unidentifiable sticky substances. I should clean it, but I don’t.
I go for a wog, which is something between a walk and a jog. The earbuds fall out of my ears, so I let the Podcast Serial play out loud. I find a nice residential area to run. Two miles out, two miles in.
It’s ten thirty and I’ve showered and dressed. I should sit down to study for my midterms or write one of my papers. Instead, I go to Catlett to get food. I make green tea and munch on items from both food groups: parent-approved and not-so-parent-approved. While in the dining hall I sit by the window and when I look up from my book or philosophy reading I take a breath and thank the river.
It’s a quarter past twelve and I walk to my first class, a discussion section for Theatre and Society. When I open the door to North Hall I always peek my head around the corner, curious what the inside of Wild Bill’s Coffee shop looks like. But I remember that class starts soon, and I don’t have the money to buy coffee. I descend the two flights of stairs to my classroom. It is white with 20 some desks inside. I sit by the window and wish the blinds were open. When the TA arrives and takes role I make sure to contribute to the discussion at least once. I take the reading quiz, and usually miss one question.
1:30. I walk back to Catlett to get lunch with a couple of friends from the class. We talk about the upcoming test and all the things we have to do this week. An anecdote from our lives before college and one from our time at college, commentary on the food, and we disperse.
It’s 2:30 and I’ve been staring at my keyboard for the last 10 minutes and waiting for inspiration to strike. It doesn’t. I get up and go to the bathroom, rifle through the snack bin. All that remains is a bag of green tea and a can of green beans. I sit back down.
At 3:15 I pack my bag and walk to Schaeffer hall for my creative writing class: Writing Commons. The teacher arrives and for an hour she has my attention. We pick apart the words of an author and then workshop two students in the class. During the final 30 minutes of class I check my watch four times. The professor has a cold and lets us out early.
I walk to Biology Building East and sit on the concrete ledge outside. I write a body paragraph of my history paper before my philosophy lecture. The wind shakes my computer screen and the setting sun makes a silhouette of downtown. I walk into the lecture early and find a seat in the back, despite my front-row tendencies. I can see the screen better from the higher seats. The professor’s lecture is clear and follows the reading I completed yesterday. I leave content with myunderstanding of the topic.
When I walk back to the dorm I pass Basta and the street smells like shrimp. My friends are eating dinner and I meet them. Afterward, we go to our dorms and finish old assignments. I rewrite the slides to my Theatre Lecture and call it progress.
I wash my face and brush my teeth. I make another mental note about the state of the medicine cabinet. I go to bed.