My roommate and I are already at that point in the school year where we’re leaving to go to class at the last possible second. Three weeks ago, we were leaving half an hour early, ear buds in, bags fully packed with folders, writing utensils, and the assigned reading. Nowadays, however, you’re more likely to see one of us sprinting out the door when we should’ve left five minutes before, holding crumpled papers and a piece of toast and screaming, “I’M LATE, BYE.” No ear buds; there’s no time to untangle that shitstorm. We frequently don’t grab the right books and have to run back, screwing ourselves over even further. And when I use the royal “we,” of course, I really just mean me. I say we to make myself feel better. I think I saw her sprinting out the door, like, once. And even then she was wearing this really cute dress. I usually wear whatever’s on my floor because it’s within reach. I’m a perpetual life mess.
THE COUNTDOWN BEGINS. I have 19 days left in the school year, and here’s what my life has become:
- I need to write my 5-page essay on medieval misogyny by Saturday
- I need to write a 10-page (minimum) story for my creative writing class by Tuesday
- I need to write an 8-page rough draft on the role of storytelling in Native American culture by Wednesday
- I need to settle on a topic for my research project, but I’m terrible at making decisions
I need to start studying for biology because the exam is cumulative, and honestly all that stuff from the first half of the semester has been banished from my brain, probably forever, so there’s actually no hope, so I’m just going to go ahead and cross this one off
So that’s the stuff I need to do. Here’s what I’m actually doing:
- Developing an unhealthy co-dependent relationship with Netflix
- Eating the last of the Thin Mints
- Staring forlornly around my room and thinking, “I should clean this, or something.”
- That’s it
I’m hoping this post will help me put things in perspective… like I’ll publish it, and I’ll step back and take a long, hard look at my life. Past experience tells me that the only way to get me to take things seriously is to make a big, scary list with lots of scary essay page lengths, and then watch as all hell breaks loose in my brain.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, I come back to find my half of the room in complete disarray. This is not the work of a burglar; this is the work of Morning Elodie. Morning Elodie is a funny creature, much like a raccoon. She crawls out of bed in the early hours of the morning to get to her first class, and thus wreaks havoc on the room. She tosses clothes over her shoulder with reckless abandon. She leaves toiletries scattered across the floor and chairs overturned. Her unmade bed is a disaster unto itself. She makes groggy, half-hearted attempts to pick up after herself but only winds up shoving things in all the wrong drawers.
Afternoon Elodie must then swing by and sheepishly clean up Morning Elodie’s mess. It’s the eternal struggle.
It’s getting bad. The locker thing is getting out of control. You see, I technically have a share in three different lockers. There’s my brother’s locker, which I share with Tara and Lizzy. There’s my friend Kylie’s locker, which I share with her, her sister, and our friend Jolie. Then there’s Carrie’s locker, which I share with her and a girl I don’t even know. So my math book is in one, my history book’s in another, and I don’t even know where my anatomy notes are anymore. Currently pondering my life choices and wondering where it all went wrong.
My room is so messy. It’s a disaster. It’s gotten to the point where I’m sick of living in it. I know this isn’t much of a post but it needed to be said. Oh, I know I’m not going to clean it any time soon. I just want it on the record that I know it’s a mess.