9 a.m. – I wake up in a cold sweat of a dream where Nancy Pelosi my demons continue in a long corridor without windows – the usual. I grab my phone and immediately open the AP News application, where I decor for 45 minutes. Once I feel a sufficient amount of crushing despair, it’s time to go to class. I live on the Western campus, so the first thing that meets me when I go out of the door is the pretty stench of dead fish from western pond.
When I reach the Dungeon of Political Science (Harrison Hall), I prepare. My class is on the third floor and these stairs are brutal. I look at my feet while I go up. LEFT. RIGHT. LEFT. RIGHT. I sweat through my shirt. LEFT. RIGHT. LEFT. RIGHT. My calves are starting to burn, but it’s the last flight. LEFT. RIGHT. LEFT. RIGHT. I rose through the ramp, triumphant. I defeated the stairs… for today. I enter my classroom soaked with sweat and out of breath, like everyone else. Despite the arrival of the summer in Oxford, Harrison is held at 60 icy degrees. I’m starting to tremble.
1 p.m. – Once the course is finished, I connect Instagram. My flow is a mixture of alarming news, friends of friends, animal videos and onion. I receive the cervical boost while I scroll: a cat plays research, my friend studied abroad in Spain, immigrants are expelled without regular procedure. Oh watch, another cat video!
My grandmother calls me to catch up. After a nice conversation on her reading club and her garden, she moves the subject to “these sacred liberals” and tells me to avoid being indoctrinate in college. I constitute an imminent class to which I must go and politely apologize for conversation.
5 p.m. – I stop at the dining room for dinner. While I eat, I scroll the news a little more. I see that another federal program in which I hoped to work in the future has been reduced. I go to my application of notes where I keep my list of future career options and cross a few others. Now, it seems that my only choices are … switch to a major in a business or become a cryptide of Virginia-Western. I will opt for the latter.
7 p.m. – I finally meet my friends. However, we arrive at the end of the internship applications season, so rather than relax and relax with them, I quickly go between applying for internships and checking my email. I refresh my email on average seven times per minute, like a laboratory rat pressing the button for more cocaine.
Midnight – When I fall asleep, it’s useless. Restless. Each evening, I am waiting for, asking for what new appearance will visit me this time. Tonight is Ted Cruz. He reads green eggs and ham at the front of a conference room. I can’t leave. I can’t escape. He is a Senator Filibuste and I am his reluctant audience.