My day consists mainly in sitting in different locations and daydreaming about a social life, and then reading for a bit.
First I get to school in the morning and sit in the library. I imagine having a lively cadre of friends, snappy, catty friends, who say bitchy things to each other but then have genuine affection for one another deep down. So I get up and walk to my first class.
I sit in class and daydream about what a wonderful student I'll be someday. I'll do all the reading and write papers in advance, and the teachers will write letters to the New Yorker recommending me as a staff writer, saying, "This kid's on fire." Not literally on fire. My papers would be good in this scenario. The teacher calls on me, and I rephrase his question with a slight interrogative lilt at the end of my sentence. There's a staring pause, and he moves on.
This first class is also my last class for the day.
And now, as I write this, I'm sitting in the union and drinking too much caffeine. This belt is cutting into my stomach, and I don't want to read Virginia Woolf. Where are all my friends? I wish I were a pirate. I think I'll just sit here some more.
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