So far my mental quandaries are as follows:
- Where the heck am I supposed to put all the garbage and cardboard that has accumulated in my apartment over the past week or so?
- Is the person behind me in these wooden library study panels masturbating because I have heard several gasps and “oh my gods” and even if someone was masturbating in the library, would I actually do anything about it or would I just let it happen? Probably the former because I continue to be a major wimp, as is seen by the nine fucking thousand people who I let bump into me in the hallway on my way to class today.
So not much has changed since I moved into my first apartment over a week ago, just that I put curtains up by myself and that was cause for celebration even though all it consisted of was sliding fabric onto a metal rod. That’s the good thing about having extraordinarily low expectations of yourself: you’re just constantly surprising yourself with your ability to get cable installed.
That said, if anyone wants to call the bank for me, I’m looking for someone else to get on that.
What’s been the most troubling about being thrown into the big, bad world this time (how many times am I going to have to be thrown into this? I thought I already did this when I moved to college? I feel like every time I enter adulthood, about 6 months later I get told, “nah, that wasn’t REAL adulthood, now you’re REALLY going to see how hard and cruel life is.” It’s pretty frustrating, frankly. I’d like to stop that.) is being somewhat homeless while I’m on campus. I say somewhat because there are actual homeless people on my campus at pretty much all times, and I can say with full certainty that my ability to put on Britney Spears’s 2005 fragrance “Fantasy” every morning keeps me out of that category. Right now I’m essentially trapped in the library, which I assume is like R. Kelly’s “Trapped in the Closet” except I try to do a lot more grocery shopping online.
That’s another thing, I’ve been to a grocery store how many times in my life and I have just discovered now that I don’t know what food is? Seriously, nothing about life makes sense to me any more. Except for instructions on how to put together Target brand furniture because I’m actually pretty damn good at that.
Speaking of which, holy shit does it suck to be a woman in a city. These things seem unrelated, but every damn time someone needs something carried or set up it’s like CALL UPON THE MEN and, I’m sorry, but I can use a hammer thank you. I don’t mean to tease these people, but the radical feminist inside me that yearns for a society where the bones of men are ground into dough I knead into bread with my capable, feminine hands just seethes in anger whenever I encounter this stuff.
But what really sucks is having to be escorted across the street so I don’t get murdered or robbed or sexually assaulted. That’s gotta be the main disadvantage of being a woman right now. It’s not even that I live in an insanely dangerous area, it’s that I am taught from a young age that EVERYONE WILL ATTEMPT TO RAPE YOU and that’s enough to send me into a frantic panic attack.
But as long as I WALK WITH PURPOSE and HAVE MY KEYS IN MY HAND I’ll be okay. Or I might not, hahaha, who the fuck knows. Either way, life experience, right? Or also possibly horrific trauma or death! Someone else can write about me dying and how traumatic it was for them and they will make millions off of it.
Really hoping that’s my legacy.
Final Review: So far, about a C-, but I have a feeling it’s not going to do very well on the exam so…