19 Hours (and 20 Minutes) of My Life
The days of my life usually commence and end with some consistency, and by that I mean tardily. The night before I fall asleep with the resolve that tomorrow morning I will give myself enough time to leisurely enjoy some breakfast, but inevitably the warm comforters in the wee hours of the morning destroy my determination. I wake up late, take far too long in the shower, end up frantically scrambling to shove my papers into my school bag, and enjoy my breakfast in the passenger seat of my mother’s car at 6:25 with the early rays of dawn illuminating the blueberries I have heaped onto my plate. It was a feat of science, trying to keep my breakfast on the plate as my mom swerved corners, but after 365 mornings of practice I am now able to expertly maneuver my plate so as not to end up with a miniature Niagara Falls made of blueberries.
6:30 AM (Yes, I said A.M.)
Mom has (hopefully), by this time, turned into school and I struggle under the weight of what feels like 300 pounds of textbooks as I make my way to zero period. The books are causing irreparable damage to my spinal cord with their sheer weight, but finally the door is in sight, and after what feels like the greatest victory of my life and the highlight of the morning, I manage to reach my chair without dropping a single book and with both my arms still intact.
For the next few hours or so I drift in and out of classes, fervently struggling not to look at the clock every two milliseconds, then losing this struggle and looking at the clocks. After this riveting routine I look at the clocks again, gape at how epically sluggish it is and then realize that I’ve found the solution to expanding time: being at school.
The time has come to say goodbye to fourth-period Calculus and hello to lunch break. My friends and I usually visit our favorite four topics: 1. I’m so tired; 2. too much homework; 3. boy drama; 4. I need to sleep (look at my eye bags!)
Two more periods. Two more periods. Two more periods. These three words become my mantra as I mumble through IB English and then Psychology. I inhale as if I am about to compete in the Olympics, mentally preparing myself for the culminating moment of the period — looking at the clock. It’s 12:45. I’ve successfully made it through five whole minutes, 300 seconds. I stare at clocks for the next two periods wondering if perhaps there is a black hole above my school that can expand minutes into eternities and then dash to the car as the final bell rings.
I’m home. I throw my shoes haphazardly like the daredevil that I am and then run back to put them in my closet like the neat freak that I am. I make a mad dash for the fridge, gaze at the appetizing and healthy salad inside and then decide to make popcorn instead. I watch “Friends” on Netflix, desperately trying to cram in four 20-minute episodes into 30 minutes, but unfortunately, I cannot accomplish this goal, and at 4 it is time to start homework. I take out my homework, mentally congratulate myself for completing such a huge step of actually taking out my homework, and as a reward I watch some more Netflix.
Now I really start homework. I write about The Stranger for English, take notes on the Mexican Revolution for History, do some free response questions for Calculus, and study for my Biology test the next day.
The peak of my day. I have finished homework. I make myself a cup of tea and read a bit before I go to bed.
I snuggle into my blankets and comforters and sleep far too late. I end my day the same way I began — tardily.