It is Monday. On Mondays, my eyes refuse to open–figuratively and literally. I am more irate, more incommunicative, more unwillingly to simply roll out of bed. When my alarm goes off at nine-in-the-morning, it is not a particularly early hour, but just as on the weekend, I prefer at least another hour of sleep, and the bulk of my work be done much later into the night after my fun has worn out its welcome. It may not be early, and I know I have seen day begin and dew before it evaporates, but it feels like the earliest I have ever been made to wake, every time.
I miss living on campus. Being huddled in another family’s dwelling feels more comfortable than it did in the beginning, but more often than not, it still feels intrusive. I try to not let these feelings show–I would hate for it to appear unappreciative than for what it really is. If there is one thing I do not miss about living on campus, though, and I am certain it is only one thing, it is the expletives to be endured over the course of three days. Friday nights, classes let out, typically from 2 to 3 in the afternoon, at which point every student and loose faculty member finds themselves somewhere, eventually, with a drink in hand, or at least passed out on a couch–sometimes both. Cause and effect; we learn it in school. When Monday morning arrives, broken beer bottles and crushed cans of Red Bull are strategically strewn across the well-manicured lawn, along with unidentifiable pieces of clothing on occasion. For those who were actually sober and can document their weekends to any asking police official, they still wake looking as ragged and morose as the hungover. Between the howling, chanting from fraternities and loud clogging of ridiculously priced and stilted high-heels, sleep was nigh impossible.
The bright sun and humidity of the air leads to words of a colorful language as people step out and greet the new day with a grimace. It is back to working and running around campus. Living off of fumes is something to which I have become accustomed, but never content. Mentally, there is no way to catch speed, but the body works in mysterious ways, and the feet will find a way to break record times across campus; the only solace being the promise that, on the other end, there is a seat, at least moderately comfortable, to nap in while the professor lectures about a subject that will prove useless by the end of the semester.
Thousands of dollars go into the care of the hedges, brick and students of this institution, and yet, carvings are still made in the bathroom stalls, the water fountains are milky during the peak of seemingly avoidable construction, students still refuse to throw away their trash and dorms are left smelling of musk and mold due to an inability to report back to the room and tidy up between errands, feedings and a bit of sleep. But do not be mistaken, I love college. This experience gives me something to say; I have endured some of the strangest and harshest conditions while here. Lord knows I have been through worse, but at this very moment, I am feeling the pressure. I have already colored the walls of every hall on this campus with some sort of colloquialism or side-step of the English language. As of this moment, Monday is winning, and my day is far from over.