Wow. Today was... awkward.
It might have been awkward because I'm moody lately, but still. It was can't-use-first-person awkward. Which is pretty damn bad.
So imagine you're me, and you wore the new yoga pants, and, of course, they're too short for you (as in, you don't step on them when you walk), which is fine when one is doing yoga but not so cool when one is let out of yoga late, because they started late, because there weren't enough mats for everyone; it's also not so cool when one is subsequently sprinting across campus in them, and wearing them through Bio lab despite having brought pants to change into because there wasn't enough time.
Then what's not cool is coming into your first Bio class five minutes late, and thus having all eyes on you, when you're still exhausted from dashing across campus and doing yoga before that and you know your hair must look terrible and you might even smell, hard to tell. And naturally the professor notes your late arrival, the same professor whose class you idiotically skipped the first day, and probably thinks you're a total flake, despite the fact that all last semester you missed like, one Bio class and then only because that professor said it was okay.
So having distinguished yourself thusly, you then proceed to notice that your lab procedure sheet is missing, which does not endear yourself to the professor any more, though he is at least good-natured about it. Then the announcement comes that the entire class is to stand up, one at a time, and say their name and hometown and major and what they want to be when they grow up. You immediately panic, because you do not want to introduce yourself as the girl who came in late and looks like hell and probably smells, and you can't decide if you should go by your real name or your nickname because you've been using the real name more, now, rather than have to explain yourself; on the other hand, there's another girl with your real name in the class. She introduces herself, and you start to see other people you recognize, including lots of kids from the previous semester's class- including the Incredibly Hot Guy, who, you note, announces that he is a classics major but he's taking Honors Bio because he wants to go into oncology, which is SO NOT HELPFUL to the whole stupid-high-school-girl-crush thing and only serves to make him more hot, and also his attractive but short and so not quite as hot friend who Flirts With TAs, and you're about ready to kill yourself because "crazy chick who totally killed herself like, right in the middle of Bio lab" is a lot cooler sounding than "flaky girl who looks like crap and probably smells." So when it's your turn you stand up really fast and don't meet any eyes and say your name, your hometown, Biology General, want to be a physician, sit down, then breathe.
Then the professor starts talking about the lab and what you're to do, and he says you're going to test your environment for bacteria, and he suggests a bunch of places to test, including your rectum, and he explains how to test for it, and you quietly think, I do believe I'd rather be embalmed alive than stick a cotton swab up my ass and let people check out the resultant e. coli, thanks. And to be honest you don't even want to touch your hands to the agar, because you know they're probably nasty from the yoga mats and sweaty and you really don't want people to get the wrong impression of you, like they haven't already.
So you volunteer to do the roach instead, which means picking up a live, squirming, giant hissing cockroach and trying to keep him under control as he hisses and flails and tries to escape the agar that you're trying to put him on, so that he can walk around, and the first one practically jumps out of your hand so you get the smaller one but it crawls up your arm, little tiny feet, a giant bug on your arm, and you don't mind bugs but you're still extremely creeped out by the whole encounter.
Plus the TAs are taking pictures of everyone and you know that your disgusting current self shall be immortalized in Polaroid, and you can't really think about anything and you really hope you don't screw up the lab too much because you don't want your lab partner to insist on a different partner next time, and you occasionally have to remind yourself that it's bad to cry in public. The only times you should ever cry in front of people are funerals and when you get delicate body parts smashed by hard, heavy things, because otherwise people assume you are insane.
You finally leave there an hour early, which is good at least, and hurry back to your dorm to change and brush your hair and grab your dance shoes, then you run over to eat really fast and rush to the library to meet with your stupid INCO group, and you're totally not prepared for it, and the directions say "1st floor study room" and you haven't a clue what that means because you don't realize that the floor you walk in on, the one at ground level, is floor #3, not #1, and you get completely turned around and arrive fifteen minutes late and flustered, again, and they're talking about what it takes to be an MD and that just depresses you, and even though it gets out early you still have only half an hour to go back to the dorm and meet with your roommate, who you're taking to Swing Club with you and who doesn't own anything but sneakers. And you're stuck wearing your 3 inch heels that make you look ridiculously tall, because you can't spin in sneakers, and you get there and everyone's wearing sneakers or at least flats and you feel like an idiot.
And while you remember a lot, you're still miles behind everyone else, and you're so stressed out about the rest of the day and life in general and the fact that you're too tall to do the cuddle step, especially with the girls who play the guys because they're so short, and you make mistakes and slip in the stupid shoes because they're so worn, and one time that you slip you're mid-dip, so the poor guy has to catch you and he thinks you did it on purpose because you didn't understand that you're supposed to support your own weight, but you knew that, because you always support your own weight even when you're not supposed to because you're really too big to be supported by anyone else. And making mistakes is really bothering you, as is the fact that everyone is really good, much better than you are, and they're all couples. Like, every single damn one of them.
So you have a really sucky day that starts with not enough sleep and ends with seeing lots of happy couples dancing together and remembering that that will NEVER be your life. Because honestly, on the off chance that you actually get a guy to like you, chances are he won't be the kind of guy who dances with you, because honestly, he'll probably like you for your brain.
I'm not depressed. If I keep saying it it might come true...