I realized the other day that I've turned into the most boring person in the world. My math teacher often doesn't show up, and when he does come, he's late. Apparently it's hard to find parking. One day we were all waiting in the classroom, watching the clock, and everyone was talking about how much they wished he wouldn't come, and saying all the fun things they would do with an extra hour. My contribution to the conversation was, "I would be totally fine if he didn't come today, because I would love to clean my kitchen!" Cue the awkward silence...
Yesterday I went to bed, but I just couldn't sleep. I thought maybe some music would help, but I couldn't even figure out what I wanted to listen to! You know it's bad when you're switching between Vocal Point and the Beatles, because you can't figure out which one you want at the moment. After laying in bed for an hour, staring at nothing in particular, and not being able to sleep at all, I figured I might as well be productive, so I got back up and, you guessed it, cleaned the kitchen. Apparently that's my thing. But hey, there are worse things I could do! Just think about it.
"Last night I couldn't sleep, and apparently I'm crazy, so...
A) I cleaned the kitchen and did dishes for my roommates.
B) I found a puppy and tortured it.
C) I took pictures of myself in a bikini and put them up on various dating sites.
D) I decided to try heroin."
So even though I'm boring and grown-up now, it could always be worse. At least I was doing something productive!
On another note, I have a love-hate relationship with laundry. I love it when I have clean clothes again; it's like getting a new lease on life. And warm clothes that have just been dried are the best things in the world. Then again, I'm always afraid I'll accidentally shrink all my shirts, even though they're dryer safe, and have gone through the dryer many, many times before. Also, I think there's some sort of rule. When putting laundry in or taking it out of the washing machine, the awkwardness of the item of clothing that inevitably falls on the floor goes up directly proportionally to the attractiveness of the people walking by. Based on anecdotal evidence from myself and my roommates, this is a fact.
So anyways, this is my life nowadays. Being a responsible adult is dumb; who does that anyways? Apparently I do...
