“What do you want?!” I snap, slamming my hands down onto my keyboard, a little harder than I intended. I turned to watch my roommate inch away as she rolled her eyes. “Never mind,” she said, with an inflection on the “mind” part of the word.
I let out a breath. Half of my body wants to call after her and say “I’m sorry,” but I plop to the ground instead. Eight hours, I think to myself. Eight hours and what do I have to show for it? A crappy opening sentence and a little over half a page. Great. Why is it that 90% of my work gets done when only 10% of my time is left?
It’s funnny how exams can force you to rethink life.
On the ground, my carpet feels softer than I imagined it, but maybe it’s because I’m on top of my robe. It’s funny how exams can force you to rethink life. Force you to rethink whether wearing a fuzzy, oversized, lilac, fleece robe is okay. How’d I get here? I thought, rolling around in my comfort, pretending I was somewhere with a breakfast line. 1PM counts as breakfast time right? Well maybe not McDonald’s.
McDonald’s. As I remembered the breakfast runs I used to make with my dad on Saturday mornings, a smile peeped onto my face. These were mornings where my mom had to get up extra early to go to work and my dad, too tired from the two hour drive, would stop by McDonald’s and buy us both breakfast.
I can still feel the polystyrene tray in my hand, as I lift up the top to see the slimy, steamy breakfast inside. It was kind of a ritual for me, the way I’d open up the lid and look at the platter of food before me. First was the biscuit, the beautiful sweet biscuit. I remember taking short bites out of it every now and then, scared that I might eat it up too fast. Then I’d dabble with the hash browns, dipping them in ketchup. I loved to hear the edges crunch in my mouth. If I felt up for it, I’d try to finish the rest of the food, but my attempts were usually futile. The pancakes, eggs, and sausage patties weren’t much of a win for me. There was something in them that screamed “WE TASTE LIKE RUBBER AND PAIN.” Needless to say, to this day I wont eat a McDonald’s breakfast platter, unless it’s a gift from my dad.
It’s been nine years since my last McDonald’s breakfast with my dad. Now I’m in college, struggling with annoying papers on works of fiction I can’t wrap my head around. Here I am, rolling around my floor in a lilac robe, wishing for another McDonald’s breakfast yet preferring the sweetness of a lunch at Red Robin.
I’d eat my degrading GPA away with dining hall meals, beautiful meals. Pizza, pasta, and hamburgers. Salad bars that I didn’t have to worry about refilling. Desserts at every meal.
Red Robin. The first time I went there was when I had so much promise. A senior in high school waiting for the rest of my life to start. Little did I know that it’d be full of sleepless nights and mediocre papers. If only I could re-do college again…well, who am I kidding? I’d make the same mistakes. I’d eat my degrading GPA away with dining hall meals, beautiful meals. Pizza, pasta, and hamburgers. Salad bars that I didn’t have to worry about refilling. Desserts at every meal. I would finally have Instagram worthy pictures of my food, if I could only go back, but then, what’s the use in that? I needed those years of discovery. I needed to roam around and feel the waters for a bit.
Before I got to college I didn’t know why I was there. Things just happened. It was always school, then more school, then high school, then this. It wasn’t until I got to college that I had time to think and think back. I still remember the girl that would wake up every Saturday morning to have a McDonald’s breakfast with her dad. Where one of the most important things in her morning revolved around rationing a biscuit, making it’s crumbs last. Then I remember the girl in Red Robin, eating with her friends. Kind of half-living, half-waiting for life to lift her out of her stupor.
As I lay on my carpet, in my fluffy and warm lilac fleece robe, I think of them and wonder how I made it here.