Today’s beverage: coffee on an airplane
Leavinggggggg on an airplane, don’t know when I’ll be back again.
Just kidding, I have a return ticket for Sunday.
I hate flying, so I figured maybe I’ll write to pass the time and see what I come up with. Ladies and gentlemen, buckle those seatbelts, secure those tray tables, and hold on to your butts. We are headed to North Carolina for a girls’ weekend!!!
This is actually my first of three trips to North Carolina scheduled for this summer. If you know me (hi mom) you know that I have a brother in North Carolina, so you’d think this would be a great schedule to see my biggest brother, right? Nah. He is literally not in the state of NC for any of this trips!
Of course this would happen, because one of my friends on the trip has been saying for about 6 years that I made him up because she’s never met him. So I’m sure she’s “shocked” that he’s conveniently out of town this weekend. But he’s real, I swear! He’s just way too smart and successful and in demand at his job.
But anywayyysss, I’m sure you noticed that none of that has anything to do with the title of this entry.
Another thing that has nothing to do with the title? I have press on nails currently, and typing is so. fucking. hard. Like this is going to take me forever. But as I said, irrelevant.
No, this post is going to be about realizing that living like you’re in your early twenties would kill you now. I remember being in college and my dad told me that in his thirties he had a dream that he missed all of his finals and woke up in a panic. He said it was a real nightmare. And I just sat there like ok boomer, I have night terrors but go off.
But then it happened. I had the dream. The first one was a few years ago. I got lost on campus and missed my finals. Another time I realized halfway through the semester that I skipped two whole courses. Last night it was that I never handed anything in and flunked out.
And folks, the boomer was right! It’s awful!!! Sometimes I wake up from these dreams and almost need to go track down my diplomas to remind myself I finished all the things. I give so much respek to adult learners. I would not be able to hack it.
And it’s here that I ask myself, when did I get so old? There were definitely signs along the way. I had a MySpace. I have a Facebook. I have no fucking clue how to TikTok. I did not own a crop top or high waisted jeans in college. That last one is a real bummer because it sure would have been nice to discover that trend when I still had a six-pack. I was sub-tweeted when I didn’t even have a Twitter since I didn’t have a smart phone. Here’s looking at you, girl who wanted to fight me because I politely asked for my jacket back after you stole it.
It wasn’t until I was confronted with the idea of having to go back to school because my dreams told me that I never finished that I looked into the mirror and said, “I’m too old for this shit.”
I could not do college again. Or at the very least, I couldn’t do college how I did it the first time. I remember one Sunday, after beach party, rolling into the locker room for the long run. I was 5 minutes late, I was not coming from my own home, which it’s not what you think (not that it matters if I was coming from a night of getting railed), but I used to sleep at one of the other track houses all the time. Anyway, I roll in with nothing but a granola bar and probably beer in my stomach, and nothing but a bikini and a sweatshirt on my body. And then I ran 16 miles and went to brunch. Now I can’t have a beer within 72 hours of a long run, or I’m pretty sure I’d die.
Even beyond the party aspect of college, which I know was pretty minimal compared to the average college experience since I was an athlete, I don’t think I could handle it in general. I mean, all nighters to write a paper? My bedtime is firmly set at 10pm. I’d fail everything. And to think I didn’t discover coffee until grad school! My college roommate gifted me with a pretty solid caffeine habit.
I feel like in general I’m just not suited for college life anymore. I was much more resilient back then. The world and life hadn’t quite knocked me down yet. I lived in a “garden apartment,” which we all know is just a nice way to say I lived in a basement, and we had ants. Because it was a basement. One day in class I pull out my laptop, and I’m typing away, when all of the sudden, ANTS START CRAWLING OUT FROM THE KEYBOARD! At the time I just put the laptop in my backpack before we had a locusts descending on Egypt situation. If that happened now I’d need to set up an emergency appointment with my therapist, and I’d have to set the thing on fire.
Speaking of things that would cause absolute trauma now, I once blew the circuit in our apartment. The breaker was in the landlord’s basement, which shared a door with our apartment (proof we lived in a basement). As a result, the door to the basement is supposed to be unlocked, at least on their side, at all times. Our side was a different story. While our landlord was very nice, my roommate and I had some feelings about the guy living with her, who we didn’t discover until years later was her nephew. So the door stayed locked.
Why were we not on Team Random Man? Let me paint you a word picture. Don’t worry, it all circles back around to my original point. Bear with me.
It’s not rare for college athletic teams to have items that are passed down from class to class. For us, it was a mannequin leg. All the seniors would sign it when they graduated and it would go to a younger house. My junior year it found its home in my apartment. After Christmas break I respond to a knock on the door from the landlord’s mystery boy. When I open the door, he’s standing there with a mannequin leg. Questions pop into mind. Where did you get that? Why do you have it? How did you know we had one? WHY DA FUCK WERE YOU IN OUR APARTMENT?
So now that you have that background, let’s go back to the power outage. I unlock the door from our side to the basement, but it won’t open. We are supposed to have access, so I’m sitting there like, imma get this door open. After pushing with all the might in my little runner body, it opens. So you may be asking, was it locked by accident? Nope. ‘‘Twas not. It was blocked shut….BY A PILE OF MANNEQUIN PARTS.
Now as an adult, this would be the point where I pack my shit and move home for the rest of my life. But because college students have zero living standards, I just flipped the breaker and went about my day.
Thirty year old me and twenty year old me have very different guidelines for fuckupedness. That’s a word; don’t worry about it.
Update: adding an airport beer to the works
Back to business.
The moral of the story here is that I never thought something so innocent as dreaming about missing a college class would cause me such distress, especially compared to the fact that I routinely wake up convinced that someone is standing over my face, but here we are. The boomer was right. You win this time. Also, I know my dad reads this, so don’t worry dad I love you! Except for the first day of your retirement when you were on the roof at 7am doing construction work. It may have been 11 years ago but I remember being so rudely awakened by someone who was supposed to be RELAXING!
What these dreams taught me is that despite the fact that I hate that my joints are crackly and my resilience in the face of nonsense scenarios has gone down the toilet, I’m not sure I’d trade it for going back to college. Because I’m tired. And I know, almost-30 is not old. I’m still a spring chicken. I’m in my prime (To my boyfriend, you can still put a ring on it any day now). It’s just a slower prime than it once was.
And since all this reminiscing is bringing me back to my college days, I want to leave you on a fun story. It’s my cousin’s favorite, and it really is a classic example of college kids being hella dumb.
To set the scene: winter after Christmas break my senior year. It’s cold. It’s the middle of the night.
All of the sudden, the carbon monoxide detector goes off. It does its job and wakes up me and my roommate. Now at this point we had already had a gas leak just a few months prior, so this should have been especially concerning.
So I crawl out of bed and check the detector, and as you likely know, there’s usually a guide on the back with different beep patterns and corresponding instructions. This particular pattern said “move to fresh air.” Ok, that’s easy. So I take the detector, PUT IT OUTSIDE, and go back to bed.
Fortunately, I realized that this didn’t seem right. In reality, it was fortunate that it ended up just being a malfunction, but we didn’t know this at that point. So I call the fire department, not 9-1-1, because it’s still not occurring to us that this is a real problem. I went to college in a rural area. We got the fire department’s voicemail! This led to a very casual 9-1-1 call, which led to a somewhat less casual argument with the operator as to whether or not we could just stand near a window as opposed to going outside because “we feel fine, and it’s cold!”
Ladies and gentlemen, I currently possess a masters degree.
So until next time… I guess I need a closing catchphrase, but that’s a hurdle for another beer.