For the past several weeks, I have let Sock The Walk take the back seat and let school ride shotgun in my life. I have blamed not writing a blog post by being “too busy” *in a teen angst tone* when really it is because I have run out of ideas. Yes, the day has come…I am no longer creative. How? I spend all of my time focussing on eight courses and two jobs that I have officially crashed. You cannot troubleshoot this system. But this past week I logged onto my account and got a spark. Why not share with the world the daily struggles of a grade twelve teenager? Why not show my family, friends, and followers, a look into a life that seems “put together” yet is solely based on Stranger Things and five cups of tea. So sit back, somewhat relax, and enjoy the shit show that is my life.
Would he say he’s in L-O-V-E?
Well, that’s how I get woken up every day. Everyday bright and early, not so bright now due to daylight savings that makes me feel like I have woken up in the year 3000, Harry Styles’s pre-pubescent voice roars across my room as if an emergency just occurred. It is an emergency actually. Since the beginning of time I have always been an early riser, yet this year I would much prefer to keep dreaming about meeting Harry than having to make him shut up at 6:45 am by hitting snooze. After the third snooze, I kick one foot out, check the temperature of the land of the living, kick off the Ikea duvet, and roll over to adjust my eyes to the useless alarm clock that faces towards my wall. 8:20 am.
No, there is NO way. Not again. I get up look at my phone, rub my eyes to make sure I really am seeing what’s in front of me. I slept in again. I am not good at math, yet by having this seem to magically occur to me every week, I go into beast mode by perfectly calculating getting ready, eating, making a lunch, and successfully leave the house in 15 minutes. I spend most of the 15 minutes going through what to wear, but always end up going with the outfit I hung on my door the night before. As I text my friend Melody to tell her how late I slept in, since she does the same sometimes…it hits me. I missed band again. NOT BAND. Not my favourite course, not the course I rely on to bump up my somehow increasing average by five percent?! I call my mum. Time to rant.
As I rant and become more and more guilty about missing band, I pace through my kitchen putting an avocado in my lunch bag along with a knife and fork hoping it will be enough for lunch with my hard-boiled egg and three apples (or three clementines). I look at the clock, as I am part way through this rushed routine, and see that it is 8:30 am. It’s go time. I run upstairs, wash my face, swipe on some mascara, throw on my classic vans, and run down the stairs all while putting on my cropped leather jacket and gloves and trying to keep my dog from running out the door. I grab my instant French Vanilla from the kitchen, my backpack, play some Tame Impala on my iPod, and head out the door.
I blast “Let It Happen” as I have now associated it with fast-paced walking, as the song turns my already fast-paced walking into a partial run that makes drivers passing by taking a double take in awe of my speed. I come to the cross walk where my favourite man of all time is, holding a stop sign, singing my name as he sees me. I approach him with a wide grin and tell him how I slept in again, yet the surprising weather is already lifting my mood. We laugh at this filter conversation, look both ways to make sure no cars hit me, and then he tells me to, “have a great day”, in a way that seems so genuine every time.
After a 10 minute walk-run, I make it to school with ten minutes to spare. I up three flights of stairs to my first class. I pause for a minute to hear the song that is playing over the PA. Great, Taylor Swift again. I then take a mental note and wonder what song I will play tomorrow when I do the announcements. It has to be fun and lively since it will be Friday, no, not One Direction, how about Zeppelin? Or Frampton? After that very insightful pause, I go to my locker at lightning speed then get to my class with three minutes to spare. I made it. I then begin to unpack my binder, dented water bottle, and glasses to lay out my life on my desk.
By the time two bells have rung it is time for lunch. I look at my agenda before I pack up from my second-period class and have already noticed that I have three assignments due in two weeks written in them, yet my brain automatically acts as if they are due tomorrow. *Click* Time to add one more. I think of what I have to do at lunch. I should probably go to the library to study, but since this is the only day of the week where I have nothing to do at lunch, I decide to spend it with my friends.
“I hate this place”
“Me too girl, honestly fuck this school. What is….”
*Gets cut off due to spotting me after not appearing to walk this morning*
I get welcomed into a conversation that is always about hating boys, French teachers, or the last episode of Riverdale due to “cheesy” acting. I begin to give them all the nitty-gritty details about my morning, and they all chirp in telling stories about finishing papers at 1 am. That is one thing I could never do. I could never procrastinate. My friends look at me than mid-conversation and ask, “I just don’t get how you never procrastinate. You always finish your work so damn early” *gets 8 head nods from my friends who are either mid sandwich bite, Snapchat streak, or catching up with the memes that were sent in our group chat the night before*. I say, “I’m organized”, and move on because I would hate to show all of my friends that I am currently in a mental break down over a test in two weeks because they would hit me with the “Girl, I have tomorrow and I haven’t studied you will be FINE”.
I laugh, pull out my avocado, and start getting into the conversation we are currently having about boys. I add a meaningful, “honey, you don’t need him. He is not worth it”, then get one in return and the conversation kicks off until the bell rings.
When last period ends, I fight everyone in my way to run up the stairs and get to my locker before the swarm of grade 9s flood the “French immersion” hallway. On my way up the stairs, I decide to stop at the girl’s washroom and enter to fifty girls with hall passes on their necks either
- trying to comfort their crying friend in the corner telling her what I told my friend about boys at lunch
- someone struggling with the soap dispenser that is ALWAYS empty and just deciding today will be a soap-free day
3. five of my friends already meeting up in the washroom
I wave at my friends, ask how life is, ask if they are tired (usually everyone is always tired by default), go pee, then as I walk out of the short stall I tell the girl who is crying in the corner, “I don’t know what’s wrong, but just know that I’m here to talk and I hope you are okay”. I mean it too. I’ve been that girl before.
I wash my hands, fix my eyebrow in the mirror, and head out the door all in perfect timing for the swarm of grade 9s to accidentally hit me as I leave the washroom.
My friends are all in a clump in front of my locker screaming my name as I walk down and I think to myself how damn much I love them. They can be extra, like the fact that they are screaming my name in the narrow hallway while harmonizing to Nickelback, but they are everything to me. I chime in not having a care in the world dancing to their somewhat nice singing while waving to 5 teachers in the hallway always asking them how they are.
I could continue to my night-time routine, but I will save that for another post. I had a really good time writing this post. It was almost as a form of therapy, to be honest, and I know a lot of my fellow pals can relate to this routine. I hope you like this and would like me to do more like these because it was a blast to write!
Happy Sockin Sunday