Once again, I will be bumped down to the bottom rung of the ladder: Out of all of my apartment-mates, I will be the last to turn 21. My roommate will be reaching this milestone birthday in a few days — even my Forever-Lazy-wearing apartment-mate will be able to buy a celebratory drink at Porter’s Pub after her last final.
December is here, which means that the quarter is almost over and Christmas is fast approaching. The sad thing is: I wouldn’t have even remembered Christmas was coming if it hadn’t been for those spam emails alerting me of every “door-busting” deal out there.
In elementary school, someone told me that if my hand was bigger than my face, I had cancer. Falling prey to this line is akin to excessively heeding the “experts” who report that all things good and normal in this world are potential cancer hazards. You’re just setting yourself up for lavish panic attacks.
A friend once told me that, in an attempt to shame people into saving water, her summer apartment-mate suggested that they each “clock in” and “clock out” of the shower. Needless to say, the idea was quickly vetoed. “Read receipts” for Facebook Messenger remind me of this invasive, military-like idea — with timestamps displayed on your messages, you automatically feel pressured to respond more rapidly.