Going to bed at 3am? Cool! Going to bed at 7pm? Cool! Ate nothing but an apple today? Ate everything you laid eyes on? On hour seven at the library? Not sure what the inside of the library looks like? Wanna get wine drunk at 4 on a Tuesday? Wanna watch an entire season of White Collar in a day and a half? All sounds pretty great!
Your light is on past 11pm? There’s a lighter on your dresser? You worked less than 40 hours this week? You don’t have any babysitting set up? Not cool.
Go have fun with your friends that you haven’t seen since Christmas! But don’t spend a single penny because you don’t have any babysitting set up!
The dishes in the dishwasher are clean, but you don’t have to empty it if you don’t want to… I mean, since you’re not working, you probably should. Same goes for what’s in the dryer.
Don’t get me wrong, I was extremely happy to come home after my freshman year at college. The thought of getting into my queen-sized bed in a room by myself after a long, hot shower sans flip-flops was orgasm-inducing.
The novelty, however, has worn off completely, and I am beginning to realize that life at home is fucking brutal. Alas, the shit has hit the fan.
Each morning at 6:30, I am greeted by my loving mother. She gets off on striding into my room and flicking the lights on with such vigor that I fear she may just snap the light switch completely off one day.
“GOOD MORNING” she whisper-yells, “I’M OFF TO WORK!!!!” I roll over and try to fall asleep, but I’m too angry and annoyed to do so.
I wait for the tell-tale squeak and click of the front door closing to signal that she’s left, and I get up to go check out what she’s written down for me to do today.
Each note starts with “Good morning, merry sunshine! If you have time to do the following today, it would be great if you could help me out, but if not I understand…” even though she knows that I have all of the fucking time in the world because, surprise surprise, work gave me minimal hours and every family in my town has a goddamn au pair.
I’m amazed at how immune I’d become to my mother’s incessant nagging by the end of last summer.
Now, after almost 7 full months of no fuss besides the occasional “you said you’d wait for me to take that shot!!!” anything that comes out of my mom’s mouth sounds like a screech, and my immediate reaction is to cover my ears, hiss, and retreat into the cave that I call my bedroom.
Everyone told me that college is tricky because you’re only in class for a few hours per day, so the amount of free time you have compared to high school is insane.
They were correct, but I quickly found ways (some good, some not so good) to fill the time. Sure, I work and hang out with my friends and go to the gym and all that, but it’s just different here.
It’s almost like I don’t know how to get out of my own damn way. Maybe it’s just something only people who are anxiously waiting to get back to school for their sophomore year can experience. I don’t know.
High school seniors, if you’re reading this, enjoy this summer. Don’t take your full kitchen, clean shower, and the ability to hug and squeeze your siblings whenever you want for granted.
You may think you’re livin’ the good life now, but come August, you’ll have more freedom and free time than you know what to do with. It’ll take a lot of getting used to, but you’ll adapt.
Just know that the year will FLY by, and, if you do it right, you’ll cry harder while saying goodbye to your friends on your last day than you will lying in bed your first night.
I started a countdown to move-in day with the last day labeled as “FREEDOM FROM MCGOVERN BAY.” Mom’s not a fan.
Wish me luck.