|Disclaimer: Pic compliments of yallin.com|
I had a plan of how I wanted the first day of the new semester to unfold. I was going to fall asleep at 8.30 pm the night before so I could awake the next day all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I would hop out of bed refreshed and hopeful, ready to meet what would be a great day.
Yes, I had decided to grip September by the horns and make the most out of it. This would be the beginning of a new era for the Misnomer. A new month, a new attitude, a new positive outlook on Life.
However, even though I duly clambered into bed at 8.30 pm, I didn't fall asleep till after twelve...Mainly because I soon clambered out of bed to eat double chocolate chip ice-cream and reminisce on what had been a great, lazy summer.
I woke up super late and for a moment couldn't remember where I was. Since when could I see the kitchen from my bed? Then I remembered I had fallen asleep on the living room sofa. And I felt like crap. My cheek had apparently married the cushion sometime during the night and I had difficulty pulling them apart. I stumbled, disoriented, to the shower. On the way there, I spotted my face in the bathroom mirror and realized I had a pimple, which was roughly the size of Soviet Russia, in the middle of my forehead. Great. Just great.
Sometime during my shower I started to feel positive again and I happily trotted to the bedroom and dressed. I had trouble fitting into my skin-tight black skinnies because of that extra scoop of ice cream I had devoured the night before, but at long last I prevailed.
I chose a pink V-neck t-shirt that was subtly sexy and ballet flats. I'm a t-shirt and jeans girl when it comes to school. Then I sauntered into the kitchen where my sister was making me a fruit shake (actually, she was making herself a shake and I got the leftovers, but this is a minor detail). I tilted the blender over my glass, but somehow the blender cover fell off and the shake spilled out all over the counter...and all over my shirt.
Trying not to whimper, I cleaned up the mess and rinsed my shirt, and hung it out on the patio in the hope that it would dry in the 30 seconds I had before I left home.
I barely had enough time to pull on another shirt before I was running out of the house because my ride was about to leave me.
To make matters worse, I had hoped that my Dad could drop me to school, but he couldn't so I had to get a lift with my sister Jane instead who proceeded to play Christmas music the whole way.
My other sister Jackie joined us in the car and they chatted about random stuff while my ears bled from hearing Dolly Parton's 'Winter Wonderland' in freaking September.
Thankfully, my sister Jane was late for work, and me and Jackie were out of her way, so she put us out halfway. I was glad 'cos I dislike Christmas music even at Christmas.
My sister Jackie looked at me, I looked at her, and as both of us are shopaholics we went grocery shopping for stuff we don't need.
Then I made my way to university, thinking I'd be late, till I checked my schedule and realized I had read it wrong and was actually too early. I couldn't believe it! I had rushed for nothing.
Then I had a three hour break between classes, so being the shallow girl that I am, I figured I might as well leave the campus to get my hair done. (Don't judge me. I was due for a treatment).
At my hairdresser, there was another girl underneath my favourite hairdryer (can you tell I'm a regular?), and so I had to go under some fancy new one that dried hair so well that it even dried my eyes out.
Despite that traumatic experience, I left the salon with a great new hairdo...which lasted approximately five minutes until a random gust of wind blew it all out.
Back at school, I attended another Literature class in which I examined my nails, half listened to the Professor ('what is a "Literature"'?), and was amused by a classmate who was making silly faces.
Then, I went home. And started writing this note in the book reserved for my Chaucer notes. And now it occurs to me that September hasn't kicked off to an especially great start, despite my great hopes. But then again, a mockery is always made of the best laid plans. And of my hair.