7:30 a.m.: Roll whale–like body under covers. Life is futile.
9:00 a.m.: Attempt to put on pants.
9:30 a.m.: Wander around aimlessly in underpants. Disturb roommates. Snap malevolently back. Claim they lack compassion.
10:45 a.m.: Stare down shirt during class. Conclude boobs have gotten bigger. Decide that if I’m going to be a whale, I’m going to get something positive out of it.
12:00 p.m.: Snap at roommate for asking about the weather outside. Bitch.
12:30 p.m.: See little girl wearing an animal tail and tiara in Houston Hall. Commence weeping.
Appreciate her sense of individuality.
1:15 p.m.: Can’t find bench to sit on outside of VP. Wish for another plague to kill half of the stupid, bench–hogging population. Can’t they see how tight my pants are right now?
3:30 p.m.: Fall into a comatose state. No pants. Hallelujah.
5:00 p.m.: Watch last episode of “Gilmore Girls.” Cry hysterically. When will someone love me like
Luke loves Lorelei? I just want her to be happy. Why can’t we all be happy? Oh cruel, cruel world.
5:45 p.m.: Watch first episode ever of “Gilmore Girls.” Cry hysterically. Feel immense nostalgia for my entire life. Why can’t I be 12 again? I miss jean mini–skirts. Sigh.
6:00 p.m.: Eat a towering plate of noodles. Add two giant spoonfuls of butter.
6:30 p.m.: Stare at myself in the mirror. Decide I’m pregnant. Come up with baby names. Decide I’m going to die. Decide I hate everything. Decide to blame my boyfriend for everything. Forgive my boyfriend. Cry.
7:00 p.m.: Text sister about current lack of emotional stability and slow degradation of physical state. Reply received: “Lawl.”
10:40 p.m.: All I need is pizza. No, Pringles. Airheads. French fries. Fuck.
10:45 p.m.: I can’t eat Pringles. This little canister has 200 calories and like 50 grams of fat.
10:47 p.m.: Throw away empty Pringles canister. Begin eating Airhead. It’s a pretty blue color.