Kindly Shut the Fuck Up.
Image by Karen Rich
I don’t give a shit if you got 10 hours of sleep. I don’t give a shit if you got one hour of sleep. Shut that greasy hole in your face that you call a mouth.
You keep complaining about how you didn’t have time to make coffee and, apparently, you “like, can’t function without it.” Tell me then, how did you manage to achieve the exact same average level of attractiveness that you do every day? Clearly, a hair straightener was involved, along with cover-up, mascara, eyeliner and eye shadow. Oh, but please keep talking to your BFF about how you didn’t have time to eat your Luna bar or even check your Twitter. My heart is crying for you.
Every time you bring up how shitty you look, your companion whisper-shrieks a response like, “Ugh, are you kidding?!” or “I’d kill to look like you after getting so little sleep!!!” I can literally hear the exclamation points in her voice just one row in front of me.
We’re discussing Freud’s developmental stages in class today, yet you keep finding a way to relate the lesson to your lack of sleep. When our professor mentions the electra complex, you say “Complex? Like complications? You mean like the complications I had while trying sleep last night?” Your bitch friend snickers while looking at you as if this was your guys’ little inside joke. Ha. Fucking. Ha.
Your little buddy finally asks why you got “practically no sleep.” You were catching up on Pretty Little Liars until about 3 a.m., laid in your bed and played Ruzzle for an hour, then proceeded to make multiple tweets and Facebook posts about how hard of a time you’re having falling asleep, claiming you have “insomnia.”
Listen. We’ve all been there. We’ve all stayed up too late and gotten up too early the next morning. But we are 40 minutes into this goddamn class and I haven’t heard you mumble about anything but your struggle to keep your eyes open and the amount of strength it’s taking you to “not use your scarf as a pillow.”
Alas, the 50-minute mark has arrived and I must part from your riveting stories about your sleep schedule. Listening to you during this class was kind of similar to how it feels to step on a Lego piece while being barefoot, except in this situation, the Lego was stabbing me repeatedly in the ears.
Next week I’m bringing Xanax.
Robyn Schmitz is a sophomore journalism major who got 8 hours of sleep last night but hey, who’s counting? Email her at rschmit1[at]ithaca[dot]edu