Jenny versus the Energy Drink

So in a series of unfortunate decisions, (procrastination, mostly....and entertainment, partly) I happened to be awake this morning at 5:15, knowing I was going to get an hour and a half of crappy sleep, if that.

It was a bad life choice, I'll give you that.  But I'm a senior in my last weeks of college and if I can't pull all-nighters I don't know who can.

I woke out of my half sleep 15 minutes before my alarm and got dressed, got back in bed, and waited out the hour I usually take to make myself presentable.

....in other news, I look like crap today.  

That's besides the point.  The point is I left my room feeling like death slightly warmed over: and then frozen again by the rain that was pouring from the gloomy skies that made no attempt to brighten up my mood. 

Today is one of those days that needed to be bright and sunny for the sanity of the sleep-deprived.

I'm sitting in the dining hall eating my crappy pancake and generally feeling miserable and I get simultaneously the best and worst idea ever:

I'll have a Monster.

Yeah.  An energy drink.  I haven't had an energy drink since a battle of the bands my freshman year of high school.

I sorta remember feeling my heart pounding and bouncing off the walls with my best friend at the time. 

I vaguely remember losing my shoe for an hour.

I strongly remember saying that I wouldn't ever drink an energy drink ever again.  

Back to this morning.

I'm walking death.

I make it on the shuttle.  I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, and I feel like absolute crap, and I decide:

I need to wake up.

Party music time.

Let's goooooooo.

To the window....to the wall...

Go little bad girl...

Shawty get loose...

Heyyyyyy Yaaaaaa...

You get the point.

I go to the snack bar, and buy my energy drink.

Let the games begin.

I drink a couple sips waiting for class, sit down, and immediately regret my decision.

My body feels like it's thrumming.  I can't stop bouncing my leg.  I'm talking way too fast, and I'm saying silly things.

I'm moved on from modern pop and into bad 90's pop.  Britney Spears is providing the soundtrack to my energetic demise.

...You drive me crazy, I just can't sleep....

...Livin La Vida Locaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....

...I want it thattttttt wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy....

....Musical Interlude....

And it's getting worse. Anything I write now is going to be a mess, be forewarned.

I feel like I'm writing a post-apocalyptic diary entry, watching my descent into madness.

I feel like sitting still right now is a crime.

Against humanity, specifically mine.  My very very important humanity.

...What's left of it after this senior year.

(I'm gonna need another one of these.)

(That's an AWFUL idea.)

I can't wait to play dodgeball all hyped up on Monster.  I'm gonna be bouncing off the walls more than the dodgeballs themselves.

(Dodgeball is a whole different story, I should dedicate a post to how I first got roped into going and then addicted to playing, and then actually started to get pretty good for a girl.)

We play brutal dodgeball at Becker.

I have to present a case.

Like this.

....in probably less than 10 minutes.

I can't even sit still.

This will be interesting.

I bust out my moves at the bus stop, no big deal.

This post will be starring my friend NICK, who insists on being recognized in my blog.
I think the all-caps may have been my idea, but that is beside the point.

To start, let me explain my Thursdays:

Ethics.  Way too many words I don't know and haven't been taught, mushed together at 9:25 in the morning when I could really care less.  An hour and 15 minutes of boredom warring with exhaustion, warring with the need to be a good student (fading fast).

Constitutional Law: Supreme Court Cases.  Taught by other students.  In mumbled and often rushed tones.  Basically look it all up later, Pinterest now.

U.S. History: Professor has a heavy accent.  I don't know how many times I've gone over WWII in my life, but enough already.  Actively battling sleep.  Post-lunch food coma is threatening my consciousness.

American Cinema: Taught by the worst professor I have ever met.  You think watching movies is fun? Try a darkened classroom from 3:15-5:45, where really, you just have the perfect environment to nap.  And nap I do.  And then I deal with the guilt.  Whatever.

Then FINALLY: done with classes, about 8 hours later.
I get out of class and walk to the shuttle stop with my friend NICK.  And by walk, I mean dance.  And by dance I mean awkwardly flail my arms in happiness and attempt not to:

a. Drop my Kindle
b. Trip

I have so far been successful in my efforts.  I make no effort not to embarrass NICK, in fact, quite the opposite.
Luckily he's used to my antics from a semester of theatre with me.

Fast forward, I'm dancing to Britney Spears at the shuttle stop, straight up not giving a fuck.  I had this moment a couple months ago where I realized:

(Guys this is about as deep as I'm gonna go with this post so get ready)

You can work your ass off.  For days, weeks, years.  You can be everything anyone else ever wanted you to be.  You can. And those people? They can still treat you like shit.  And they will.

So what's the point?

The thing is: there isn't.  Living your life for other people is never okay.  Changing yourself for other people isn't okay.

It's hard.  We're taught from a very young age to meet certain standards to please certain people to get to certain places.  We're taught to bend, manipulate, and break ourselves.

Yeah, don't do that.

Enough.  If you feel like dancing to your music in front of a bunch of people, just do it.  It's none of their business how you run your life; you're not hurting anyone.
Sing in the shower.
Eat what you want.
Do what makes you feel good about yourself.

It's that simple.

So anyway,
I'm dancing to Britney Spears at the shuttle stop ("You Drive Me Crazy" for those who are curious) because it makes me happy.  My little dancing session is my reward for making it through my hellish day.

(NICK doesn't feel so rewarded, but he doesn't have to hang out with me if he doesn't want to, and he does.  So what does that say about you NICK?)

I don't stop dancing when I'm confined to a shuttle seat either.  Have faith friends, I find a way to dance there too.  To increasingly embarrassing music.  NICK looks over constantly and it's become a game to outdo myself every time.

Examples? I'll give you examples:

Baby One More Time
Bye Bye Bye
Baby Got Back
I Like to Move It
Dance (ASS)
I Just Had Sex
Hot in Herre
Ms. New Booty

....you guys get the gist.  There's no way not to laugh and smile when you're listening to that kinda crap. You feel ridiculous but you don't care.  Try it sometime, it's oddly liberating.

So if you're a Becker person and you see a girl smiling to herself and moving to her music, judge all you want.
Go for it.
I'm having fun with my life.

And you'll hear...softly in the distance...


booty booty booty booty rockin' everywhereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

My naked rebellion was uneventful, so now I'm doing ethics homework.

So if you're showering, and there's a person in the shower next to you:
When you leave the shower area- you close the curtain to the shower area.
Seriously.  You got out of the shower and enjoyed the privacy the curtain provided.  You got that little privilege. Why the hell, then, when you leave did you leave the curtain wide open?
I can't reach my towel.  I have to get OUT of the shower to get to my towel.  You little shit. Anyone could walk into the bathroom. And there I'll be, naked, reaching for my towel.

Then I just had a moment.  Fucking let them.  I shower naked: WHOOP DE FUCKING DOO.
So I proudly strode out of the shower and reached my towel....uneventfully.

Seeing how much thought and epiphany went into that action it was almost disappointing.  Almost. Sometimes I question how much thought goes into my everyday actions.

So now I'm listening to ethics videos online.  I think that people that make these videos actually practice their boring voices.  They sit there and record themselves and if they don't fall asleep, it's not good enough.

True story.