Wake up, go to school. Talk to friends, or maybe not-so-friends. Spend your time staring as every teacher talks emphatically as if their class ranks highest on your to-do list. Run laps in P.E., while all the other schools let their kids play dodgeball. Regret thinking that the day you play dodgeball, when you have to come home with an ice pack on your eye because Idiot 1 and Idiot 2 conveniently forgot the rule about not hitting the face. You don’t survive high school by just flying by, no, it can’t be that easy.

“BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!” screeching alarm to wake you, to remind you you get to spend another day in the asylum, hell, high school. Throw on a couple pounds of makeup to get you through the day, flat iron your hair to perfection with 425ºF, and you’re good to go. Eat a half piece of burnt toast, no butter, fat won’t do you any good. Grab a bottle of water, no coffee or milk or even juice. Grab your chic, designer tote-turned-backpack and lug the 50 pounds out the door, and throw them in your car.

Rev your engine, ready to go? Nope! You forgot your homework for english! Race back inside, find your dog left a present right on top of the stack of papers. Scream in hormone-induced-agony. Try to salvage the homework, then realize what you are touching. Scream again, and run to the bathroom to dry-heave. Feel tears well up in your eyes as the burnt toast tries to reappear. Plea to your parents about being sick. Get kicked out the door anyway. Plan to appeal to your teacher.

Finally get out the driveway ten minutes late. Speed on the way to school, and hit a raccoon. Cry, and promise to bury him on the way back home. Slam on the brakes when you pull out in front of a Jeep Grand Cherokee, bright pink, and see the captain of the cheerleading squad waving at you with one special finger. Smile, that having made your day slightly more bearable. Plow onward, even though the winds are pushing you off the road towards the shoulder in your little red ’97 Geo Metro. Finally pull into the school drive, with 5 minutes before first bell rings. Step out, and your heel on your stilettos break. Curse under your breath, and switch them out for your Converses. Say it’s just one of those days.

Try to pull open the front doors, then realize that they declare “PUSH”. Blush, because all the seniors witnessed your flaw, then run past them in a burst of adrenaline induced terror. Open your locker to realize your boyfriend is gone, and open your phone to a text from your best friend saying they’re skipping and do you want to join? Get caught by a teacher trying to sneak out. The teacher takes your phone, and you realize you have to sit through the day to get it back. Consider pulling a ninja move and breaking into the lockbox to retrieve your phone in a desperate rescue mission, then recognize how clumsy you are and how slim the odds remain. Trudge through your morning alone.

Run straight into the biggest jerk in school before lunch, and much to your despair he picks you for his latest target. He asks humiliating questions about your love life, and then puts down you and your best friend. Stand up for her. Get pushed back down again. Run away, and hide in the bathroom, and cry despite your resolve not to. Wait until all the toilets flush, and then sneak out. Look at yourself in the mirror. Having forgot to wear waterproof mascara, you see black streak after black streak running down your face. Your faded blue eyes peer back at you in disgust, as if observing a freak show. You yank at your hair, then throw your fists at the mirror. Pull away your hand throbbing and red, and the mirror unscathed. Glare, then wipe the mascara off of your face furiously and storm out of the room.

Look around cautiously, and find jerk standing on other side of the lunch room. Sneak into the lunch line with a group of people you get along with somewhat, chat with them. Realize they are talking about sex lives. Mumble when they ask about yours, and stair at the floor as if it seems the most interesting thing in the planet. When they ask what you’re looking at, mumble some more. They carry on their conversation, with you on the outside peering in.

Attend class after class. Trudge up the cement steps to the girl’s locker room for P.E. See all the pretty girls in their lacy panties and designer t-shirts, getting ready to run with their bright brunette and blonde ponytails bouncing against the back of their necks. Glance down at your generic Hanes underwear, and hide behind your locker to get changed into week-old sweaty basketball shorts and a large worn t-shirt. Watch the prettier girls wiggle their behinds in their tight, short shorts and listen to them giggle and laugh about the male species.

Run laps in P.E. again, with the guys running into each other every few steps. Almost get plowed by a boy stuck in a teenager’s body, and snarl at him. Listen to him laugh to his friends because of it. Hear that we get to experience the joy of roller blading next week, and wince because the other option is exercise videos on the stage for everyone to see. Pick skating, and pray that you don’t fall on your butt.

Open your locker after last period and your books flood out of them. Imagine them squishing you to death, then realize that they’re about to hit your face. Shriek and jump back, hoping for help. Realize your boyfriend isn’t there to catch you, and fall and smack your head. Wake up and see that everybody is streaming past you, not noticing. Crawl to your locker and put your books in your bag, then slowly rise to your feet. Escape out of the front door and hug the steering wheel of your car, glad to be escaping.

Go home and find out that you forgot one of your textbooks. Make a mental note to do your homework in study hall, and crawl into bed to sleep off the day. Wake up in the middle of the night to your kittens crawling on your face. Put them to the side, but smile, because you are happy to be loved. “BEEPBEEPBEEP” screeching alarm to wake you, to remind you you get to spend another day in the asylum, hell, high school.