So last night was the first Saturday back after break and you were all like…….
But now it’s 8 a.m. on Sunday morning and your stomach is telling you it’s time to get up even though the room is still spinning.
Looking in the mirror is scarier than looking into the eyes of Satan. If a genie popped up and gave you three wishes, you’d make all of them that your drunk self had thought about you for once.
You quickly realize that in your drunken state, you once again commissioned an embargo on water and you’ve never felt so betrayed.
One of your roommates suggests going to get brunch at the dining hall and you’re sitting there wondering if she’s still drunk. Leaving your bed was hard enough.
You arrive at the dining hall and realize that everyone else had the same idea and now you have to wait twenty minutes for a single french toast stick. You also can’t help but wonder why everyone feels the need to yell.
And the lady behind the counter makes it clear that you’re not the first hungover college student she has served this morning.
Ignoring the astounded looks you receive after killing your eighth plate of waffles, you stand up in search of more food. The only New Year’s diet plan you’re interested in is the one that measures progress by the number of omelettes you can consume within one sitting.
After arriving safely back at home, you retreat into your room to sleep until dinner time, loudly proclaiming that thou shalt not be awoken under any circumstances.
With Monday just around the corner, you decide to begin working on the assignments due in class the next day. Your essay won’t be Shakespeare but neither are you so Professor Martin is going to need to lower her expectations a little bit.
But, as you’re falling asleep that night, you realize that it just simply wouldn’t be syllabus week without Sunday morning.