08/29/2025
It’s 7am. Friday. WHY am I up? Like genuinely, can someone explain? Because my alarm went off and my brain was like, “get up, big guy, it’s go time,” and my body was like, “nah fam, we’re still digesting the Taco Bell from Tuesday.” And yet here I am, standing in my kitchen, staring at a half-burnt Pop-Tart, overthinking my entire existence.
And let’s talk about this week. First week back in school? Absolute circus. Professors acting like I haven’t been out of the game for years, handing out essays like Oprah. “You get a paper, you get a paper.” Meanwhile, I’m just trying to remember my login for Blackboard and wondering if dropping out mid-discussion board is a thing.
Then you add Rain into the mix. Latin Night last Friday? Haven’t fully recovered. Saturday? DJs melted the walls, and I’m 87% sure the fog machine is now self-aware. Sunday I blacked out so hard I woke up with Whataburger two counties away, and you know the closest one is in Panama City — that’s not convenient, that’s a felony.
So yeah, I’m up at 7am on a Friday before Labor Day Weekend, staring down three days of questionable decisions. My Fitbit says I slept 2 hours. My debit card is still missing. My will to live is somewhere on the dance floor.
And yet… I’m ready. Maybe. Probably not. But kinda.
The Intern™
Powered by caffeine, glitter, and the faint possibility of failing Econ before midterms.