Archive | 2:05 pm

Liveblogging a Day in My Graduate Life.

9 Jul

I’ve decided to take a brief break from the one episode long “Kyle Helps” series to talk a little bit about something that’s really close to me– myself.

Graduate life is much different from student or work life. You’re in a bizarre state of limbo, turning in resumés and applications, following up with not-always-receptive employers, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. They say “Kyle, why don’t you wear the shirt withOUT the Cheetos stains?” or “Kyle, people can smell you,” or “Kyle, are you purposely putting Cheetos dust on that shirt? It looks like you’ve written your name there.” They just do not get it. I want to give everybody a peek into my life– a peek into what it’s like to be a graduate.

8:30 am

I wake up and stretch. I then look into the mirror across my room and, smiling wryly, say “Just kidding,” to my reflection and go back to sleep for four more hours.

12:37 pm

Lord, it’s already past noon? A normal person might look at this time and think “God, I’ve wasted so much of the day,” but not me. No, not me.  I say to myself that I had breakfast, I just simply forgot what I ate. This is how I lie to myself. This is how I survive.

1:45 pm

Laying out by the pool. I’m reading some Stephen King. I get scared and have to go inside.

3:00 pm

Spend roughly six minutes trying to clean a speck of dirt off my computer screen. It turns out to be a comma. The cats saw me do that. I’m so fucking embarrassed.

Harsh, unceasing, judgement.

Cold, unyielding, judgment.

4:03 pm

OPRAH! OMG! I sit down in front of the T.V. with my “Oprah Snacks”: a jar of peanut butter, a sleeve of crackers, and a liter of Diet Coke. I’m comfy, alert, and ready for a good cry. I’m going to eat all of this food. Today, the show is about food. I’m so EXCITED. This really will help me lose those pesky pounds!

4:27 pm

Dr. Oz or whatever just said that Diet Coke is bad for you. He’s a fucking idiot and so is Oprah.

4:29 pm

I’m so sorry, Oprah. I didn’t mean that. I really didn’t. You’re brilliant. You’re the queen of daytime television. Dr. Oz isn’t, though. He’s a fucking idiot with a stupid haircut that wears scrubs on national television.

5:30 pm

I go to the kitchen to do some chores. I clean the counters (push the cats off the counters), mop up the floor (slide a cat around with a broom), and load the dishwasher (I put a cat in the dishwasher.).  After I finish those chores, I decide to re-organize the pantry according to my own personal likes and dislikes. I push all the “icky” stuff to the back of the shelf and pull what I like to the front. Now all you can see when you open the cabinet is a bag of croutons and a DVD of Wedding Crashers (That’s not food, I just love that movie.)

6:38 pm

I lean back in my chair and crack my fingers, adoring my newly completed blog, which is resting quietly on my screen. I wrote about pooping in a movie theater. Poetry. Poo-etry.

7:00 pm

I put on a pair of leather pants and walk around despondent, drug-addled, and bloated. From 7 to 8 I usually do my best Jim Morrison impression for everyone. Nobody at my house likes this. I just tell them (from atop the kitchen table) that they’re all slaves and that art can’t be chained down. I then throw up the crackers from earlier and fall down. I decide that I’ve pretty much ruined the evening for everybody already and that it’s probably best that I just don’t get up for a little bit.

12:38 am

My father comes into the living room and tells me it’s probably a good time for me to go to bed. He mops where I was laying. I spend six or seven minutes in quiet self-loathing before I remember that I installed the Sims on my laptop last week. I spend the next two hours trying to create a kind of breeding program in my Sim neighborhood. It has yet to yield the perfect Sim. Don’t worry, though. I have plenty of time to perfect it. I have all the time in the world.

That’s my day. Later, girls and boys.

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