I know, I know. I’m crazy. I’m weird. And I’m serious.
School is just… comfortable. It’s the only thing I know how to work my way through. Teachers are always there to guide me and to tell me what to do. I know what will happen today and the next day and maybe the whole week. On weekends, my friends and I would either gather in someone’s apartment for a movie marathon or drink and dance to the same, horribly-mixed songs.
And then the cycle continues.
Attend my classes. Go back to the dorm. Lie down. Eat dinner with friends. Go back to the dorm. Finish homework. Sleep (optional).
Unlike the “real world,” school has a routine. Unpredictability can only be reduced to mere tests in most cases. There are plans and timetables. It’s organized and, oftentimes, well-thought-out.
The “real world” adults love warning graduates about is the complete opposite. It’s… It’s hell, really. Whatever plans I had were all taken down. That’s all. That’s why I’m sitting here writing about wanting to go back to school.
Anyway, here’s a post about my college bag.
I went to college with the goal of turning into this ‘girly’ girl, so I brought some of my mom’s handbags with me. I thought that maybe it would be an achievable first step. Of course, it wasn’t reasonable. Carrying notebooks and books inside a leather handbag isn’t really smart. I knew that bag wasn’t meant to last.