My day begins like any other – an inner debate. I head to the bathroom to shower, and stress about whether or not I should lock my door. What if someone sees me unlocking it when I come back, and thinks I’m weird? What if I don’t lock it and someone sneaks in and scares or kidnaps me when I return? What if my key spontaneously combusts and I have to knock on an RA’s door to let me in my room, whilst clad in only a towel?

All rational fears, obviously.

I go to class. In my head I map out where to sit, and when to arrive. Being the first one in the room makes me look like a try hard, being the last one makes me look like a stalker. I also need to arrive at a perfect time so that I can avoid my worst nightmare – having to stumble past full desks and a book bag littered floor to find a seat. In this nightmare I hit a particularly attractive person in the head with my 50 pound bag. He is left concussed.

During class, I repeatedly think that everyone else knows something that I don’t. Most likely there was a mandatory class on Saturday night that I missed the memo on. Attendance of this class is probably 70 – 80 % of my grade and I’m definitely going to fail. I answer a couple of questions when the professor prompts the room of sleepy students. When I raise my hand I think that I’m probably doing it the uncool way – either too excited or too nonchalant. My voice cracks and I blush. The professor nods and says “okay” or “good” and the one word response is a clear indication that he/she thinks me to be the dumbest one in the class.

After classes I spend some time in the library. My biggest concern in the library is comparable to no guy wanting another guy to pee right next to him when there are other options. Choosing the right seat in the library is a daunting task. Who looks friendly? I have to sit far enough away from someone to be polite, but close enough where I don’t look like a sociopath looming in the corner, choosing her next victim.

In the afternoon, texts and snapchats come into play. With each one I send or respond to, I analyze the tone, grammar, length, vocabulary, etc. Can’t have too many exclamation points, but also can’t sound unexcited. How many ‘Y’s at the end of “hey” is appropriate? Too many will make me seem drunk, not enough and I don’t seem friendly. Should I capitalize or do all lowercase? A period or no punctuation? Oh my god! They answered with one word. They hate me. I probably accidentally offended them – and they’re telling all their friends that I’m a huge weirdo! It’s time to change my name and flee the country. At the very least transfer schools and cut my hair. If someone leaves me on read I’ll plan on throwing my phone down the garbage disposal.

By this time I’m starting to get hungry. I text a friend and see if she wants to grab dinner. She takes a few minutes to respond. In that time period I have a small mental breakdown. I said “grab dinner”? That’s so dorky. We ate together recently, she probably thinks I’m clingy! The two question marks I used probably seem too eager. She’s ignoring me, or thinking of an excuse that isn’t too mean or obvious.

Then I get a response. She says yes, asks where I want to go. My brain catches on fire. What’s a cool place to go? There’s an unspoken code about where is good to eat and where is lame. My options are limited to where I’ve already been, since going somewhere new will result in me looking dumb and accidentally forgetting to pay.

Somehow I make it through dinner without dying, mostly because I let my friend pick the place. It’s a weeknight, which means I likely have a meeting for a club or an info session or an interview or some other thing that I don’t want to do. For all of these activities I struggle to balance between caring too much and caring too little about whatever is being discussed. This usually means that I don’t end up speaking, just argue with myself mentally for the duration of the time. It’s a tremendous amount of fun and I love being involved on campus.

I have an incredibly boring class at 7:55 in the morning, which means I should go to bed at a reasonable time. Whether it be 10 P.M or 3 A.M, I have a phobia of brushing my teeth. Why? Brushing my teeth lets anyone else in the restroom know that I am going to bed shortly. And obviously they will judge me for the time that I do so, and most definitely tell everyone they know that Raina goes to bed at a stupid time. If it’s early they’ll say that I am an introverted loser, if it’s late I’m an irresponsible party animal.

As I try to fall asleep, my mind replays every dumb thing I did that day, that month, that year, that lifetime. I physically cringe as I recall a stupid text that I sent 3 years ago, the time I tripped walking into recitation last month, the day in middle school that I wore the ugliest sweater ever, the things I posted on my old Facebook account, that one time I tried to write a poem, and the awkward silence that took over one of today’s conversations. For reasons unknown I think stuffing my face into a pillow will stop these memories. It doesn’t.