The sun is coming up as I pull of the interstate.
This is my favorite kind of morning; the kind where Friday never ended and you think it may be Saturday, but you're not sure.
At any rate, whatever day, its seven AM and you're in pants that started off baggy but are now positively falling off, because you danced off at least five pounds last night, and now you're covered in that unique grime only a party can produce - some strange combination of your sweat, and other people's sweat, and cigarettes and dirt and overpriced water and the vicks that rubbed off from all the cute etards, because even when you're not one of them they're still fun to play with...and your whole body hurts from dancing so much, so you're dragging up the stairs to your dorm room one slow step at time, hoping that no one's up this early to see the last traces of glitter still clinging to your face...
...and you haven't been this happy since last week, when you did the same thing, came home covered with the same grime, got into a shower quietly - so quietly - so you wouldn't wake your roomate, who tries hard to be supportive but just doesn't quite get what exactly it is you *do* all night every Friday...
...and you wish that every morning could feel this good; that every night left your body feeling this drained, your mind this blank, your ears still pounding, feet still dancing...
...but not every morning can...because tommorrow you'll wake up at a normal time, and your suitemate will still suddenly hate you and still be suddenly wanting to move out - and the boy you love will still be too much of an emotional disaster to love you back - and that book, that book, oh god, that book will still not have gotten read for Monday classes...
...but somehow, that all suddenly seems so much more OK than when you left last night - not good, or even better, but alright, not too bad - because now, while your suitemate is screaming and the boy is crying and your professors are tsk-tsking, you're thinking of that one moment when that song came on - and your friends grabbed your hands and you practically shoved your way to the middle of the dance floor where a thousand kids were all going crazy - whistling, shouting, bodies and glowsticks flying - and suddenly you were nothing but sheer energy, feet flying, smiling at everyone around you - and you know that nothing can be that bad when happiness that simple, simply perfect, is possible.
This is my favorite kind of morning; the kind where Friday never ended and you think it may be Saturday, but you're not sure.
At any rate, whatever day, its seven AM and you're in pants that started off baggy but are now positively falling off, because you danced off at least five pounds last night, and now you're covered in that unique grime only a party can produce - some strange combination of your sweat, and other people's sweat, and cigarettes and dirt and overpriced water and the vicks that rubbed off from all the cute etards, because even when you're not one of them they're still fun to play with...and your whole body hurts from dancing so much, so you're dragging up the stairs to your dorm room one slow step at time, hoping that no one's up this early to see the last traces of glitter still clinging to your face...
...and you haven't been this happy since last week, when you did the same thing, came home covered with the same grime, got into a shower quietly - so quietly - so you wouldn't wake your roomate, who tries hard to be supportive but just doesn't quite get what exactly it is you *do* all night every Friday...
...and you wish that every morning could feel this good; that every night left your body feeling this drained, your mind this blank, your ears still pounding, feet still dancing...
...but not every morning can...because tommorrow you'll wake up at a normal time, and your suitemate will still suddenly hate you and still be suddenly wanting to move out - and the boy you love will still be too much of an emotional disaster to love you back - and that book, that book, oh god, that book will still not have gotten read for Monday classes...
...but somehow, that all suddenly seems so much more OK than when you left last night - not good, or even better, but alright, not too bad - because now, while your suitemate is screaming and the boy is crying and your professors are tsk-tsking, you're thinking of that one moment when that song came on - and your friends grabbed your hands and you practically shoved your way to the middle of the dance floor where a thousand kids were all going crazy - whistling, shouting, bodies and glowsticks flying - and suddenly you were nothing but sheer energy, feet flying, smiling at everyone around you - and you know that nothing can be that bad when happiness that simple, simply perfect, is possible.
