I’m dead.  I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead.  I open one eye and see that the sun is rising but I’m dead, or at least I was dead because I don’t remember anything.  With both eyes closed, I try to remember what being dead was like but nothing, nothing and more nothing comes to mind.  That’s right because dead is nothing. 

                I pick up my phone and stare at the clock until the alarm goes off.  I’m pretty sure it went off and that’s why I’m awake and that the time went back so I would be stuck waiting for it to ring.  I watch the minutes change and jump when the alarm goes off.  It does this to me every day.

                I get out of bed in the dark and stand near the door listening for footsteps before going to the bathroom.  No one is awake but I’m pretty sure someone is listening to the tinkling, nay, the waterfall in the toilet; before I can worry if it’s too much the flow stops.  Washing my hands, I catch sight of myself in the mirror.  “What do you want?”  She scowls at me and then I straighten my face and smooth out my hair.

                I get ready for work and wonder what they need me for anyway.  I know what I need them for.  I need them for the money.  I get paid on Friday which is pretty exciting because it’s Wednesday so there’s that.

                I don’t know where the time goes, but it just goes and goes.  One second it’s like “great I have ten minutes” and the next second I’m all “Fuck I’m five minutes late!” which is a big deal if you know anything about traffic.  The thing about traffic is no one really knows how to drive.  You put on a signal and they have to try to pass you up.  You get in the right lane to avoid construction and you get screwed by the people who think their drive is more important than yours. 

                Work is short but I’m pretty sure I’m late no matter what.  That traffic ruins everything.  When I walk in the door everything looks like the same as usual.  Anyway work is work and who cares about work? People go to work or they don’t.  Work is work and work sucks.  There’s this lady at work with a super high ponytail.  Like, who is she trying to signal?  I don’t trust her.  For the rest of the day I avoid making eye contact like the plague.  Anyway work was work and work sucked.  I was all about leaving.

                On the way home I hit every red light on purpose I’m sure.  It’s like they see me coming and boom they’re red.  It never fails.  About the fourth time I’m about to get super pissed when I see the sign.  It looks innocuous in and of itself but I see it in red duct tape below the payday Loans sign: P-I-Z-Z-A.  But what does it mean?

                At home I check out the internet.  There’s link after link that people have posted like 17 ways to wash your face and 12 things to make you poop.  I come across one called the importance of self care.  It’s all take a shower, brush your teeth, moisturized and shit like that.  It’s like they’re telling me something.  It’s that time of day when I should avoid the internet because I might watch some TV tonight.  I pick up a book to read and stare at the words trying to remember where I left off when I hear talking in the other room.  I can’t make out the words but I’m pretty sure it’s about me.  My attention drifts between the drone of the voice and the words on the page until the talking stops, then I just read.  It’s part of self care.

                I read until it’s time to eat something, you know, self care.  I put a pot pie in the microwave for five minutes then pace the living room.  Once or twice I think I hear it beep and it doesn’t.  I picked the pot pie because self care says I need vegetables and fiber I guess.  But when it beeps I get anxious because I have to wait five minutes and that’s long enough to think about the super high ponytail and the letters in duct tape below the pay day sign: P-I-Z-Z-A.  I eat, my dinner makes me super full and tired so I decide to forget about TV altogether.  I’m really feeling this self care deal, so I decide to brush my teeth and then take a shower and then put on my lotion and my warm pajamas and get in bed.  Self Care, that’s what it’s all about.

                The sign keeps flashing in my brain between thoughts of the too-high ponytail and the possibilities of what they were saying about me earlier when it hits me: P-I-Z-Z-A under the Payday Loan sign so when I get PIZZAid I can get PIZZA.  I did it.  I figured it out.  And I’m dead.

                God we’ve been waiting here for forever for this test to start.  We’re not allowed in without someone checking our ID’s first and it’s past the start time of eight o’clock.   What a shitty way to start a Monday.   Every moment feels longer and longer and then it all stops.  I had a slice of leftover pizza for breakfast, thin crust.

                “Is there anything on my face?” I’ve been rubbing and wiping but I know there’s gotta be something I missed.

                “No.”

                “Good.” I don’t even look at him, “I had a slice of pizza for breakfast.”

                “Me too!”  I see his hand from the corner of my eye.  “I’m John.”

                “Cool.” I shake his hand but don’t offer my name.  I don’t need another Facebook stalker.  Plus I’m pretty sure he held my hand too long.

                Colors start catching out of the corners of my eyes and I begin to match them up to people by looking at each one individually and alternating between looking up and down so I don’t look like I’m staring.  Red catches my eye and it’s John’s hand.  He’s rubbing his face and staring at people. What a creeper.

                Once or twice I open my mouth to tell him he’s good but I’m pretty sure that would be a conversation starter.  I stand looking at everyone when someone comes through the crowd.

                “Hey—“

                “Hi!” I say loud and forced.  I don’t want him saying my name. 

                “I saw what you posted on Facebook last night.  You’re gonna do great.  We both are.” He smiles real big like he wants me to say something to him about Facebook.  See what I mean about stalkers?  There’s a pause when he shifts his weight a few times.  I try not to smile at his discomfort.

                “Everyone looks pretty nervous over here,” he says.  I turn my attention to the others.  Everyone is looking up and down and around. 

                “Yeah, the better to beat the curve with,” I joke. It’s a lame joke but he laughs.  I tell you, joke with a person and then you tell your name and it’s a recipe for a stalker.

                “The professor is late.”  He sounds a bit too casual for my taste.

                Last night I had a nightmare about, “What if he doesn’t show and we all lose out on this grade.” It drones out on me before I can stop it.  Dammit brain, why? Anyway that got his attention.  Standing straight he checks his phone for the time, then me, then John.  I check my phone again because I missed the time the first time.  When I look up a domino effect of phone checking has started, so I check again in order to fit in.

                When I look at my phone it says 8:14 on the clock but before I lock it the minute changes to 8:15.  I look around to see if anyone else felt that.  Nothing has changed.  We’re still waiting and still fidgeting.  Except me, I try to stay still but when I can’t take it anymore I start pacing in a space so small, I might as well be spinning in circles like a crazy person.  I stop and check my phone, it’s 8:15 again. Everyone is shifting from left to right waiting for the door to open when there’s a loud click.

                Everyone else jumps and the crowd pushes back a little for the door to open before spilling in past the professor, flashing our ID’s at him on the way in. 

                “Sorry I’m late guys I had to…” but I’m not really listening.  When I get to my seat it’s finally 8:16.  I just hope I don’t fail.

                “Good luck.”

                I smile back at my Facebook stalker.

                It’s been a week since that test which means the grades should be out.  I turn on my computer to check the portal and it stays and stays on the start-up graphic never getting to the login screen.

                I leave the house and head for campus.  The computers there have to work.  Outside the light is blinding.  At campus in the computer lab all the computers are on the same screen; row after row of frozen computers.  What a waste of money.  At the door of the lecture hall there’s a TA with a list of names.

                “ID?”

                I hand it to him

                “Sorry, you can’t come in, you’ve failed the test,” he says flatly.  “Next.”

                “I can’t fail!”  I shout it out into the darkness.  Sweating and breathing heavily I reach for my phone under my pillow.  It’s 2:27 in the morning.  Grades posted last night but I still haven’t checked because who wants to see an F anyway?

I check the clock again: 2:28.  Time moves so slow when it’s happening to you.  I may never fall asleep again.  I want to check my grade but I don’t want to get up just in case my laptop really is crashed.  I check my phone again but I miss the time and end up on Facebook.  I scroll through the status updates about how late it is and studying and past the pictures of dinner when I see my stalker updated about eight hours ago that he did well on the test.  Of course he did, stalkers live in the details.

                I click on his name to go to his profile and notice the picture, like super notice it.  He has eyes.  Real ones that a person can really look at, you know?  But that’s all I notice before the screen goes black.  Hitting the lock button I see that the time has flown to 2:35.  It takes a lot more time to scroll down than you think, I guess.

                I turn in bed a few times trying to get comfortable.  I really failed my test, I already know it and that’s exactly why I can’t sleep.  I get out of bed careful not to trip over anything.  I like to leave stuff on the floor in case of a break in.  Get that fucker off his feet.  That’s how you get the upper hand. 

                I open my laptop and it wakes right up skipping the whole start up deal.  What a relief.  But when I click on the internet it stalls on loading.  The night is still and quiet; too quiet to be sitting here waiting that’s for sure.  The page seems to load at dial-up speed.  I guess I saved time by making the portal my home page anyway.  When the snake makes its last little turn I type in my login information.  The class is green signaling a fresh grade.  Rather than click on it I scroll through Tumblr.  Teens tag their posts angst and depression all the time.  I love to watch them like I’m not there.  It’s all stuff like, “doesn’t my mom know she’s a bitch?”  I just want to be like yeah she probably has to own it around a derp like you.  When I start to think that everyone knows my Tumblr page is the time to stop.  They could be reading it right now, you guys. 

                The sun is starting to rise when I click on the highlighted class.  I keep my eyes closed until I think it loads revealing an A-.  I don’t know how much time that was exactly.  That’ s gonna bother me the rest of the day.  Anyway time for an hour nap before work or whatever.