You wake up to the extremely harsh sound of your alarm clock buzzing only inches from your head. While you flail your hands around in the dark, you attempt to turn it off without opening your eyes. After all, you know exactly where the snooze button is. Once you decide that you've snoozed enough for the morning, you throw the covers off of your body and look down at what you're wearing. You decide that it's the perfect outfit for your classes that day. Throwing on some deodorant and some spray to mask whatever smell that is, you glance in the mirror and shrug. It's good enough.

Then you make your way to your first class. It's freezing, typical, and you're so stubborn that you only wore a light jacket. So you make the obligatory stop at the campus Starbucks, order a hot drink with an extra caffeine shot, and warm your hands for a while. Walking into your first class, you notice that your normal spot in the back of the room has been snatched because you spent too long in the line for coffee. "Worth it," you think as you sip your drink. So you walk down the steps of the large lecture hall to the only seat left open. It's in the front row.

You sit there for 50 minutes while the professor talks about his kids, his summer vacation, his breakfast, and basically anything that doesn't involve the subject of the class. He reminds you that there will be an exam over what you "talked" about today, so you sarcastically make note of what all was in his breakfast burrito.

As the class ends, the students file out around you and since you had to sit in the front row, you're stuck in the room for an extra three minutes longer than usual. Making your way to the union, you see campus protestors: people handing out bibles and flyers about their philanthropy event that weekend. As much has you try to avoid them, they catch you and talk your ear off for a good three minutes about the evils of alcohol. You nod in fake agreement while remembering last Saturday night or, at least, trying to remember Saturday night.

You make your way to the union and stand in line for a salad. The line is extremely long because classes just let out, so you are there for a good 20 minutes just waiting. Despite all of the time that you had, you have no idea what to order when you reach the counter.

Once you have your food and have found the single solitary chair left open, you sit and eat while staring at all of the faces that you've never even seen before. You knew that your college was big, but the reality of seeing new faces every single day makes it a bit realer.

You check your phone and notice that it's time for your next class. Heading to class early, you are able to snatch your coveted back row seat. You sit comfortably through the 2-hour lecture by staring at the clock on the wall.

Class is dismissed and you can finally head back home. You know that you have a bunch of homework looming over your head, but, when you return to your room, you drop your backpack and immediately slip under the covers with the remote in your hand.

10 "Friends" episodes later, you crawl out of bed again to get ready for your meeting. You bring along your computer so that maybe you can get some homework done. The meeting runs over an hour, full of lots of valuable information that you barely retained. Then you decide to stop by the library to finish the paper that you've been putting off for a week.

Hours later, you notice that your stomach growling, so you head home to order take out. Your savings account is dwindling, but you didn't want to walk to an on-campus dining facility.

You sit there, thinking about all of the things that you have to do in the next few days and writing it all down in your planner so that you can see the object of your stress laid out in front of you. You take a moment to breathe and attempt to forget everything that is going on in your life, on top of trying to have a social calendar with real life people.

You hadn't noticed that the clock had turned to 2:00 a.m. You set your alarm for the next morning 10 minutes early so you can shower. With the morning looming, you pull the covers close to your chin and drift off to sleep, knowing that you get to do it all over again the next day.