“Oh no,” my nose scrunches. “By the way, that was a Friendsreference,” I explain after my perfectly executed Phoebe Buffay impression.
It was Sunday night, well at least it had been when I decided hanging out with friends was a good idea. But glancing at my long-forgotten phone, and seeing the strange new IOS font read “2:08 a.m.,” I began to doubt myself.
“Oops, I did it again?” I sing in the mirror of my communal bathroom at 2:46 a.m. the following night.
“We be, all night…” I mouth into my phone’s front facing camera as I dance my way back from the library early Wednesday morning.
“I need to hold an intervention for myself. Like a full-fledged-How-I-Met-Your-Mother-intervention,” I declare — coffee in hand — to my friend at 8:56 a.m. on Thursday morning.
“Madi!!” I turn just in time to reciprocate my friend’s embrace. Walking with her in the library, I fill her in on my past week.
“It’s been quite serendipitous, but, I’m starting to think serendipity’s a little sinister.”
Laughing, she nods, tells me to go get coffee, and go do my homework. Even though her words are staggeringly similar to those my mother told me every day after I caught senioritis, I oblige. I sit in the chair I am confident I will hold hostage for the next 5 to 7 hours. I turn my music on shuffle only to hear One Direction ask, "Won't you stay till the AM?" I smile, somehow knowing serendipity will ensure I’m awake until 2am.