It’s not every day that I wake up with a full eight hours of sleep and a fresh face, ready to tackle the new and exciting day ahead of me. But when I do, remember to document that day for me; I’ll need every ounce of proof to convince myself that good things do happen (not always, but once in a while). I guess we can say that I’m writing this partially because I have no shame and because I think we should talk about the bad days.

Not the bad boys, the bad influences or the bad people in the world. But the bad days that make us feel completely hopeless. The days in which we all want to give up. The days that make us feel the most sensitive about life. The days that are completely embarrassing, that we choose to pretend never existed. In this case, I’m putting it all out there. I’m not going to write my whole life story, but in the past couple of weeks, I have had several experiences that are worthy of laughs and maybe even tears.

For starters, just this past week I nearly took a tumble walking towards Lexington Ave. Mind you this was during the lunch hours and sadly I wasn’t walking on a quiet side street. Yes, a good fifty people saw a girl roll her ankle and plunge to her near death. Aside from the fact that I almost broke all the bones from my left leg down, I somehow managed to fight gravity and stand up straight. How did that happen?

I’m not sure. I’m just happy that I ate all my frozen yogurt before that incident. The one positive thing was that I wasn’t alone, I was walking with the same friend who’s attached to my hip. After a good 15 minutes of laughter and complete embarrassment, we wound up swiping out MetroCards to take the subway one stop downtown and back uptown for no apparent reason.

I’m sure this scenario has happened to a lot of New Yorkers and it seems to be a topic of discussion for everyone who rides the subway (and yes, I engage in these types of conversations). Well, here it goes. I was on the uptown 6 train on my way to school, one sunny Tuesday morning.

Surprisingly, the subway wasn’t full and I was able to comfortably stand for three stops. It was going to be a good morning until the train stopped at 51st street. I heard the dreadful voice of the conductor making an announcement that there was someone on the train who was ill. Ironically, the day before I saw someone have a seizure on the Metro North.

As I watched people get off the train, I was contemplating doing the exact same thing, but I didn’t. Eventually they wound up shutting down the service on the 6 train. The best part was that I was 17 blocks away from school (no, I don’t walk) and had twenty minutes to make it to my class, with a possible chance of a quiz before the lecture started. I did what most New Yorkers do--cried for a little bit and got myself an Uber. Getting a car during the morning rush-hour is not fun. Not only did I spend five minutes trying to find the car, my driver wound up heading toward 1st Ave. as a way to “cut traffic” to then take me across to Park Ave. That morning I made it out of the car in one piece, I ran up five flights upstairs to then walk into my classroom when my professor wasn’t even there.

Another interesting turn of events was ironically on April Fool's Day. What was going to be a nice night changed when I went out for dinner with a couple of friends. After we looked at what was on the menu we decided that was the place to go. Little did we know the real menu, we read the prices wrong and wound up having to pay over $20 for “Italian-style” pizza. Trust me, we were so surprised once we saw the bill that a little part of us died inside. We contemplated everything, whether one of us should run to the bank again or just leave but we all know that once you’re hungry you’ll settle for anything. So we did, we ate our dinner and didn’t even bother to look at the dessert menu.

We all know what it feels like to dedicate a whole weekend to your school work. It sucks to spend the only two days you have to yourself hiding behind books and your laptop screen. In my case, I’ve never had the worst weekend in 18 years of my life. Exactly two weekends ago I had to manifest a summation packet for my 10-page research paper, a four-page visual analysis for my art history class and teach myself chemistry all by Tuesday. Of course I spent most of my day online shopping and catching up on Netflix that by the time it was Sunday night I knew I had to sit myself at my desk without even blinking an eye. I watched the remaining Sunday night hours fly right by and I thought I was going to go crazy. I did go crazy. At 3:00 that Monday morning, I decided to call it quits. I wasn't willing to watch the sunrise, nor was I willing to sleep through all my classes.

I find myself questioning, “Can things get any worse?” And I’ll never have a good enough answer. We’re wrapped up in this shell called life. It’s never going to stay whole, it cracks and it cracks until eventually it completely breaks and falls apart. I see that fallout as a second chance. No matter what happened in our day we have the ability to simply carry on. I’m not going to let a simple fall stop me from walking and I’m not going to let an overpriced menu stop me from eating (maybe sometimes). Whether or not our day was truly unfortunate or if we encountered a little bump in the road, these “bad days” make great stories.