AGA Roll Call: A Day in the Life

Another night out to blow off steam. This month has been stressful because my roommates (who are my family here) and I are broke. I’ve pretty much been broke for the past 3 years but never to the point of financial instability that I am at now. Never to the point where I’ve personally had to borrow money to ensure that I have somewhere to live. So dancing was a welcome relief.

At first the plan was to go to "reggae night" at a different club a little bit out of town, but in order to do that we had to be there by 11 so we could get in free. That didn’t happen. We ran around like headless chickens, trying to get ready in time. Showers and time spent in front of the closet were too much of a luxury so I just threw something on and my roommate simply put on a pair of jeans. She was going to change her top too but I stopped her. “You look gorgeous in that top.” It was a sleeveless top with a high neck and funky-colored geometric patterns ran across it. A hole at the top of the chest showed off just enough skin to make it fancy and the ensemble fit her like she should have been born in it. “Why,” she responded, half-teasing, half serious, “are you afraid I’ll put on something slutty?” I shouldn’t have showed her my last blog about clubbing. “Of course not,” I answered, and meant it.

I stand in front of my wardrobe and pull out the tried-and-trusted combination of a pair of jeans and a sparkly top. I feel good in it, it’s comfortable and it’s safe.

Safe?

Safe from calling too much unwanted attention to myself in the club. There is always the need to fight off intoxicated men who think that your body belongs to them but this outfit does not “ask for” any extra notice.

It keeps me safe from unnecessary attention as I walk to and from the club. It keeps me relatively safe as I stand outside getting a breath of fresh air by myself. When the bouncers throw a drunk and obnoxious guy out of the club and practically at my feet I can comfortably walk around him toward the door, paying no attention to his comments.

3:50 AM
Alarm has been going off for 5 minutes now. Brandon’s moving about; I’m no use to him right now. It’s a good thing he’ll only be gone for two days this time. I hate when he drives to Phoenix after five hours of sleep. I hope I reset my alarm.

4:47 AM
Brandon leaves for work. I barely remember kissing goodbye.

6:12 AM
Brandon calls to tell me he’s in Phoenix safe. Time to take a shower and get ready but I think I’ll sleep for another 45 minutes.

8:15 AM
“Maia, go to the bathroom!! I have to go to school and if you don’t pee, you won’t get another chance until tonight. I can’t leave you outside in the rain.”

So. The first day of the first weekend at the (now official) #1 party school in the country, on labor day weekend, after our football team won a game. These stipulations might point to a wild, wild weekend for most people, but I was left feeling rather unaccomplished and disappointed.

I woke up, and my boyfriend and I decided to get a few of our extra school-things over and done with. I put on some short shorts and a red top and we headed out to get our Course Packets and return a book or two. Right when we left, we realized it was a game day because there wasn’t a single person not wearing a burnt orange shirt. It was only among a crowd of people that I realized my shorts might be too short to wear in public, so I spent a majority of my outing trying to pull them down while at the same time keeping a vast majority of my stomach covered. Hmm…and I thought I looked good before I went out.

Last night (into this morning) was my first college party.

I know what you're thinking--a bunch of drunken, sweaty people dancing around a frat house while the 'brothers' of the fraternity scope out hotties to drug before the end of the night.

Wipe those thoughts from your minds, girls, because this was something entirely different. And once you hear this story, you won't settle for anything less.

Wake up at 8:30. Curse. I'm taking iron supplements, which puts me on a strict schedule for medication and eating, and I should have been up an hour and a half ago to take my first dose of meds. I decide I'm skipping the first dose and go downstairs to take a shower.

My mother is still asleep, my dad's already left for work and my brother is in the mountains with his girlfriend, so I have breakfast on my own. My cousin is coming over with his family to spend the weekend and they're arriving this afternoon, so I need to help my mother with grocery shopping and cleaning the guestroom. At around 11 we leave for the mall.

Today I woke up, and it was around 10 I beleive.

Got into some rather tense discussions with my grandmother. We have to repeat the same arguments at least twice if it wasn't the answer she wanted. She wanted me to move out a day early, which wasn't possible but I was supposed to have these psychic revelations about her making plans after knowing the day I was moving three weeks in advance. I'd just move by myself...if I could fit the boxes in my car. My car is the size of a jellybean - with only one operable door. Grandpa just kind of shook his head.

Went into work, ate something on the cheap and tried to talk to my coworker/new landlordlady while she was running around to work this all out. Decided that it was just going to have to wait until tommorow no matter how crazy my grandmother was going to get about me moving on the day I said I would.

What's a day in the life of a young feminist like, from start to finish? Not a special day, not a day your autobiographer will write about, just a plain old, average day.

Take notes on a day in your life, or reflect on a day at day's end. You can make a checklist that goes hour to hour, you can be more creative and spin a line or two of prose for each hour that passes. You can tell us all the things your body does, and/or all the places your head and heart go. You can pick a day that started like any other, but brought you to an unexpected place: a morning that begins, for instance, with walking the dog, checking email and packing a lunch can culminate with the loss of a friend, or with something happening in your neighborhood that makes the morning's seemingly dull activities take on new meaning.