Slice of life

The scene: Suburbia, America. More specifically suburbia, Colorado. Neat, new houses in rows full of families with little kids and attempts at landscaping. Neat, little people in neat, little boxes, bringing their kiddies to school in SUVs, wearing their neon crocs and feeling socially conscious.


I don't really sleep all that much, so the 7-something on the clock is late for me. I crawl out of my pile of blankets and shuffle downstairs. It really is a shuffle at this time of the morning. I get resentful if my roommates happen to be up, and spend my time waiting for my coffee by checking if the refridgerator light works, shooting a rubber band around the living room, or eating cheerios. Sometimes all three. I'm talented like that. I eschew sugary cereals, froot loops and anything neon-colored, in favor of super-healthy, extra-fiber cereal made of dry, compacted cardboard with a hint of bran flakes and banana. Yeah, I'm one of those people. God forbid I eat a danish.



I might be addicted, I might not, but in any case, I'm in love:



And I always use the same cup. Yes, I do wash it. My coffee, my breakfast and I all go upstairs to check email and news, see how many people have died in places far away, if any friends from high school have suddenly gotten married, and if there was a paper I forgot to write which is due that day. I go for a run eventually, stylish in my headband and sweats rain, snow or shine, passing stay-at-homes with kid and dog out for a walk in the open space. I shower, I pack my bag and my lunch and sometimes my dinner, resulting in a perpetual flurry of tupperware and a slight lean to port from the weight in my shoulder bag. Six after I need to be out the door. I can see the bus out the window; if I'm already outside it I can leap the fence and make it, but if I'm still putting shoes on I've no hope. Many a time I've run, coats and bags flapping, over the lawn to catch said bus. Sometimes, though, I just have to stand and wait for it:



Or sometimes I take my car. I drive the same route, down the back and avoiding the big highway. Don't go too fast, and don't hit any cows.







Parking sucks. There's about half a block of parking that's a) free and b) not 2-hour and c) near campus, so everyone and their grandmother parks up there. But since I like hiking and I'm never late (hah) I enjoy parking a mile and a half away on some unknown street whose name I will likely have forgotten as I return for my car fourteen hours (or three dayS) later.



I live on campus. And by live, I mean that I tend to eat two meals a day there, and usually have some variation of class work class work class work meeting meeting class work meeting work class.

Everyone's (and particularly my) favorite building: The Library. Three floors, five half floors and a bazillion departments later, you are utterly lost, still have not found your book, and are quite confident that, should there be a fire, you would die in the corner of the government publications between the UN documents and the State Fish and Wildlife reports because you can't find the exit.




But this is boulder, so life here is never boring. I missed out on taking pictures of head-shaving for charity, the woman's art mural project in the student services center, the mass amount of bicycles, or many other interesting things from this week. And I swear, these were taken in the space of two days and can be considered relatively normal for College Life On Campus:


Bluegrass and bike repair in front of the rec center


Robots playing tennis

Evenings consist of homework, meetings, studying with friends at cafés, drinking with Germans in bars, tutoring, or tango. In this instance, we were trying to find bugs outside for a homework assignment:



And ending up with a bit of tango can make everyone's life better: