MY HOMETOWN—As I spend another day scrolling through TikTok only to see yet another shirtless seventeen-year-old lick his fingers and jab them towards the phone, I am reminded of the most pressing issue in my life: the cute senior who sits three rows in front of me in Poli-Sci who I will never hook up with.
Gone are the days that my heart would flutter at 3am “you up” texts from a man built like a spaghetti noodle. For the next four months, no one will grab my ass without my consent at Shooters. I won’t be able to see Chad from Apple Beta Pie after promising my friends I’ve blocked him. All I can do is stare longingly at his pinned video on the zoom screen while I hope he doesn’t notice the Camp Rock posters behind me.
Why did my mom let me paint my walls hot pink and tiffany blue? Who allowed me to have a One Direction shrine? And is it hot in here or is it the Zach Efron cardboard cutout in the corner looking especially fine right now?
As I sit here in my childhood bedroom googling if my virginity can grow back and trying to remember if I threw away the charger to my old electric toothbrush, I wonder if life will ever return to normal. In the midst of this global pandemic, it feels like no one is paying attention to what matters: the texts from exes and high school friends asking to see my quarantitties. And no, if coronavirus doesn’t take me out, you can’t either.
Everyone is so preoccupied with these arguments on pass/fail or grades that no one cares whether or not I’ll be able to flirt with my TA to get extra help on problem sets. Sewing extra protection masks for hospitals is okay, but what about all the unused protection in my dorm room?
For now, I’ll just zone out during classes and block any couple that has quarantined together. Chad, if you’re reading this, please open my snaps. I think you accidentally left me on delivered for two weeks.