Yesterday was a great day. One for the books. I slept until nine, cleaned my room without any sign of reluctancy, made hummus and cucumber pita pockets, and went on a picnic with two of my best friends. Other than the fact that there was ridiculous amounts of bees for mid-April, it went well. We played upbeat feminist pop music (the best type of music) and laughed about dumb crushes, stupid jokes, and long trips to Ohio (that's another post for another day).
We went to one of their houses to watch Wes Anderson movies, and then to the others to watch Shakespeare, and parted ways. I returned home at seven.
Yesterday gave me the ideation that all days during April vacation will be filled with friends and indie-movie like scenarios. It's not.
Today I woke up at noon, finished cleaning my room, shaved, and have done absolutely nothing. This is when i realize that all of my friends either have jobs, plans, or live out of state.
I regret thinking that my life is a movie and that every single day is filled with awesome.
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