Dear Diary,
Ah, what a beautiful disaster today has been. How are you? You still holding up? Me ? well, brace yourself, because I’m about to make you the lucky recipient of my latest misfortune. Do you remember when I told you I was your favorite academic clown? Oh, how painfully true that is, dear Diary. So let me take you on this twisted journey, back to today the 27th of April, at 9:30 AM, as the first lecture mercifully ended.
I exited the classroom, filled with the usual false sense of relief, only to be met with a sight that will haunt me for the next 48 hours—my colleague, the one I’m supposed to present with on Tuesday. (I’ll come back to the Tuesday part; trust me, this is important.) She was chatting with some of our mutual friends. She wasn’t the worst person on the planet, but she certainly wasn’t my favorite either. And so, in my infinite wisdom, I thought, Why not walk over and say Hi ? What could possibly go wrong?
Thank god I said Hi !
And so, we engaged in the usual banter.Laughing with our friends, pretending everything was fine, until she casually dropped the bomb that would set my world ablaze. “Me and ___ have a presentation tomorrow,” she said, as if she were talking about the weather. I froze. Tomorrow? I thought, feeling my brain short-circuit. I was certain she meant Tuesday. After all, the 28th was a Monday. But no, no, no... “It’s tomorrow,” she clarified with a smirk. “Good thing I told you, or poor you would’ve lost 10 marks!”
My soul left my body, Diary. Ten marks. I could
have possibly missed the presentation date !
Now, it’s 1:11 AM, and here I am, desperately cramming for this presentation while simultaneously resigning myself to the fact that I haven’t studied a word for my French quiz. What a grand combination of academic suicide. But wait,there’s more. Just to spice up this exquisite cocktail of self-destruction, I decided to indulge in a late-night snack. A tortilla sandwich, stuffed with French fries, mayo, ketchup, and oh yes a slice of cheddar cheese. Because why not ? My stomach already hates me, and I figured I’d give it a reason to start plotting my demise.
But, Diary, Why did I do this? You know I have gastric reflux.I’m not some impulsive fool who eats like a teenager on a binge; usually, I’m disciplined. But tonight, the stress twisted something inside me, and I threw all caution to the wind. Now, I fear the wrath of my own digestive system. I’m living in terror, wondering if my stomach will betray me.
Tomorrow looms over me like a bomb with a faulty timer. Silent, ticking, just waiting to explode. And me? I can’t escape it. I’m tied to it, staring down the barrel of my own undoing. As the countdown to this catastrophe ticks on, I can do nothing but brace myself and hope that somehow, someway, I survive it.
So, dear Diary, Tomorrow, I may need more than just luck. I may need a miracle.