A Whim for the Weekend

Drip. Drip.

I wake up to a thin sheen of sweat trickling my chin as it drips onto the pillow. With the now-growing heat permeating through my body, coupled with the sliver of sunlight peaking through the grey curtains, I finally force my eyes open. 

Something’s not right. 

Last night, my room’s temperature practically dropped to that of Antarctica’s as I lay in bed cocooned by the warm embrace of my fuzzy blanket, slowly dozing off into oblivion. 

So why the sudden perspiration?

It took a few long seconds to wrap my head around the fact that our AC had decided to switch itself off at 6 am in the morning—which, to a lot of our dismay, is when half the RH goes to sleep. As if our sleep cycles aren’t questionable enough, Krea’s AC timings are definitely worse.

After a week of relentless 8:30 am and 6:30 pm classes, my body finally gives in to the sleep deficit that accumulates over the week. I grab my phone, squinting at the bright screen, and click on my alarm app. It’s probably restless from a list of snoozed alarms at 7 in the morning, all enthusiastically set by my motivated self last night.

Crap. It’s 12 noon. 

A time that would have made my 16-year-old high school self balk and give Ali Abdaal a “productivity”-induced heart attack.

After the initial guilt of oversleeping wears off, I begrudgingly get out of bed and start my day.

3pm. Groggy-eyed, I glance down at my untouched to-do list, which suddenly seems impossible to even attempt given the current time. But since it’s a Sunday, I allow myself the liberty to laze around and silently forgive myself for the crime of having an incomplete to-do list.

I can’t think of any game that turns a peaceful afternoon into psychological warfare quite like classic UNO: a game that effortlessly brings out different personalities in people. I’m definitely the “silent assassin”. Expressionless and observant, contributing nothing to the whirlwind of chaos unfolding in front of me. I sit there, quietly getting rid of cards before anyone notices. 

Today, I’ve won both games in a row.

One friend turns to music to soothe her growing nerves by appointing herself as the DJ mid-match. Today’s musical selection? Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding. Not exactly the soundtrack I envisioned for four single teens actively plotting each other’s demise while fighting over colored cards.

Another is hyperventilating because she got “67” twice in a row (apparently generational brain rot has reached new heights) and pulls out her phone to document the moment. 

And then there’s the tortured soul—victimized by the never-ending barrage of plus 2s and 4s thrown their way. 

Tragic, really.

6pm. Back in my room, the two assignments on Canvas begin going off in my head like alarms. I stare at them for a few seconds and look at the due dates.

Not tomorrow.

Productivity (and math) can wait.

My stomach, however, could only hold on for the next 10 minutes before my feet carry me to the DH for an evening snack. My taste buds are greeted with a bland combination of sugar, milk powder, and non-existent masala. 

No, this won’t cut it. 

Ice cubes hit the glass. A spoonful of powder in water. A splash of milk. 

Whisk, whisk. 

And finally, I’ve washed it all down with a glass of refreshing matcha. 

Much better.

8pm. I decide to skip today’s DH specialty (rice and rasam) in favor of an 8-inch Veg Delight pizza from Bhagat Ji, wincing as I imagine my mom scowling at the mere sight of it. A carb-heavy meal, loaded with sauces, oregano, cheese and a sprinkle of vegetables that does little to ease the growing guilt of eating out too often…only for it to instantly dissolve with the very first bite.

12am. My mind is struck by this impulsive need to redesign our room; the bed needs to be inverted and positioned in a manner accessible to my desk (which remains untouched to date). And so, my roommate and I abandon all hopes of sleep and begin spiralling into a long tirade about our new room’s rather disastrous architectural layout—a conversation that would probably leave the architect in tears. 

With a thin strip of walking space and random pillars jutting out on either side, the dimensions of our room made the simple task of turning a bed nearly impossible. After an hour-long cardio session of bed lifting, body squats, screeching chairs, climbing mattresses, and one inverted bed later, we had successfully recreated the “Pivot” scene from Friends, just with twice the struggle and equally bad coordination.

2am. The campus has gone quiet, but my room decides it’s too early for that. Silence is interrupted by eerie tapping noises against the windows (courtesy of a restless ghost that refuses to let me sleep in peace). I convince myself it’s nothing but loose hinges.

A stream of water leaks from the shower, reverberating across the washroom tiles (I should probably call the plumber tomorrow).

Two lizards have decided to play hide-and-seek inside the AC vents while I silently pray I don’t wake up to a surprise on my face.

At this point, I’m totally ready for my 8.30 am class tomorrow.

• campus life
• college
• weekend