By: Morgan Collins

“I got washed and dressed before noon on a Saturday, so if I do nothing else for the day, I know I accomplished something.”

Today, I patted myself on the back for getting up and dressed before noon on a Saturday, an anomaly for me. No, it’s not the same as getting up early to volunteer with charities benefitting homeless children with rare cases of glandular cancer, but somewhere there’s a trophy with my name on it. “Morgan Collins: Relatively Early Riser.” Back in college, Saturdays were reserved for pajamas and movies. The only physical exercise I did on those days involved digging through the sofa cushions to collect wayward pieces of Apple Jacks. It was my day off. My day of rest, but on the sixth day. Hallelujah, amen.

Now, at 23, there is no rest. My day job as of right now is not my dream job. After the 9-to-5 and on some days the 3-to-11, my real work begins. On Saturdays I have to go back to the drawing board no matter how much I’d like to spend it in an Internet wormhole of Wikipedia pages and Netflix movie marathons. I have resigned myself to the fact that I am getting older and, therefore, must take on more responsibilities. I guess I should have realized this during college, but I went to The University of Florida—everything was just a blur of humidity, football, and dudes in alligator costumes clapping their hands together incessantly.

In a way, my life is just one of many random moments on the universe’s ticking timeline. Aren’t all our lives like this, just blips on God’s radar? I suppose wherever I am at in this act of my life won’t change the ending, just how I get to it. But despite the inevitable, death and taxes, I still try to hold on to my idea of youth. Parties and bullshit. Pajamas and cereal. Silly and childish, maybe, but just my way of sticking it to The Man, whoever he may be.