My Day as Narrated by Taylor Swift’s 1989
I stay out too late. Got nothin’ in my brain.
9:19am—Wait it’s so warm out! I need to wear something summery. These days are numbered.
And I got that good girl fig and a tight little skirt.
10:00am— Got my math midterm back. Ouch.
Looking at it now…It all seems so simple.
10:01am— Text from my mom: “How’d the math midterm go (apprehensive emoji)?”
OoooohhhhhhOOHHHHHHHHH [melodic and emotionally charged wail]
12:11pm— Phew, she still hasn’t sent a follow-up text .
Are we in the clear yet are we in the clear yet are we in the clear yet in the clear yet GOOD.
12:27pm—The leaves are so pretty. I feel like I’m walking through a postcard from an arboretum gift store.
It’s a new soundtrack, I could dance to this beee-eat. The lights are so bright but they never blind me.
1:00pm— I have to meet that acquaintance for lunch because I said that I would. I don’t think we’ll have much to say to each other.
But I got a blank space baby. And I’ll write your name.
1:18pm—She brought up the time that I peed in the hallway of Bobb freshman year.
CAUSE BABY NOW WE GOT BAAAAAD BLOOD.
2:00pm—Someone messaged me on Tinder! He says: “Hey babe we matched lol. Your pretty cute.”
My one condition is: say you’ll remember me standing in a nice dress staring at the sunset, babe.
2:01pm— But he used the wrong “your.”
Love’s a fragile little flame. It could burn out.
2:02pm— I respond: “You’re*”
Cause darling I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream.
2:16pm— He says: “Fuck you bitch.”
Boys only want love if it’s torture.
I never miss a beat. I’m lightning on my feet. And that’s what they don’t see. Mmhhmmm.
5:07pm— Post-Zumba burrito.
Oh my god, look at that face. You look like my next mistake.
6:02pm—Group project meeting. No one has done shit for this class.
Hung my head as I lost the war. And the sky turned black like a perfect storm.
6:48pm—No toilet paper in the bathroom in Tech.
Shake it off. Shake it off.
7:38pm—A truly spectacular bike crash on the way home. I could really be the endearing heroine of a romantic comedy if I wasn’t so profoundly awkward.
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time. Cause we never go out of style. We never go out of style.
8:17pm— Dammit, all that’s left of my Skinny Pop are the tiny, crumbly, bottom-of-the-bag-remnants.
Hey. All you had to do was stay.
10:39pm—Fuck it, I’m watching Mad Men.
This is gonna take me down. He’s so tall, and handsome as hell. He’s so bad, but he does it so well.
ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS YET ARE WE OUT OF THE WOOD YET ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS YET ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS?