My Future.

Wrapping my mind around the future has always been a bit of a struggle for me. Where will I be ten years from now? What will my life look like? Who will I be? When it comes to finding the answers to these questions, I most represent Velma blindly digging through the dirt trying to find her glasses. But recently, I had an epiphany.

While on a family trip to Six Flags, I saw my future self in the flesh. I recognized my reflection in a glistening layer of sweat covering the body of a 500 pound man unable to clasp the restraining device on a roller coaster. I can't even begin to describe the range of emotions I felt upon laying eyes on him. It was as if I was meeting my long lost twin for the first time. For storytelling purposes, I have named my mysterious counterpart "Jason."

Jason did some serious squeezing in an attempt to click that safety belt, but it obviously wasn't going to work. Imagine trying to turn a baby sock into a unitard. It's just not gonna happen. When the coaster attendant told Jason he was going to have to leave, he wasn't phased. He nonchalantly sauntered off into the distance, munching on a cinnamon pretzel and sipping a large slushie. Jason didn't care that a heart attack was inevitably in his near future. He didn't let this dissuade him from pursuing his passion. This brief encounter with my soulmate left me a changed woman.

It's no secret that I eat a lot. I have an unnatural obsession with food. When my metabolism slows down, it won't take long for me to turn into a stick of butter. But seeing Jason gave me hope. Jason let me know that there is in fact a sugary, pretzel-shaped light at the end of the tunnel.

Picture this: It's the Homewood High School Class of 2014 30th reunion. Everyone is chatting and pretending like they're having a good time, when suddenly a wrecking ball slams through the wall. Amongst the screams of startled guests, a slight whirring can be heard approaching. Almost heroically, an insanely overweight whale woman breaks through the billowing cloud of sheetrock riding a motorized wheelchair, her layers of fat pouring over the sides and dragging the ground. Someone mutters, "Is that Madison Collins?" Yes. Yes it is.

Some may render me a pessimist, but I call it realism. I have chosen to accept my future as the 500 pound woman. Step aside, Tracy Turnblad. You ain't got nothin' on me. *drops mic*

Middle School.

Pretty much everyone I know complains that their middle school days were the worst of the worst. Full of braces, ugliness, and just plain awkwardness, I don't think they treated anyone well. But I can promise you this: No one's days in middle school- NO ONE'S- can top the tremendously horrible nature of mine.

Reason #1: I looked like the vomit of a decomposing squirrel. I think this picture speaks for itself. No explanation needed.

Reason #2: Believe it or not, I was even more socially awkward than I am now. Let's take a brief journey back in time to the infamous Homewood Middle School 7th grade Winter Dance. As Taylor Swift's "Love Story" began to play, I anxiously looked around the room, waiting for my true love to approach me and ask me to dance. My love never came. Completely devastated and convinced that I would be forever alone, I forced my way through dozens of slow-dancing couples and retreated to the corner of the cafeteria. That's when I laid my eyes upon The One. I fell in love with him the moment I saw his long, skinny body propped up against the wall. His luscious, gray locks, still wet from a shower, beckoned me closer. As I moved towards him, I caught a whiff of his cologne; it smelled like bathroom cleaning products. Caught in a trance of love, I cut to the chase. "Do you want to dance?" I whispered to the....the.... mop. Yes, I slow-danced with a mop. It happened. We're moving on now.

Reason #3:  As you can tell from the photo above, I was up to date on all of the latest fashion trends. I am at a loss for words. One day in 6th grade, I was walking down the hall with one of my friends. Wearing cargo shorts and Birkenstocks, I was definitely dressed to impress. Suddenly, she blurted out, "Do you ever look at someone and think WHAT are they wearing?!" "Yeah," I replied, "totally..." Then she stopped dead in her tracks, looked me in the eyes, and said "I was talking about you, Madison. I was talking about you." I burned my prized Birkenstocks that night. Many tears were shed over their death.

Reason #4: I wore my volleyball spandex down to my knees. No, my entire team did not do this. Yes, it was just me. I was made fun of, yet I still persisted to stretch them to a length equivalent to that of a 65 year old Amish woman's skirt. No picture of this will be provided, for it might burn holes into your retinas.

Reason #5: Bad luck followed me everywhere I went. Since we were just on the topic of volleyball, I'll use an according example. It was the biggest game of the year, and all of the 7th grade football players had come to watch our game after their practice. While other girls were making sure to bend down to tie their shoes right in front of the boys, I was pulling my spandex further down to my ankles. In this game, my coach had me starting as the middle hitter/blocker. With my 1'9 frame, I was obviously the perfect fit for the position. As the whistle blew, the other team served the ball to us, my teammate passed the ball to the setter, and the setter prepared to set the ball to me. The boys were cheering. My heart was pounding. I thought to myself I'M GOING TO KILL THIS BALL AND ALL OF THE BOYS WILL LOVE ME. Gotta love my optimism. As the set was put up into the air, I began my approach. I jumped into the air and lifted my arms to swing through... Aaaaand I missed. I swung at the air, the volleyball hit me in the head, and I fell on the ground. Everyone laughed. The boys booed. I got taken out of the game. It was mortifying. Needless to say, none of the football players fell in love with me that night. Or any night in middle school. Or ever.

The Great Plunge.

Q: What do you do when your lunch box ends up in the toilet? 

Yes, you heard me right. My lunch box took a rather unfortunate swim. It was another one of those days... are you even surprised? I had already spilled coffee all over my books, completely bombed a test, and fallen asleep in class. Yippee. I thought to myself, "Hey, it can only get better from here!" Wrong.

I was in a hurry. I had only one mission: quickly use the restroom and then bolt to class. Determined to be on time, I power walked to the bathroom with my 102 pound backpack straddling my spine and my lunch box swinging from my fingers. In a rush, I violently flung open the stall door and hurled my backpack to the ground. As I did this, however, my hand muscles decided to conveniently unclench just as my lunch box dangled over The Pit of Doom. 

I watched, horrified, as my lunch box slowly spiraled downward. I cringed as I heard the splash and watched the light pink fabric quickly darken to purple. "WHAT DO I DO?!" I shrieked as I stared at the sopping blob that continued to sink further into the seemingly never-ending well. I faintly recall hearing the distant cheers of whole grain goldfish as they dove into the flushable aquarium. Finally, I shooed the sewer rats out of the way, plunged my hand into the septic tank, and retrieved the toxic mass. As the minute bell rang, I abandoned my hopes of using the restroom and, utterly defeated, trudged to class with a dripping disease-box (identified by the CDC as the root of a potential outbreak) in hand.

A: You ignore the fact that the food you are about to ingest has spent time where others have... you know...

Yes, you heard me right. I ate my lunch. I was mocked. I was ridiculed. I was probably labeled Poop Girl. But I was hungry, and I wanted my yogurt, dangit. I mean, all of my food was sealed in plastic bags, and my peanut butter sandwich only slightly smelled of urine (I'm kidding).. So I'm good, right? Maybe? No? I'll let you know if I contract any diseases.

R.I.P.

Just One of Those Days.

Today was just one of those days. 

You know what I'm talking about. One of those days. We've all had them. The only problem is this: I experience those days pretty much 5 out of 7 days a week. 4 if I'm really lucky. Here's just a snippet of a "normal" day in the life of Madison:

6:00 am My alarm begins to sound. I, still completely and utterly asleep, somehow manage to turn off my phone and chunk it across the room. All while still sleeping. (I will later have no recollection of these events ever happening.)  I'm convinced that with these skills, I could disable a bomb in my sleep. I'm clearly gifted.
6:35 am My mother bangs down my door with the force of a thousand stampeding buffalo. She screeches into my ears, "ARE YOU AWAKE?!" I mumble back a "yes" and begin to (slowly... very slowly) lift my body out of bed. As soon as my mother turns her back and leaves, I plop back onto the pillow like a rock and immediately fall back asleep.

6:50 am I finally wake up and get in the shower. 

6:54 am I fall out of the shower. I bring the curtain down with me. I do not know how this happened. 

7:48 am I screech into the school parking lot 2 minutes before the tardy bell rings. (3rd tier REPRESENT.) I grab my stuff and begin to sprint down the Great Wall of China stairs leading to Homewood High School. I trip on stair 4,325 and tumble all the way down to stair 1,619. My boots now look like they have been mauled by a bear. 

8:44 am The minute bell rings as I casually stroll into my Physics class. I begin to head to my seat, but some weasel kid is already sitting there. I utter, "What the..." as I begin to realize that I recognize no one in the class. At the sound of my voice, every student swivels their head around and stares at me as if I am vermin. One kind soul shouts, "YOU'RE IN THE WRONG CLASS, IDIOT." Still confused, I stand rooted in place like a deer in headlights for a good 20 seconds trying to comprehend what's going on. Are we running on a different bell schedule? How did I not get the memo that the schedule changed? Am I being Punk'd? Finally, I realize where I'm supposed to be and begin to sprint through the halls faster than Usain Bolt could ever dream of running. I bust into Calculus class .00001 seconds before the bell rings. You can applaud now. Thank you.

All of this happened before 9 am.

Please recognize that this is just a mere fraction of the many unfortunate things that happen to me on a daily basis. The world is clearly out to get me. Actually, I take that back. The world has already gotten me.