Yesterday morning, I awoke — eager to start my day. My window remained slightly open, an homage to the quiet breeze that lulled me to sleep last night. My room was sparkling clean, thanks to yesterday’s version of me who was determined to wake up in an organized space.
As I sat up, stretching my arms to the cloudless sky, I heard the joyous sound of my roommates reveling in laughter in the kitchen, presumably with bacon and pancakes cooking away on the stove. I opened my fully charged computer, ready to devour my to-do list and seize the day.
I know what you’re thinking. “Wow, that’s so beautiful — yesterday probably ended up being a great day.”
Wrong.
A condescending rocket ship stares back at me via computer screen. I scream “NO” in disarray. The hypothetical camera pans out, depicting the echo of my scream — first to my apartment, then the city, finally the whole planet.
I was suddenly taken aback by a flashback, like a vision in “That’s So Raven.” I saw a blurry version of myself last year on a day like this, staring at a non-functioning Canvas page like a prisoner does out a window. The flashback took me to my empty inbox, where I had just previously pleaded with five professors to extend their due dates. No response.
The scream of my roommates brings me back to reality and I rush into the living room — disheveled, despondent. A single tear runs down my roommate’s cheek. She has three exams tomorrow. My other roommate, a business major, lets out a wail — she has a coloring page due in two months.
Panic set in. I hear the “ding” of my MacBook and rush to its call, finding an email from a professor reading:
“You all have had due time to complete today’s pre-class assignments. Class will resume as usual today at two.”
Now I am enraged. This anger fuels me. Suddenly, every poor grade I will receive on an assignment or exam in the future is a direct result of this day. It’s not my fault, it’s the system’s — literally. Today was the day I would study. Canvas took that away from me. It didn’t just steal my time, it stole my momentum — my spark. The universe handed me a rare, perfect morning, and Canvas chewed it up like a dog with a slipper.
I spend the rest of my day refreshing. That cursed rocket ship appears behind my eyelids every time I blink. I haven’t had water in hours, I’ve only eaten Cheez-Its and iced coffee. I succumb to what Canvas wants and decide to watch TV for the rest of the day.
It finally decides to function at 6 p.m. I text my friends “it’s working” then close my computer.
I’ll be productive tomorrow.
