If elected I will increase snacks and naps across the nation with a stimulus package of assorted foods, pillows, and blankets. #Stasia2012 #realissues

As a first semester Political Science major avoiding studying for my National Government midterm, I am perfectly unqualified to run for President. Is that a hyperbole? Honestly I have no clue if I’m being serious or not. What I know for sure is that the presidential race is neglecting some serious issues effecting us in our every day lives. The old people in suits that are in charge of the way our country works are roaming around like zombies hungry for approval ratings and donations. Their purposeless pursuit shoves the simple things we care about aside and I’m over their buttheadedness.

Not to say the issues being debated aren’t important because they are. All I’m saying is some of the issues are completely irrelevant to how we feel everyday. I’m positive that at least 90% of us don’t wake up in the morning pondering what shape the economy is in. Is it a circle? A square? Maybe it’s a tridecahedron— and that can’t be a good thing can it? I’m sure most of us are trying to convince ourselves that laying in bed and scrolling through Pintrest and Tumblr for two hours before going to sleep wasn’t that irresponsible. Or more likely, hoping that there is some good cereal left for breakfast and you aren’t left with the crappy box of whole grain, off-brand Cheerios (Mom, now that I’m three hours away and you can’t yell at me for saying this, those are always on sale for a reason, they taste like moldy cardboard).

Another reason I am well under-qualified to run for President is my two years of experience in Student Leadership. I wouldn’t have been elected to the high rank of Student Representative without outstanding morals, electric charisma, and the fact that I had no opponent. I learned something in my time as a public servant that helped me out many times and I think my fellow public officials would benefit from it as well. When my committee couldn’t agree on the design on the bottom of the our prom tickets, I remembered that nobody really cares. This small notion removed the imaginary weight that was making a simple task into a Grand Falloon and pitting our committee members against each other.

When I couldn’t get the font size and style right on the programs for The Variety show, I remembered again that nobody cares and I was instantly able to pick Helvetica and beating up the innocent computer. When I wanted to smite the jerk that tossed the Homecoming decoration I spent four days drawing, cutting, and painting into the corner before it was done drying, I remembered that nobody cares, salvaged what I could from it and moved on to the next poster. Each time I’d fret myself into a tizzy about something I truly cared about and put a lot of work into I had to remind myself that my personal success was not the reason my people passively agreed to allow me to represent them. My people just wanted to have a good time at the event Student Leadership was putting together.

The things that the media, our officials, and that one guy you know who always has a new conspiracy theory to share are fighting a non-existent battles. I respect the government and the conviction to take rules, justice, and freedom seriously. What I don’t respect is the idiocy and bigheadedness that plague many political officials once they are elected into office and swept out of reality.

To provide an extended metaphor I will share a quick story about my ten year old self on a camping trip in Ludington, Michigan. I found a stick on the first day of my stay that year. The stick stood three inches taller than myself and it was stripped of all its bark. I knew it held magical powers because its smooth milky surface was trailed with mystical carvings left by Forest Nymphs. (Please don't tell my ten year old self they were really just tiny canals from ants eating it, I haven't had the heart to break it to her yet.) I used it for hiking, poking under rocks, fighting off evil assailants, and making me look really cool and majestic when I stood on top of a sand dune. One night I left it out near the fire pit. The next morning I awoke to find that my own flesh and blood had betrayed me. My dad had cracked it into pieces and burned it. I cried for at least an hour. Then I promised that no stick could ever be as great so I would mourn for my entire life and seek revenge on the world for its cruel tricks. For my metaphor, the media, public officials, and conspiracy theorists are represented by myself. My stick represents many current issues up for debate. My dad represents the majority of people and him throwing it away represents how many shits we do not give about the issues that have been blown out of proportion. In the end I forgot my petty plans for vengeance and moved on to another stick. The moral of the story is that even though something may seem to be the most important thing in the world, if you can't ignore your ego and budge a bit on an issue for the sake of progress than you are more immature than a ten year old girl.

I can’t out of good sense and conscious overlook that there are things up for debate that will have a huge effect on how we live. It is too easy to bash those in charge for not doing what we want, when we want, and how we want. There are a zillion different opinions they have to filter through, and it’s the life work of political figures to cater to their people, so it makes sense that they take small conflicts of interest and morph them into the huge battles. But when the way they approach issues is absolute insanity. They use terms like “The War on Drugs,” “The War on Women,” “The War on Terrorism,” and “The War on Freedom.” These aren’t wars, these are problems that have solutions and it is the purpose of the government and the responsibility of the people to manage these problems together.

Unfortunately our culture treats the problems we have as one of two extremes: a battles that will either result a in utopian society or bring on eternal doomsday, or they as silly matters that don’t effect us and only serve as reality show style entertainment. The truth lies somewhere in between. It is necessary to tackle these problems with an understanding that their outcome will effect millions of people in very real and immediate ways, but we it is also important to maintain a clear perspective in what is best for the long term.

The people we choose to represent us, the voices we choose to tune into, and the causes we choose to fight for affect us directly. As a makeshift Presidential candidate I’m asking you to think about the power in that notion. Each individual makes choices everyday that shape our world. That means you, me, your teachers, your neighbors, and that smelly kid that sits next to you in class get to decide if we like our economic and social life as a tridecahedron. If you don’t like it, you also have to choice to help change it. I’m running for president because what the people want matters and we have the power to make our representatives listen by minding our every day choices. Also I miss being old enough to vote this year by eight days so it makes me feel more involved. So go forth my brethren and sisteren! Be immense and important and wise and make yourself matter! After you decide what’s for breakfast of course.

I know should be concerned that I have a fever of 99.6, but my brain is actually working in slow motion right now. #justhappyimalive

 On the train home two Fridays ago my decay into lifeless zombie began. I usually just ignore stuffy noses, sore throats, and minor earaches because since I was a kid I have been in and out of doctors’ offices for some kind of dramatic illness almost every year. First tonsillitis, then a double ear infection, then pneumonia, then more ear infections and a resulting surgery, then strep, then bronchitis, strep again, and last year was the worst ever when I had mono. At some point I stopped being alarmed by it and just became annoyed at my immune system's fetish for theatricality. So when I get a little sniffly or get a small cough, I take some Dayquil and be thankful its not as bad as I know it can be. I had been feeling kind of icky all week and I just ignored it. But when I was sitting on the train unable to keep my eyes open —despite the fact that I had gotten 8 hours of sleep, took my Adderall two hours earlier, and was on my second cup of coffee (It was National Coffee Day)— that little voice in my head tried to tell me that my annual dramatic illness has made its debut. Not wanting to participate in the performance, I ignored my intuition in hopes it would go away on its own.  You may have assumed the remainder of this story would be a climatic reveal of the deathly disease I discovered and how I was bedridden and
my life stopped completely. If I was right in my assumption, you were wrong in yours. What actually happened is everything I did became twice as hard and I had to drink a lot more coffee. My sickness made me so tired and I became very unproductive and discombobulated. I got behind in my homework that weekend and it followed me back to school, demonstrating the snowball effect quite perfectly. I could only focus on the barren desert that my throat became and I forgot assignments and due dates and just generally felt miserable all day. And at night wasn't any better I had fevers and chills and never slept more than and hour and a half at a time. Finally, on Friday I gave in and made an appointment at Sindecuse. I went in to get tested for every illness I could think of/diagnosed myself with on WebMD. They sent me to different desks and rooms and labs for an hour and a half only to tell me they had no clue what was wrong. The doctor prescribed me penicillin and ibuprofen because he didn't know what else to do. I took one of each 3 times a day after that and nothing changed until Tuesday when I was able to eat something other than ramen and cough drops for the first time. I'm not exactly convinced the medication had anything to do with it, but I'm now feeling like a human again.

Most coherent thought so far this morning: "wow, ducks are some pretty cool guys." #notenoughcoffeeintheworld

An obnoxious unwanted cacophony pierces my eardrums and disrupts the peaceful vacation into my unconscious thoughts. I try to discern where this awful sound is coming from and who I need to punish for it. I open my eyes to find the culprit and I see my phone screen lighting up to display the unholy truth that another good night of sleep has been lost. This prompts me to quickly go through the phases of grief.

Denial: Nope. This is not real. I don't have to get up. No one would notice if I just stayed in bed forever. I can totally sleep for another 3 hours. Probably this is just a dream and my whole life has been a dream and if I got back to sleep I will wake back up at nap time in kindergarten and I can go play with Playdough and blocks until snack time.
Anger: Shit. Fucking Fuckers. Damn it.

Bargaining: If I hit snooze then I'll so be ready to wake up, five minutes makes a huge difference. Dear God, I know we aren't very tight, but like do me a solid and just turn back time real quick? Coolio, I owe you one bro.
Depression: There is no point to anything and everything is dumb. School is dumb. The sun is dumb. The weather is dumb. Thinking is dumb. Moving is dumb. This bed is dumb. The morning is dumb Coffee is dumb. I'm sorry I take that back coffee, I love you. But everything else, you're still dumb.

Acceptance: Ugh. Shit okay, well if this turns out not to be a dream and I fail out of college I will be so screwed. Also the sooner I get up the sooner I get coffee.

Once my brain decided to actually wake up I could begin the slow process of getting my body to agree with me. I let out a low grunt that gradually elevates in pitch until it becomes a squeal, this habitual noise is my built in alarm system (batteries not included). I point my toes and wiggle my feet, preparing them for the trek they are about to embark on. Then I throw my arms above my head to stretch them out as well, but on the way up they smack the make shift shelf stuck to the wall with a single command strip. Then the thick, plastic container, holding two books, my hair clip, and a book light fell like the Power Tower, leaving a lovely throbbing feeling on my face. To save time, for a description of my reaction to this event please refer to the previously mentioned stages of grief.

With my eyes still stuck together with the glue of dispair, I shift my weight around until I am miraculously able to heave myself upwards and began my descent down my poorly designed loft bed.   Mindful of the uneven bars that line the head of my bed and stay up all night giggling about how good they are gonna get me in the morning by pretending to be a ladder, I clutch the side of my bed as tightly as possible to avoid any further injury.  I lower myself down the side of my bed quickly and swiftly only to be thwarted again in my attempt to start the day smoothly. Sadly, while trying to outwit the jerks that pretend to be my ladder, I had to focus all my energy on not falling and I forgot about the precision it takes to guide myself through the narrow space between my bed and my roommate's. My hips are lodged between the two beds and only one foot knows where it even is, the other is being a brat, dangling in the abyss somewhere. With my feet choosing to be extremely unhelpful, I'm forced to I hoist my self up with my still-sleeping arms enough to twist my body to the proper angle. This actually ended up took so much energy that I assumed someone must have injected liquid McChicken strips into me while I slept  and I morphed into Honey Boo Boo's mom overnight.

Eventually I stumbled through the blackness into the bathroom. As I opened the cabinet and searched for my bundled hog hairs on a stick and magic teeth goop I was having no luck. Then I remembered that when one is hoping to see an object it is imperative to open one's eyes. With that bit of advanced science on my side, I conjured up all the energy I could and peeled open my eyelids, which felt more opening one of those lift and pull cans of tuna than using a supposedly reflexive muscle. Squinting through my sleep frosted vision, I was able to find all my toothbrush and toothpaste (you didn't actually think I kept bundled hog hairs and magic teeth goop did you? I'm a college student! I can't afford magic! Get some perspective brosef).

After making myself socially acceptable in the bathroom I started a pot of coffee. I grabbed a granola bar and a banana and sat down to watch my daily fill of news from SourceFed on youtube while I waited for my coffee to be ready. When I powered on my computer I saw that I had only 15 minutes until I had to leave. Somehow I had lost 20 minutes blundering around in the bathroom. Without thinking—thats kind of my thing if you didn't catch on— I shoot up out of my chair, hitting my small Ikea table and knocking over the cup of tea I didn't clean up last night. Shit. I trudge over to the shelf where we keep the paper towel and wipe up the mess and take the cup into the bathroom.

Now I only have 12 minutes. I decide to sacrifice my usual charade I put on of having any sort of style and just stay in my sweat pants and tie dye t-shirt I wore to bed. I throw my hair into a pony tail and search for a clean pair of socks, but I was a fool for thinking I'd be so lucky to find any. I dig through my dirty laundry hamper and find the least smelly pair. That'll do donkey, that'll do. After my shameful outfit is complete I pack my backpack and while I'm zipping up all the pockets I realize I've lost my favorite pen. Please refer to the above stages of grief. I have 7 minutes until I have to leave. Shit! I never drank my coffee. I scuttle over to the coffee maker excitedly, anticipating the wonderful experience sure to come when my lips touch that miracle liquid. I take a sip and it rips my hopes and dreams away and throws them on the floor next to the overflowing garbage can by being gross and cold. As I am not a weenie, I do not sit idle by and weep while my hopes and dreams hang out with the garbage can. No sir! I take charge and toss my coffee in the microwave for 1 minute. It beeps and I eagerly grab the cup and ignore that the cup is too hot. Then what do you know I burn my upper lip when I sip it and it is very very very hot. I grab a spoon and stir and blow and try not to think about how much I just want to fall into fetal position and go hang out with my hopes in dreams by the garbage.

I throw on my back pack and give my coffee about a minute to cool off, I think he just wanted some space and its understandable, I've been quite clingy and needy lately. When my coffee starts warming up to me again, I lovingly suck it all down only taking breaks for air. We really do belong together. I was supposed to leave one minute ago, time flies when you're going absolutely insane. I grab my keys and I'm out the door. My scrambled thoughts continue to bombard me all the way down the street until I get to the pond. As I stare out at the artificially manicured nature I see a group of ducks. I think about how they don't even have to get up, like they could sleep all day and here they are, up and at 'em, just being ducks. Then all of the jumbled fragments of ideas in my head disappear for a second and I have this moment of clarity where I realize that ducks are some pretty cool guys.