I am waking up at 5:30 to take the GRE tomorrow. I am terrified.
I've gathered together all my standardized-test-taking accouterments: the ripped gallon Ziploc bag that still had my AP Student Test Packet and eight No. 2 pencils in it, a relic two years old; the faded and creased white "Splatter in D minor" shirt my brother got for me ages and ages ago; my secondhand black jacket with the breast pockets; my soccer sweats from sophomore year of high school that I need to roll twice at the waist to keep from trailing on the ground. But I can't find my shoes.
Good Lord. I can't find my shoes.
They're a pair of blue-black-grey patterned Vans I got in seventh grade, my first pair of not-tennis shoes. They've got holes in them nearly all the way around, but I've worn them to every single major exam I've taken since then--the AP's, the SAT's, the SAT II's, even college finals. But, holy crap, I'm taking the GRE tomorrow and I can't find my Vans.
Somewhere, future me is laughing at my priorities.
