The only thing better than having a snow day is planning for one.
And those 32 minutes on Sunday night when the rest of Virginia Tech and I believed that we would not be attending classes the next morning, were some of the best snow-planning minutes of my life.
Nothing I did that next day was particularly painful. What stung were the dreams of what I could have done — I was the freaking Jay Gatsby of snow days.
All I could think about was how I was going to do that thing where you plan to sleep in. But then I would end up waking up early and fully rested while everyone else was still sleeping and sit watching the snow fall while I drank coffee that was too strong.
I was going to make ugly crepes because I still don't have the right kind of pan and the only time I think to buy one is when it's snowing. But then it's too hard to get to T.J. Maxx.
I was going to eat them while staring out my window and yelling mean things at that one stupid kid who decided to walk through the snow in my backyard, ruining the perfect, glittering effect.
I was going to get bored and try to use a can of tuna to catch the poor, cold baby kitten that lives under my dumpster. I was going to be sad when I realized (again) the kitten doesn't want to be caught.
Then, since I was already out of the house, I was going to walk down the street to 7-Eleven for clove cigarettes and watch the smoke curl and hang in the air as I walked back.
I was going to slide on icy patches in my non-snow boots, and look forlornly at the banks of snow while wishing I wasn't a grown woman and still owned snow pants so I could play outside.
I was going to play outside anyway.
When my toes got too cold to feel, I was going to climb into an unreasonably hot shower until they came stinging back to life. I was going to keep standing there until I had wrinkly red lobster skin.
I was going to stick my comforter in the dryer and then burrito myself on the couch for a Harry Potter movie marathon.
I was going to fall asleep and wake up gripped with panic, thinking I'd overslept all of my classes. I was going to remember that it was nighttime and that I didn't have classes, and then poke around my house doing everything but my homework.
It was going to be beautiful. It was going to be glorious. It was going to be perfect, spontaneous, fun and — well honestly, probably not at all true.
In all likelihood I was going to sit in bed all day watching Netflix.
But I'd built it up in my head dammit, and those episodes of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” weren't going to watch themselves. Those 32 minutes of dreaming and scheming were all for naught.
Instead, all I got was a regular day of classes and work, and a boatload of repressed hopes for the snow day that was never meant to be.