I was in seminar today, right? Supposed to be all deep dives into post-colonial theory, or whatever fancy words they use to describe, you know, people getting screwed over. And there I am, phone tucked under my thigh, screen glowing like a little alien sun, refreshing some celeb news feed. Like, Kim Kardashian’s new haircut. THAT was my priority. The shame was a dull thud in my chest, not a sharp stab. More like a bruise you don't notice till you lean against something. Professor Davies was droning on about power dynamics, and all I could think was how many sponsored posts Kim K probably had to do to pay for that cut. Me? I’m still scraping together loose change for the parking meter. The tuition bill is a whole other beast. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m even doing here. This whole grad school thing was supposed to be… different. A way out. My buddy, Marco, he works two jobs, still talks about going back to school. He’d probably bust my chops for wasting time. 'They ain't payin' you to stare at no screen, *hermana*,' he'd say. And he’d be right. I mean, my mom worked her fingers raw at the factory, never had the luxury of… this. This *indulgence* of sitting in a room thinking about dead white guys and their theories while I'm watching a millionaire's haircut. It felt like I was spitting on everything she did. The fluorescent lights in the seminar room hummed, a low, constant buzz that just... seeped into my bones. My eyes felt gritty, like I’d been up for days. Which, honestly, I had. Between the TA gig and trying to keep up with readings that feel like they’re written in another language sometimes, sleep’s a luxury. And then I go and waste precious brain cells on… this. Celeb gossip. I just kept scrolling, even when I knew I should be jotting down notes about Foucault or whoever. My fingers just kept moving, a muscle memory of avoidance. I looked at the girl next to me, meticulously underlining passages in her textbook, her pen scratching a steady rhythm. She probably thinks I’m taking notes. Hah. She probably thinks I’m smart. I wonder what she thinks about when Professor Davies goes on a tangent. Probably not about the best way to make ramen stretch for three meals. The gulf between us felt wider than the Atlantic. And I just kept refreshing that stupid feed. What am I even doing. I don't even — whatever. It’s almost 2 AM now. Another day, another dollar… or lack thereof. And another unfinished paper.