"And then," my government professor clears his throat, and my glazed eyes are brought back to life as my eyelids flutter at the change in his tone. No, not because I'm in love with him (he's old, anyways). This is nothing like Indiana Jones where I go around writing "love you" on my eyelids and sitting in the front row to bat my eyes at a young Harrison Ford.

I try to sit up more in my seat (which is thankfully not in the front row) as my government professor continues his speech. Emphasis on "try" in the first part of that sentence. The seats in this auditorium bend in the back, so I'm either leaning into the lap of the person behind me, or I'm slouched over, right elbow on the tiny, pathetic excuse of a desk that folds up from the side of my chair.

I've never found government to be interesting, especially U.S. government. Even U.S. History's better than this class—at least there are wars and stuff to learn about. But government? Yawn.

I do exactly that, leaning back in my chair, but then slouch forwards again as it keeps leaning back, and I almost hit the knee of the person behind me.

"Sorry," I mutter over my shoulder, glancing back to see a sorority girl with large earrings, texting one of her friends and completely unaware that I had been invading her personal space.

It's only been ten minutes since class started, and I've got another hour and five minutes to go. Great.

C'mon, Jessie, you can do this. Focus.

Instead, my eyes roam over the blank faces of the other students in the lecture hall.

There's a really cute guy sitting two people over from my left, and I only sink lower in my seat. Since I had gotten very little sleep the night before, I'm dressed in sweats and an old T-shirt, makeup-less, my uncombed dark brown hair hastily tied back and reinforced with a thick green headband. Oh, and did I mention that I'm wearing my glasses instead of contacts today? Why is it that whenever I'm looking presentable, there's not a single decent-looking guy around, but as soon as I'm sleep-deprived and looking like a hobo, hot guys are everywhere?

My government professor keeps up his speech with no sign of stopping. I've given up trying to understand what he's talking about, and try to find something else to do—anything that will keep me awake.

"Mitchell" is shading his name into the margin of his notebook next to me. The girl to my left is sipping a Starbucks frappuccino. On the back of the chair I'm sitting behind, a face drawn by some stupid college kid with a sharpie grins maniacally at me.

Finished surveying my immediate surroundings, I expand my observations to the farthest reaches of the classroom. Some people who brought their laptops have given up taking notes and instead have moved on to Facebook. Others, like the skinny Mitchell kid next to me, are doodling. And a few people who look just as tired as I am are either nodding off to sleep or staring vacantly at the floor, simply trying to keep their eyes open. And then there are the very select few, who through some divine power are managing to actually listen and understand what the heck our professor is talking about.

Someone a few rows behind me bursts into a coughing fit, and I shift in my seat as my legs start to fall asleep. Is this class over yet? I'd like to get on with my life, please. Or actually, I'd just like to crawl back into bed with the snuggly purple comforter as soon as I return to my dorm room.

The movement of a girl mixing a package of Crystal Light into her water bottle catches my attention for the next few minutes. After watching her stir the package into the water (out of lack of anything better to do), I give into my urge to sneak a look at the clock on the right wall of the class. Forty-five minutes. Argh.

My next trick is to ruffle around in my backpack and see if I actually ate those Ritz bits I put in there yesterday, or if I'd forgotten. An empty red wrapper greets me, and my stomach grumbles sadly. Oh well.

Next, I check my phone for messages. Apparently, I'm not as popular as the sorority girl madly texting behind me (or maybe it's just that all my friends are still asleep). I give a small sigh and pick up my Paper Mate mechanical pencil, twirling it, clicking it, unwinding the eraser, rewinding the eraser…from the look Mitchell is giving me, I'm starting to wear on his nerves. I slowly set the pencil down on top of my notebook, where the two bullet-points I've written for today's notes grace the otherwise-blank page.

The professor is talking about the purpose of McCulloch vs. Maryland now, and I briefly tune in to write down a few important points. Then, like Mitchell, I begin doodling in the margins. A spirally vine-thing here, a dinosaur there…maybe an Egyptian pyramid and a teacup, too. Mmm, tea. I suddenly realize how thirsty I am, and immediately glance back up at the clock. Fifteen minutes left! The rest of the class time is spent impatiently alternating my gaze between the clock, the professor, and my notebook.

Finally, the creaking of desks being folded down and the rustle of backpacks tells me there's less than five minutes left in class. The professor rambles on, but no one is bothering to take notes anymore. We all sit on the edge of our seats, waiting for him to dismiss us. Waiting, waiting…

I'm free! I join the mass exodus that squeezes through one of the four doors in the room. It's about time!

A short story inspired by boredom. Reviews are appreciated!

(:3=