My day begins with a bottle of Red Bull expertly diluted with Smartwater to make it last 70% longer with only a 2% energy decrease. After this, I get out of my bed, stretch my arms, and give myself some positive affirmations: “You are of a high societal value. You will receive a Rhodes Scholarship. You will own a summer home in Miami. Sarah is only not texting you back because she feels intimidated by your intelligence, not because you are an asshole.” I let out a deep breath and look at my schedule for the day. I have scribbled in a meager 14 activities for the morning—one of my lighter days, to be sure. I get dressed in my usual intellectual-sweater-overtop-a-sensitive-button-down and rush downstairs to eat breakfast before my first class. 

I’m late for my lecture, but it’s of no consequence because the lectures don’t help me, I already self-taught myself the entire course in 10th grade. On the leisurely walk to my classroom, I don’t run into a wall of renowned research projects with portraits of Nobel prize winners; instead, a goofy mascot painting peers at me, encouraging me to support “school spirit.” I pick up my pace, grimacing at the idea of a crowded football game, overrun by excited students with a clear misunderstanding of academic priorities. 

As I enter, I hear my professor opening with his usual boring formalities. “If you need help, come visit me, I am here for you and your learning… I care about each of you individually as students,” blah blah blah–clearly someone has too much time on their hands. As my fellow classmates nod at his words, I feel my face turning to a scowl. Who would want to meet with their professor when the class material is so easy? Even if the class was difficult (unlikely), I wouldn’t want to meet my professor anyway because I disagree with their research and actually disproved their Ph.D. thesis yesterday while I was waiting for my laundry to dry. The professor continues to drone. My scowl turns back to a smug grin as I look at the rows of students around me and remind myself that they are not on my intellectual level. When I leave class, I levitate above the ground slightly because my brain just holds that kind of power here. 

Following my usual lunch routine, I head to the dining hall, where I am accosted by a frightening situation. My close friend reveals to me that he would like to go into a technical career rather than pursue the fine wisdom of academia. Quickly, I whip around my head, making sure no one around heard his scandalous reveal. He claims that he needs a steady job during and after college to support his family and that he doesn’t have the time to study to get the grades needed to become summa cum laude. I bet the imbecile doesn’t even know what summa cum laude means. (It’s Latin for “with highest distinction,” by the way.) My now-ex-friend mentions he doesn’t have any generational wealth to fall back on and has a lot of responsibility on his shoulders—Since when was that my problem? He neglects to realize that now I must deal with the embarrassment of having to explain why my former close friend is not a Ph.D. candidate. It’s too much for one up-and-coming Rhodes Scholar to handle, and I feel the urge to leave. I give him a terse farewell and hurry back to my dorm. 

On my way to my dorm, which disappointingly doesn’t look like a castle, I notice McDonald’s spaced at regular intervals. I am uneasy. Who could possibly need such cheap food near them? Why not pay the extra money to support local business? I hurry into my room to prepare for one of my eight extracurriculars. I am in 17 leadership positions on campus, which I do not because I want to, but because I know that no one can do them as well as I can. Essentially, the whole campus would suffer without me. In fact, just the other day I worked with the university president to make sound investments into fossil fuels and to reduce university costs by decreasing toilet paper quality by 80 percent. You’re welcome for doing your job, student government. 

After my club meeting, I head to the library to finish an internship application for something dream-like and resume-boosting. I hate to give away too much information, but the company title rhymes with “McPinsey Monsulting.” Supposedly the entire student body of my college is fighting for this one opportunity, but I fear no one—I know too many people with important last names. In a brief 30 minutes, I complete the application on a level above all other students. Perfect. Just enough time to attend the craziest, most exclusive, most thematically-creative party on campus. I can party every day here because I have so much extra time on my hands from how easy my assignments are. I don’t have to study for any of my tests because my scores are 110% when curved to fit with the rest of the class’s grades.

I head back to my room after the party, frustrated because some girl spilled her beer on my favorite pair of khakis. She, and her entire dorm, will be receiving a very strongly worded yet passive listserv email. Thank God they have email chains here. I strip off my soiled pants and sink into my bed. Another day of success achieved easily and without stress. I fall asleep to the happy thought of graduating in two and a half years with a perfect GPA. Life is good.