In this state, you are a scrapbooker who has lost the scissors. You are trying to fit a syllabus, a social life, a workout routine, and eight hours of sleep onto a single page. Something is going to hang over the edge. The secret that upperclassmen forget to tell you is that a collage is not supposed to be seamless. The magic is in the rough edges. It is in the tear, not the perfect scissor cut.
And that is the "daze." The daze is the blur of walking into the wrong lecture hall for the third time. It is the vertigo of realizing your laundry has been sitting in the machine for six hours, turning into a damp science experiment. It is the specific brain fog of 2:00 AM, where a cold slice of pizza and a philosophical debate about the ethics of artificial intelligence feel equally urgent. collage daze
You will look back at the past few weeks—the wrong turns, the awkward silences, the all-nighters—and realize you weren't lost. You were composing . In this state, you are a scrapbooker who
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