I watched my crossed fingers fold together above my head and felt the pull in the base of my neck as I stretched the tension in my arms, the drawback to writing hunched over my makeshift desk which consisted of a three hundred dollar textbook, a shoebox, and a broken purple clipboard. My knees and hips ached from sitting cross legged on the bed, a position I thoroughly enjoy the idea of, but rarely participate in due to the gangly length of my legs. I am honestly convinced they just aren’t meant to bend that way.