Prague's dreamland doesn't extend to my kitchen

Not too far from the truth...I walked into my kitchen this morning and my feet were coated in a thin and crumbly layer of granola, sugar, salt, and dust bunnies. The sink was overflowing and a dollop of yogurt sat gelatinous on the counter near the coffee pot. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat in a finger-printed metal bowl and our entire cabinet full of glasses seemed to move itself onto the kitchen table. I wish I could say that this was a nightmare, or perhaps a gross exaggeration, but unfortunately, I live with 10 girls that find it incredibly difficult to flex their arms in such a way that the dishwasher opens and their dishes go in. Everyday, our kitchen becomes the scene of another food fight, without the actual throwing of food. My mother would have a conniption if she saw its state this morning, as I rub the sleep from my eyes and feel my stomach turn. I’m thirsty. The tap is covered by a pot with an errant strand of pasta clinging to its side. This kitchen has obviously seen the signs of our semester in Prague. Responsibility seems to have disappeared this semester, much like the sponge that is hidden beneath this disgusting pile. The idea that we’re supposed to be adults seems to be lost on us, as we stay up late, eat crap, and pretend that magical fairies will somehow descend and clean the dishes we leave out, day after day. I guess it doesn’t help that we live in a somewhat magical city. Prague, while over the course of the three months we’ve been here has become less of a fairytale land, the feeling that we’re studying abroad in a place so rife with history and culture continues to keep me in a daze. I only wish that at least one of us would snap out of it and pop this surreal bubble we’re all in. Maybe the clatter of a thousand dishes breaking as I try to maneuver my water bottle under the sink will do the trick.