So I’m sitting here at 12:06 a.m. on a Saturday night/early Sunday morning trying to crank out a research paper, wondering why-oh-why I ever decided to go back to graduate school. It’s not so much that it’s all that hard, but it’s that I’m such a procrastinator that I wait until the day before my shit is due to actually do my shit. It’s a bad, bad, BAD habit. I’ve never been much of a procrastinator before, but evidently graduate school has turned me into one. (Note: I’m procrastinating my tasks RIGHT NOW to write this blog about procrastination. I’M THE MASTER OF PROCRASTINATION, FOLKS!)
Tonight’s been a weird night anyway. I have friends in town and I want to hang out with them all night. I’m really, really, really missing my family. I’m really, really, really, really missing my girl friends. And I’m so, so, so stressed out. This is causing me to be a major sad panda. When I got home from ditching my friends early, I just burst into tears. Like, the Kate-Winslet-in-the-Holiday-when-she-gets-home-after-discovering-her-unrequitted-lover-was-engaged tears. I’m not much of a crier and I never know what to do when I cry, so I tried crying on my bed for a while, but it didn’t feel right. So I went into my closet and stood there for a while. Then I decided to sit down in my closet. The floor felt awkward, so I got up and sat in my laundry basket. Bad idea. I guess it wasn’t as full as it appeared (probably because I’ve been doing a shit-ton of laundry lately to procrastinate this f’n paper) and I hit the bottom of the basket. That caused me to really cry, but more of a laugh-cry. In my dramatic moment of downward crying spiral, I asked God to send me a sign. I looked up and saw a pair of rusty scissors.
“This is it,” I thought. “This is where I scissor my wrists until I die.”
“No wait, I should probably just stab myself in the chest and get it over with,” I rethought.
Then I decided that I’d probably die of lock-jaw before I’d ever be able to kill myself with those dull scissors. I began laughing uncontrollably, pulled my ass out of that damn laundry basket, and pulled my ass out of that damn funk I was in. Then I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and, surprisingly decided that I’d be great in a really sad movie. I cry quite prettily. Then I looked down at my cell phone and noticed a long strand of snot sitting on the screen and though, “Maybe I shouldn’t cry in public after all…”
Life’s not that bad. Stress is manageable. I’m not living in a cardboard box. I have a warm place to sleep at night. I have amazing friends who I can call or text or Facebook message at the drop of a hat and tell them I’m having a rough day and they respond within seconds (Here’s lookin’ at you, Maggie, Heather, Jacy, and Kylie). I was given the opportunity to go back to school, so I need to embrace the suck.
This whole blog was to mostly say that I miss you, my readers. I’m sorry I don’t have the time to blog as much, but next time I find myself at the bottom of a laundry basket, I’ll be sure to think of you. And I hope you’ll think of me, too, and send well wishes my way as I get through this treacherous time in my life. If you ever find yourself at the bottom of a laundry basket in your closet, get out of that closet and phone a friend. Feeling loved never hurt anyone.