In many ways, tonight I find myself in the same situation as I have found myself at many points in my life. I’m alone in my silent, dark living room. The only light comes from my computer screen and the Himalayan salt lamp that I never turn off (in the vain hopes that the box will be right, that it really will purify the air around me and reduce my stress and anxiety levels-thus far, it hasn’t). Like so many times before, I have what seems to be an impossible task in front of me-this time, it’s another paper. I have to finish it tonight and submit it to the writing center tomorrow for editing, so I can have time to make the necessary changes before I submit it to my instructor. Same song and dance as usual.
But I’m tired, y’all. Like, the kind of tired where you envy Sleeping Beauty because the bitch didn’t have to even wake up to go to the bathroom. I would give just about anything, including a couple of the less-important limbs, to have a week to just lay in bed and stare at the wall. In fact, for the first few weeks of this semester, I did spend an awful lot of time outside of work staring at my bedroom walls, giving in to a depressive fog that hadn’t been that deep in a while. I don’t know, it just all got to be a bit too much for a moment.
But…this is also it. Five papers (including this one) and one presentation separate me from a master’s degree. It’s hard to believe that this journey is almost complete, and I really have no plans for college beyond this. I always knew when I graduated with my Bachelor’s that I wanted to go back, but here it is. I can practically see the finish line if I squint hard enough.
So…I guess I’ll keep going tonight. And for the next few months. I’ll stay in this dark room until I finish. I have no more eloquent words, because I’m saving them for my paper.
I graduated from high school in 2008, which-if you’re keeping track-means that next year will be TEN WHOLE YEARS. It’s pretty hard for me to wrap my brain around it, because sometimes it feels like no time has passed at all. This weekend our former class president circulated a “survey” on Facebook asking about potential 10 year reunion locations for next year, because apparently the planning process needs to start a full 18 months in advance. On top of it, today I got added to an entire group dedicated to the planning of our ten year reunion. Here’s some thoughts that have gone through my head in the last 24-48 hours since realizing that this is a thing that’s happening:
- Where do I want our reunion to be? Is hell an option?
- Because that’s what it’ll be. Hell.
- They really put “apple orchard” as an option of where to have it? Seriously?
- Eh, whatever. I’m writing “nowhere”. Hahahah I’m funny.
- I can’t believe it’s been almost ten years since I walked through those sweaty, disgusting hallways.
- I am so not going to this thing.
- You’d have to pay me a lot of money to go.
- Oh God there’s an entire Facebook group dedicated to this.
- There’s no way I’m joining it.
- OK, fine, I’ll join it.
- OH SHIT. Somebody posted “I’m not going because I hate 98% of you”!!!!!!
- THE DRAMZ. THE DRAMZ. WHERE’S MY POPCORN
- Oh shit she called someone a bitch. Maybe this group will be better than I thought!!!
- …until the admin turns off commenting/posting without “prior approval”. Fuckin lame.
- Why do we need a reunion. Literally, why do we need it? That’s what Facebook is for.
- Oh how cute, someone posted “I thought we might have grown up by now but I guess not”. I wish I could reply “I thought you would’ve stopped posting about how wonderful your ‘hubs’ is and how thankful to Jesus you are by now, but sometimes life throws us a curveball”
- The amount of people posting about how excited they are is somewhat surprising.
- But then again, these are the people who thought those “.08” shirts were funny.
- Come to think of it, I wonder how long it’ll be until that gets brought up.
- Two hours! Wow.
- They’ve got that infamous picture of all the douchelords in the office smiling because they got “busted”.
- You just know they still talk about that to people. That’s their party story.
- I wonder if they consider that they peaked at 17? Probably not.
- Looking at this picture fills me with hatred the likes of which I haven’t felt in ten years.
- Yeah I’m not going to this fuckin thing.