Where do I even start?
You’d think it’d be easier to write about something you learned on a hard days, but it’s not.
And today, was hard.
Everything that could have went wrong, went wrong.
Today started with four hours of sleep, a skipped class, and a nowhere near finished essay. I am a perfectionist. I had this huge vision for this paper, and there was no way it was happening before class at 12:30. I went to my professors office and cried. I’ve never done that until today, and I hope to God it never happens again. It’s really weird. I’m pretty sure his face was more mortified than mine. There was another student in the office, but that didn’t stop me. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one in the room who felt awkward.
But this is only the beginning.
He is understanding. He says it’s fine. “It isn’t the first time this has happened, it’s okay.”
This isn’t a normal writing class. We write essays, and then we turn them in. To the entire class. Everyone reads it, and then tells us what’s wrong with it.
I tell him it’s shitty. I tell him I have a beginning and an end, but a very messy middle. It’s not developed. I ask him if I can turn it in that night. He says “everyone in the class is nice, you have nothing to worry about. You can just turn it in.” In class. In 15 minutes.
I run to the student center. I run into an old friend, Eric. He keeps me sane while I print 16 copies of this shitty 8 page paper for my entire class to read and tell me what’s wrong with it. Or at least, he tries.
The printer jams.
I’m late to class. My professor smiles a sad smile at me. He knows how I’m feeling.
I’m done with classes for the day. I rush to my car in the cold. The air is becoming winter air, and today it is especially biting and icy and sharp. It cuts across my face. But I don’t care, because I will be home in five minutes, and I will have trail mix. Trail mix will make me feel better, because, well, it’s trail mix.
I get home. I open the bag, and there are no M&M’s.
I lay in bed. Last year, my roommate Ava and I, came up with this theory. One day during my sophomore year, my laptop crashed. Instead of crying, I went to sleep. She tried this a few days later, too.
We found out, it works.
Ignore everything that’s wrong with your life, avoid all responsibility, sleep, wake up, and start your day over. It’s a thing.
So I did this. I slept for three hours. I didn’t have to think about anything, even though I did have really weird dreams about a pet hamster I never had and hotel hallways.
When I woke up, it was back to reality, which really sucked.
My day didn’t end with that horrible essay. I still had a video project due tomorrow morning, a costume project due the day after that, and a night full of plans that I had already committed to.
I debated whether I should go to a birthday dinner or work on one of my projects. I figure, heck, I need a good time after all this shit. I go to dinner. And I don’t regret it, because my friends are angels. (Martin that’s you)
I’m on the executive board of one of my organizations, and I’ve been planning and organizing a big/little program, which has never been done before in the organization’s years on campus. I’ve been working hard on it, and tonight was the reveal. It went pretty well, other than the fact that a few people never showed, we accidentally left a girl without a big, and another girl left the room upset.
You win some, you lose some.
I could write about crappy today was. I could write about the good moments and how to look on the bright side— how scattered between dark moments, there was definitely some light in my day.
I could write about how lucky I am that God has sent angels to be in my life. My roommate, Morgan, made me a bowl of mac and cheese earlier, because I couldn’t eat. Ava made me cookies for the reveal tonight, because I didn’t have time to bake them myself. I could write about Eric, at the printer. My friend Dan, who left me a note on the hood of my car, telling me to “Take a deep breath and have a little faith.” I could write about Kanchan and Anna, who always text me and make me feel better, and laugh with me at my shambles. I could write about Cherese, who sends me happy pictures when she knows its been a rough day, or Kara, who could relate with me on my quest for perfectionism. I could write about my mom, who is always so wonderful and caring and wise and loving, and willing to help me always.
And I guess I could write about the thing I took from each of these little moments. Treasures, tucked behind the creases of each one.
But all I know, and all I can say,
is that when it’s bad— it’s bad.
It always feels like the world falls at once. Never slowly. Never piece by piece. But it comes crashing down, and it doesn’t stop until there’s rubble everywhere, and every piece of good has been buried or destroyed.
But I can almost say with a very straight face that shitty days like this don’t phase me anymore. In the wider scope, at least. I cried more than once. I was stressed out, strung out, and exhausted. But I’m sitting here at 2am, and I can tell you that on a larger scale, I am not phased.
And you really can’t afford to be.
You have to learn to laugh at days like this. I mean, it’s funny. It’s hilarious. Everything that could have happened, did. And you made it through— broken or not.
At the end of the day, it honestly just rocks to know that you made it through. You may be bruised, or battered, or a little bit shaken up, but you are not phased. Nothing is going to stop you from getting up and going.
Keep doing that. Keep moving. Because tomorrow will be better, brighter, somehow. It always is.