The last twenty four hours have been really vile. I mean it. Really. Vile. Last night I had a fight with my mom. Let me preface this by saying that my mom and I get along really well most of the time. We're simpatico, two peas in a pod, on the same page. But last night, I lost my shit. Lost. My. Shit. I didn't mean to. It just happened. I'd had a hectic day: office Christmas party at 12:00, a final exam at 2:30, work from 5 to 8, and then I was planning on going back up to school to study and spend the night with my friend. I had to go home after work to pack an overnight bag, and that's when the shit hit the fan. I was greeted by my mom at the door, "I'm really worried about you going up to school tonight. I'm worried you are going to drink. I'm worried about your safety. I'm worried about you spending money that you don't have. I'm worried." To which I replied, "Well, I'm just going up to study, but if you're really worried about it I'll stay home." (Yes, this was definitely an overreaction, but I'd had a long day, which made me ripe for a mental breakdown, and it was the tail end of FINALS WEEK!!!!!) So, after my mom said that she didn't want me to not go, she just wanted me to reassure her that I wasn't going to drink, or get into any kind of unsafe situation, I naturally threw my car keys across the floor (shattering my $50 key fob), tore off my coat, ran up the stairs in four and a half inch heels (almost killing myself numerous times), and flung myself down on the bed! I sobbed for about five minutes, rubbed off all my eye make-up in a fit of self-loathing, and then changed into sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt before guiltily slinking downstairs to pick up the pieces of my key fob. My mom was in the kitchen making dinner, and when she saw me, I said, "I'm going to put my car in the driveway. I'll be right back." I left before she could say anything, parked my car, sat with my head on the steering wheel while "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" played on the radio, and decided to go back inside versus stand in the middle of the street and wait for the next car to come run me over. I proceeded to kneel on the floor and pick up the pieces of my key fob, which was when my mom decided to come over and tell me that she thought it was probably broken. Thanks mom. What would I do without you? Of course, I'd be lost without her. Literally. Lost. But, at that moment I just wanted her to evaporate like the mist over the Amazonian rain forest. Poor moms. They can't win.
Anyway, I found all but one piece of my key fob, and then sat on the floor for a few minutes and cried about how immature I was and how "I'm twenty-four and need to grow the fuck up!" Then I ate a baked potato and refused to talk about why I was so upset. The truth? I'm have a quarter life crisis. It involves feeling like life is closing in on me, and like I don't have much more time to have fun before convention forces me to settle down, get married, and have babies. It's a sensation of being suffocated by my small town life and lack of social interaction (caused by being home schooled for the first eighteen years of my life). But instead of buying a hot car (which I actually did do), my quarter life crisis has made me want to go dancing, stay up late watching bad movies with my friends, drink those exciting cocktails with the funny names that I've never had before (Sex On the Beach, Brain Hemorrhage, The Lindsay Lohan), and get parts of my body pierced. To this I ask: What's so wrong with that? Doesn't everyone go through this stage in life where they drink too much, party too hard, make bad decisions, blow huge amounts of money, and end up with massive regrets? I mean, it's a right of passage, isn't it? Apparently it's a right of passage your loved ones will do everything in their power to stop you from going through. Because it's unsafe, unwise, impractical, foolish, blah, blah, blah......
So, instead of explaining all of this, which I've sort of already done, I decided to just eat my potato and watch Ingrid Bergman's "Scenes From a Marriage". Very. Depressing.
This morning I had to wake up at 6:30 a.m. because I had my French Final exam at 8 o'clock. Between the two parts of the exam, I went to check my final grades for my other classes online. This is when I found out that I just barely passed my Weather class. Now: I am a straight A student, folks. Straight. A's. The only other non-A grade I've ever gotten was in Statistics, which I passed with a D. So, this D- marked a new low. Then, I pretty much bombed my French exam. As one kid in my class so eloquently put it, "That exam just raped me up the ass." Agreed, dude. Agreed.
Ok....I'm sick of writing, so I'll post Part II of "The Sucktitude of This Day: 12/16/2011" either later tonight, or tomorrow. Pray for me, people. Pray to the God of All Things Happy and Non-Sucktitudinal.
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