Still Haven’t Cried.

It’s 4:00 a.m. in Hipsterville and I still haven’t cried. 

It hasn’t even occurred to me why. The stress of my daily life the past few weeks has felt insurmountable. I’ve been having a really fun semester and bam, what do ya know? I’m failing 3 of my 4 classes. The other class, I have a C in. It makes me feel like I can’t have it all. Like I can’t have fun AND still be successful and high achieving. Honestly, the stress of not living up to my own expectations has been more intense than the stress of my previous, less fun, meticulous life.

Not to mention, the stress and outright fear I have been experiencing for the past week every time my phone rings. Every. Fucking. Time.

And it’s always something awesome. The bakery I ordered my birthday cake calling about the pick up time. A cookie delivery company calling to confirm surprise delivery from my parents. But still, every time it fucking rings I think my stomach is going to fall out my butt.

That’s right. Straight out my ass. 

Because I’ve been expecting to NOT get a phone call, I have been insanely wigged out over getting any phone call.. The irony. I’ve literally had graphic day dreams while in traffic of screaming and throwing my iPhone with all of my might in the direct path of an 18 wheeler and satisfyingly watching as it is crushed and smashed into oblivion. And then with an irritated honk of the car behind me, I come-to and stop stalling at the now-green streetlight.

“We only call if there’s a problem,” she explained. “If you don’t hear from us within a week, go ahead and give us a call if you would like to confirm anything.” Tomorrow, or well, today considering it is 4 a.m. will mark one week. I’ll be calling at 8 a.m. so I can finally put this all behind me, calm the fuck down, and finally relax the tension I’ve been carrying for all of this time.

My  birthday was Tuesday. For a week I’ve been building my mother up to the idea of me getting a tattoo (the one I already have and haven’t told her about). So I decided it would be perfectly fitting to “get my tattoo” on my birthday. I pondered it all day and then two Woodchucks in I said “ehhh what the hell” and I went for it. It was 4 a.m. her time, a safe option I thought. I sent her a picture I took immediately after receiving my tattoo, you can see it in my post INK, along with the message “I decided to get my tattoo, YAY”.

2 minutes later she iMessaged back “ouch” and I haven’t heard from her since. I don’t know whether I should be concerned or if I should consider this a win. It would bug me if she was mad at me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even flinch or care either. Besides, it’s not all that unusual to not hear from her for days.

But still, with all the crazy that has been surrounding this crap shoot that is my life, I haven’t felt sad. Haven’t cried. Haven’t felt lonely. I’ve felt busy as shit, distracted, and I’ve felt pissed the fuck off. 

 

78 days. 18 hours. 33 minutes. That’s how long I have to wait until I  graduate and can get the fuck out of Hipsterville. 

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