By LAURA SANCHEZ, Staff Writer
I had a bad week, and this is my sob story.
Alright, so it wasn’t a horrible week. No one died, and I didn’t fail a test. I didn’t get pulled over by a cop or get into a horrible accident in the middle of an almost-blizzard last Wednesday. But it was a rollercoaster of a week, with my emotions fluctuating from one state to another, and I just wanted to scream, “ENOUGH!” It was the type of bad week in which I wanted to resign myself to stay stagnant in a pool of misery and discontent for as long as possible, but then I realized that I had to get up to go to work.
Bad weeks aren’t the end of the world. Everyone has them, and everyone complains about them. It’s just a part of human life, and you can ask yourself, what’s the point? What’s the point of feeling sorry for myself? What’s even the point of complaining about the petty issues in life when in its entirety, my life could be so much worse? But that’s the thing about life: we can’t help how we feel. Even if someone tells you to get over yourself, to get over whatever is bothering you, you can’t change how you feel. Maybe your issues are small and petty, but you have a right to feel emotional about them. It’s your party and you can feel what YOU want to,
I can’t help but have a lot of feels after my bad week, and can’t help feeling heavy and immobile after a bad argument. Even after I ignore my own advice and tell myself to get over it, I can’t. I can’t just let my anger dissipate into a frosty mist as I sing my feelings out. It doesn’t work that way. Feelings go away by themselves, but wallowing in sadness doesn’t help me out either. So I won’t wallow.
Instead, I’m just going to go about my day, trying to let my sadness fade away, little by little. And when someone asks me why I’m not in a cheerful mood, I’ll just say that I’m having a bad day. I have a right to one.