I have spent my life harboring a bad habit of avoiding surprise endings. I even read the last paragraph of any book before I read the first. Clearly, I just don’t like surprises, which is probably why I’m teetering on the edge of insanity knowing how soon I’ll be throwing myself into this thing I’ve heard about called the “real world.” (And not the hit MTV show, that the great MJ alumnae Sahar Dika once graced).
I’m a control freak. I like being the driver in the car. I like having charge over the remote control. I like having hand sanitizer at the ready whenever I come in contact with anything faintly foul. Basically, I just like having a tight grip on every situation in my life. Last weekend I lost control of all of my marbles…quite literally. I was unfortunate enough to come in contact with a dreadful batch of food that sent everything I’d eaten in the past two days flying out of my mouth at warp speed.
The title of my favorite song is “The Weight.” The title of my nightmares lately has also been “The Weight…” *Cue dun dun dun scary background music.* Is this real life?
Pushy, stubborn, and bossy are all words that can be synonymous with bitch.
The first three words are the words that young, ambitious girls hear much more often than boys, according to the Lifetime PSA, Ban Bossy. When I heard about this mission to ban the label of bossy girls, I took a minute to think about how many times I’ve been called bossy because I know what I want. Because I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Because I have ambitions and dreams. What’s wrong with that? Why had I always thought I needed to silently accept the labels of pushy, stubborn, and bossy…even bitch?
The train ride was thirteen hours, the subway was crammed with bodies and our luggage, and the church was four D.C. blocks away from our stop on foot with over fifty pound bags. I started out my Alternative Spring Break in the nation’s capital cranky, tired, hungry, and inevitably thinking, “Is this real life?”
In case you didn’t already know, Kevin McCallister from Home Alone is my spirit animal. Recall the beginning of the movie when he’s cluelessly wandering the halls of his house trying to get help packing for a trip and all he wants is the simple nourishment of a cheese pizza? I just want my mom to pack my suitcase for me for the rest of my life, and all I ever want is a simple cheese pizza, just for me, but do I ever get my cheese pizza? NO. And will my mom pack my suitcase forevermore? Probs not.
If I had to compare my aversion to conflict in layman’s terms, I would liken myself to a Chihuahua. So basically, whenever anyone’s disagreements heighten over 75 decibels, you can nearly guarantee I will be sitting in the corner equating my reaction to be 33 percent fear, 33 percent shake, 33 percent anxiety, and 1 percent possibility of needing to nervous pee.
When this kind of all out life fatigue sets in, I’ve realized there’s only one way you can possibly reserve your sanity…TREAT YO SELF. You know why? Because when the going gets tough the tough get going all right. They get going to treat themselves. “But how do I treat myself when I’m already so overwhelmed?” you ask. Well, first of all, stop whining because that is cutting into quality you time. Second, forget about all your responsibilities and commitments for just one hour a day. Do it. It’s one hour that you probably were going to spend complaining anyways. So take that hour to do something you previously would say you don’t have time to do.
I think the ice on the ground is a metaphor for this semester. I can’t walk on ice without falling directly on my patootie. Thus I won’t be getting through this semester unscathed much like I had imagined. The unbecoming, unexplainable rash that sprouted on my arm overnight last week made me face the reality of extreme trauma. Is this real life?
I wish that I could viciously shake everyone who has been convinced that they need to overhaul their body a la dieting and extreme exercise and say, “JESSICA SIMPSON IS WEARING SPANX IN THAT COMMERCIAL. PUT DOWN THAT NASTY, POWDERY PROTEIN ‘MILKSHAKE’ AND BUY SOME SPANX IF YOU WANT TO LOOK LIKE THAT. And please, avoid everything Jillian Michaels tells you because she just scares me.”