I Don't Know What to do With My Hands

It’s almost hilarious that I’m trying to do work for my Capstone class today. All I’ve done so far is eat sushi and buy make-up. Does blogging count as being, like, half-productive? Like I’m sticking to a regimen… but I’m also avoiding schoolwork. Someone weigh in on this. Someone who agrees with me.

So okay, what step in the grieving process am I at this week? Let’s see, there was a lot of frustration, then some brief elation last week, and now I’m just… confused. That sounds weird, but I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like I don’t know what to do with myself at this point. I still have a lot of work, and we still have a bunch of bucket-list-type things we need to do before the dreaded walk across the stage. I’ve just gotten to a point where I have no idea how to be. I’m sad, of course, but everyone’s congratulating me. Hence, “I don’t know what to do with my hands??????”

It should also be noted that I’ve upgraded from a stage 2 to a stage 5 clinger. I am trying desperately to grasp onto my friends because I can feel them slipping away. So don’t be alarmed if I seem more invested than usual. Or if I call you a few times a day. Or if I’m sitting in a chair in the middle of your room in the dark waiting for you to get home. These are all typical stage 5 clinger mechanisms and should be met with encouragement and love. It’s because I love you and I’m trying to strength the bonds of our friendship before you all up and leave me to die in the middle of the ditch where my emotions live. There’s alcohol down here.

There are mixed emotions, children, and there are a lot of them. We’re having all of these senior events for my sorority which are, of course, very fun, but also the saddest things ever. You all know I’m not one to be incredibly invested in my chapter, but we just had our very last meeting yesterday and I cried in the middle of it. Yeah. I cried over a sorority thing. That kind of stuff is happening to me. On the one hand, I NEVER HAVE TO TAKE TWO HOURS OUT OF MY SUNDAY EVER AGAIN. But on the other hand… my friends. These girls that I love. Many of them who I’ve known for four years and spent most of my collegiate career bitching and complaining about sorority stuff with. I hope I can clarify to the girls of AGD: just because I was never as in love with the chapter as others were, that doesn’t mean I don’t love you gals. Some of you are my closest friends and I couldn’t have made it this far without you. So there’s that, and they’re also giving us presents and planning events for us so like I don’t know what to think and I don’t know how to feel. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS!!!! ..??/…3###!!??

I should also touch on the fact that my room (not unlike my life) is a complete mess. Every time I think “Damn, I really need to clean,” I immediately stop myself and say, “THERE’S NO TIME FOR SUCH TRIVIAL THINGS” and then I’m on the internet watching Chopped for three hours. Ugh I’m the worst, you guys. I apologize for everyone who’s had to interact with me… especially this passed weekend. I’ve got to calm down. I’ve got to learn how to do yoga on top of the piles of clothes, books, luggage, grad caps, and empty goldfish boxes on my floor. That’s got to fall under the category of some sort of Vinyasa flow, right? Like some kind of complicated yoga? I guess if it’s too complicated it won’t calm me down at all, and then what was this all for? What weRE THESE FOUR YEARS FOR? WHAT WAS MY HIGHER EDUCATION FOR? WHAT IS happening to me oh my god. It’s like I go from the Hulk to Mark Ruffalo in “13 Going on 30” in under five seconds. Do you see what I did there, by the way? Do you see how both of those people are Mark Ruffalo? I’m hilarious. I’m so funny, you guys.

Which reminds me, kind of a big/maybe somewhat expected announcement: I’m writing a book! It could turn out to be strictly an internet thing, seeing as that seems to be the way we’re leaning nowadays. But whatever, I’m doing it. I’ve been saying it for years, but I think I’m actually in a good place to get into it. Plus what an effing great closer in all of my Creative Writing classes? All my peers have written me off as a psych person masquerading as a writer, but JOKES ON THEM AS OF RIGHT NOW BOOM EVERYONE I’M GONNA WRITE A BOOK. Oh, you’ve already written three books? And you’ve published 24 short stories? And Knopf is looking at your novel? Oh. Well then. One time I saw Randy Jackson at Chateau Marmont so you can suck it.

(Warning: my next post will be my last post as a undergrad. Like prepare yourself.)

As Leslie Jones once said, “…we can’t [move on from a relationship] as women because [men’s] SPIRITS are IN US […]  Spirits just marching around in my body, making me think of him… WHY DO I KEEP SMELLING THIS JERK?”