pity parties in introvert paradise
This past Friday, I started the last two classes of my MNM program. One I’ve been, honestly, putting off for months. The other is my capstone–which is basically the culmination of everything. Both are probably the two most demanding classes I’ve taken. And I’m doing them simultaneously during the final part of the summer. After not really having a summer or a spring because work and school kept me so busy. I’ll be in the most stress right around my birthday and probably won’t have time to celebrate.
This weekend, my roommate is out of town. So, I was looking forward to a weekend to myself–finally. I call these weekends Introvert Paradise weekends because I mostly do the things I used to do when I lived alone–things I desperately miss doing. Like singing my lungs out at 3 am; talking to myself; and showering with the door open. Silly things. I usually eat nostalgic food, sleep in, and just chill.
I had a few different goals: 1) rest…I was stinking exhausted after last week; 2) watch as many ’80s movies as possible; 3) post an entry at my new collaboration; 4) clean; 5) get a head start on the week; and 6) do some self-work. Namely, I’ve been wanting to start a Happiness Project, & I wanted to start making plans for the new year of my life–after the crazy settles. I really want to do some different things in the next few months, but those things require a strategy. So, I was hoping to get the foundations up.
While I had to start work on class stuff, for the most part, classes start pretty slow. So, I was hopeful this weekend would be mine. Only that wasn’t the case. I already had major things due mid-week. I also had an external drive go assplodey on me, and I got a summer cold. This afternoon, I started feeling sorry for myself when I realized I’d done all the things I needed to do–but I never got to the stuff *I* really need for long-term sanity. I focused on the things others needed from me instead, like always. I do this pretty much all the time, and I just started beating myself up again…pretty much the opposite of the self-care I was hoping for–and then I beat myself up for that.
Pity Party Alma is not pretty. She’s an angry girl. Mostly angry at herself, but really angry at the world. Like hating on everything since the beginning of her existence. It’s all rooted in feeling like it’s never my turn, and life is continually unfair. I’ve worked so hard just to have normal–things most people take for granted.
Then, I sort of kicked my own ass and made myself own my choices. I don’t believe in victims, and I’m certainly not one. Yes–I did get handed a raw deal in a lot of ways–but I’ve made the most out of them. Every single decision I’ve made has led me to better places for me–and yes–I’ve had to work hard. And no–that means I often don’t get to do all the cool, fun things I really want to do. But I chose these paths for all the places these things will take me to. And playing all day every day would honestly be boring, eventually. I do need to play, but moreso–I need to figure out how to do both. And not pout about it–because pouting is for whiners. And I’m not that either.
I reminded myself of who I actually am. I’m not some frivolous person. I have big dreams and goals a mile long. I don’t settle for easy. I was that girl that crawled out of that life, and I live an existence that is absolutely a privilege. I don’t get to complain about it. I was never supposed to be here. I made this happen, and if I can do that, 8 weeks of Hell is absolutely nothing. I’ve walked that path a few million times. Bring it.