Congrats Grad

As I sit here “studying” for my last 2 finals of my undergraduate career, I am tempted to reflect back on my four years at the University of Michigan. While I would love to nostalgically recollect all of the hours spent dozing off in the UGLI, all of the ways I have tried to rip off Starbucks, and all of the times I have been reminded that Michigan Hillel Jews are weird as hell, I find myself wholly distracted. I am going to kick myself later for not memorizing all of those stupid paintings for my Art History final tomorrow and blogging instead, but I am both inspired by a competition ignited by a fellow blogger and taken aback at the events that transpired in my so called life last evening.
As I was preparing my roommate for her highly anticipated completion of her preparation for dental school, telling her how smart she is and how the DATS are nothing in comparison to the MCATS, through which I suffered, I received a jarring text message. While I am accustomed to receiving phone calls and/or text messages bearing bad news (“your uncle is dead”, “someone called you a KKK member”, “there is no Glee this week”), I was in no way prepared for this one. Coming from what I know to be a selfish, competitive, and annoyingly sneaky vantage point, an old romantic partner of mine texted me to let me know that a friend of his had just gotten into a medical school that I am anxiously awaiting a decision from. He claimed that, since his friend had just heard back, he was wondering if I had heard anything about my position. Well, fuck me.
As the last person I would like to get this news from, I immediately panicked. A rush of anxiety took over my whole body, causing my intestines to writhe and my skin to shiver. I ran to the bathroom. The combination of learning that I may not get into yet another medical school and be forced to either retake the MCATS or become a prostitute (which I am confident that I would excel at) and seeing his name show up in my inbox and having just participated in a dorm cafeteria feast (don’t even get me started- heaven is a place on earth) was just far too much for my already weakened stomach.
Part of me would love to think that he was asking because he truly cares about me and my success and genuinely wants me to conquer my goals, but I know that this is wishful thinking. I am not arguing, however, that he is an evil person altogether; rather, his is just (again) misinformed. I know that this sudden outreach was completely my fault given that my boredom, to which I have previously alluded and we all now know is epic, took hold of my fingers and texted him a couple of weeks ago to find out how he is. I totally brought this on myself. I admit it. But that doesn’t change the fact that I heard some of the worst news I have heard in weeks from the last person on God’s green earth who I would want to hear it from. It was like some kind of cosmic joke.
How is it possible for someone to have that kind of power over another? How can something so seemingly innocent as a text message propel someone into physical pain? It may just be me. I might just be a crazy person who way over-sweats the small stuff, a drama queen who feeds on situations like this to liven up an otherwise milquetoast (yes, that is a word, pronounced like milk-toast, and I have just successfully used it in context…take that!) life. But I know that I am not alone. I can think of many other people who react in the same way, many other individuals who flip a shit the minute one person comes barging back into their lives. He/she says jump, and we say how high. It’s sad, demeaning, humiliating, disheartening, and true.
I am graduating from college on Saturday. I am joining the ranks of the world’s citizens who actually contribute to society. I am being let out of my alcohol infused, irresponsibility tolerating, noon wake-up encouraging cage and thrown to the wolves. If I am going to make it at all, don’t you think I should grow some thicker skin? Don’t you think I should stop reading into everything so much and take things at face value? Don’t you think I should rearrange my priorities, moving self-preservation to the top and excitement to the bottom? I think so too. But how?
I guess only time will tell. In the meantime, I should probably focus on passing Art History. Ex-boyfriend drama, medical school anxiety, and graduation apprehension are going to have to wait patiently. And, who knows, maybe Obama will have something inspiring to say at commencement. Eh, nevermind.