I had a rather startling episode this week that was caused by a few different interacting forces–one of these forces was that I was at the peak of PMS, during which I’m all nutty and tend to cry for little or no reason (Disclaimer: don’t worry, I promise I’m not going to start talking about my lady parts, it’s okay to keep reading).
Another was that this week has been the pinnacle of stress in my college life, during which all the things that I’ve been putting off suddenly decided it was time to be due, and I had to actually DO them.
The other thing was that I am semi-recently single. I spent the summer, a few months prior, and about a month after in a relationship. Admittedly, this was the first relationship I had had in nearly three years. At this point I expect you are imagining me as some sort of terrifying social leper, but I promise it was more the fact that I had decided to stop dating anyone who asked than that boys were cowering in fear of my almighty un-dateability. Or so I tell myself, anyway. Regardless, that ended, and I went into what I like to call the “readjustment/panic” phase.
You know the time when you’re not quite used to being single anymore and you kind of look frantically at the faces of anyone male who happens to look at you and wonder if possibly they would date you so you don’t have to bother with getting used to the different lifestyle of being single again? It was like that. Only I don’t stay that way very long. I move directly on to “Forget this! I hate dating! Singleness ROCKS!”
Except when I’m stressed out and PMSing. Then horrifying things happen. Such as what happened Tuesday night.
Tuesday night I was sitting in my room thinking about being single and about how much work I had to do and about the fact that it was getting cold and the only thing I had to snuggle with was a pillow. And then suddenly, something happened.
Suddenly, listening to Taylor Swift seemed like a good idea.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a personal vendetta with T-Swift or anything. It just so happens that, well, I don’t usually listen to her music. It is either too sappy or too cynical and frankly I spend most of my time floating somewhere in the middle of those two things.
But suddenly, I wanted more than anything to listen to “White Horse”. So I went to the YouTube. And I typed it in, and there was a video. So I thought, “Hey, even better. I can use my eyeballs, too.” And so I clicked. And then I waited about twenty minutes for it to buffer (oh the glories of college shared WiFi).
And then I proceeded to cry as if I were watching Titanic or something.
That’s right folks. I had reached an all time low. I was sitting alone in my dorm room, crying at a Taylor Swift music video. I recognized in the tiny portion of my brain that was still rational that it was probably because of my hormonal imbalances more than any actual sorrow I felt about not being a princess in a fairytale and what not, but it was still a little bit disturbing. So much so, that I felt the need to share it with you.
So my question for you is this: Have you ever had a random moment that made you just stop and think “Wait, what’s going on here? What am I doing? Who have I become?” And if you happy to be female, did you blame it on your hormones?