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Stupid Tears – Life as an Extreme Sport
Life as an Extreme Sport

Stupid Tears

Today was one of those days that got exponentially worse as it went on, culminating in actually breaking down leaving happy hour. No hello, no goodbye, no smiles, no contact – just a dead zone. How much of it was my own wall, how much wasn’t? Hard to say…I texted something snarky. Then I got home and realized that I could either pull the same cancel at the last minute stunt tomorrow, or actually call tonight and explain that I was willing to postpone, but that during the meeting time specified a friend’s mother was being buried, and I felt I should go to that.

I also explained that I felt like the vibe was go away, not wanting to speak to me, and that I would just assume no more working on thesis, no watching the Super Bowl with them, etc, until I was contacted. And I admitted that it hurt. A lot.

I’m going to bed. I’m afraid of how much more worse it’ll get if I don’t.

One comment

  1. Of course, I went and emailed a nice, level-headed explanation, apology, and so on. Because someone had to be smart enough to point out me being part of the problem.

    I suppose staying in bed and listening to Hurt on repeat would be bad, but oh so funny in one of those black humour ways…

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