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It’s funny how life works.

You go from being so stressed you can hardly breathe to so bored nothing interests you anymore (isn’t that ironic? We can become so dull that we become even duller by not wanting to do anything.) Halfway through my summer vacation and I’m ready to go back to school. My days have no structure aside from the self-imposed schedule I follow.

7:30 – Wake up, drink coffee, force down an unwanted breakfast that sits like a brick in my stomach, clean off the makeup from the night before

8:30 – Go to the gym and do the exact same elliptical workout I do every day. Maybe do some weights. Look at my reflection in the gym mirrors and realize instantly that it was a mistake and one day I will learn to either stop hating myself or stop peeking into mirrors

10:00 to 12:00 – Do pseudo chores I make up to keep myself busy. Make the bed. Clean the dirty clothes off the floor. Read a book. Stare at a wall. Pine for an exciting life.

12:01 – Stare at a full pantry wishing that I had enough money to frequent Panera Bread or literally anything but the same things I’ve been eating for the last 21 years. Settle on a wilting salad.

12:15 to 5:29 – Try in vain to come up with more things to do. Inevitably fail. Annoy my cat. Read more. Wish my life away. Hate myself for not accepting the summer research position because at least I would have something to do.

5:30 – Eat dinner. Internally laugh when my dad asks “what did you do today?” Nothing. I did nothing, just like I have for the last two months.

6:00 – Go to the gym with my dad. Do the same thing I did in the morning. Casually scan the gym to see if the usual people are there, like the girl who constantly looks three seconds away from barfing and the guy with two teardrop tattoos.

7:15 to 11:00 – Sit on the couch that hurts my back. Watch television. Swear that tomorrow I will go to Starbucks and write, or go get my ears pierced, or something, anything, different from today and the previous 60 days, while knowing I won’t.

Repeat ad nauseam.

I am a creature of habit and structure and schedule. Which, ironically, is why school is good for me. It gives me a framework off of which to build my life and myself. On the other hand, school is bad for me because it triggers countless panic attacks and stress levels that make me want to throw myself in front of a bus and self-hatred that borders on dangerous. But during summer, I have no structure. But I also have stress because life is weird. In the absence of papers and homework and tests to stress over, I worry about made up things.

What if I don’t find a job? What if I’m stuck being the same old boring me, and I die when I’m eighty-five, and regret my whole life? Why couldn’t I find an internship when people infinitely less qualified than me seemed to have no problem finding one?

Why is everyone around me so happy when I’m just beige and tired and stuck in a rut?

What’s wrong with me?

I’m still clinging to the hope that things will be made okay when I graduate and find a job and get to strike out on my own. But if it doesn’t, I guess it’s time for serious soul-searching.

I can’t live like this forever.

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