Why do pity parties simultaneously feel amazing and awful? My time at Temple, in Philadelphia, possibly even in America is numbered and yet, I find myself spending whole days just wishing I was home alone, in my bed, with a mandarin chicken salad, my remote control, watching online Netflix.
You know that feeling, when you text someone and you don't get a response? You check your phone 475 times in an 8 minute period and 890 times over the next hour. After an hour, you start feeding justifications to your brain, "maybe they're sleeping, or in class, or working". Ten minutes later you remember that time your friend called and your phone never registered the missed call and assume that's logically what happened. Half an hour later, it occurs to you that maybe the message didn't send and you begin compulsively checking your sent messages to ensure that the text did, in fact travel through cyberspace to the correct recipient. Once you realize it did, you conclude that their cell phone is probably broken - or they dropped it in the toilet or left it at their moms house.
I'm just as guilty of these psychotic compulsions as anyone else - and although I haven't read any actual studies on this topic - I'm pretty sure the sound of a cell phone vibrate shoots endorphins directly into our brains and makes us feel like we're riding a unicorn through a gumdrop forest or hanging off the rim of a basketball hoop. And then every now and then, we don't get that response - or worse, the response we want and so....
the pity party commences.
Luckily - there's always George Michael to pick a person up from the depths of a pity party binge - and it is him that I dedicate my very first blog too (in addition to my mom, Justin Beiber, the woman who makes the smoothies at Einstein, Adam Whitlatch, and Biz Markie - all people who have crashed a pity party of mine at one point in time or another. Thank you!)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lu3VTngm1F0
