Every once in a while, I have a really good day. A beautiful, sunny day where my hair looks good, my outfit is fire and I eat at least one quesadilla.
Wednesday, however, was not one of those days. In fact, it was exactly the opposite — Wednesday hit me like a truck.
Nothing about it was good. Not only was I stressed about the two exams I had the next day, I was exhausted. My head hurt, my anxiety was at an all-time high and I’d forgotten to bring my last ounce of motivation with me into April.
I walked around all day sensing an elephantine mental breakdown on the horizon. I felt the panic and the tension all the way from my fingers to my toes. Every attempt to study hieroglyphics – I mean, economics – for my upcoming exam was wholly unproductive.
Then, around 5 p.m., I hit a wall. In our darkest hour, my dear friend, who was suffering from severe PMS and whose name I will not disclose, and I decided to throw ourselves a pity party. Together, we laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling and consuming way too many Reese’s Eggs. We had, undoubtedly, hit rock bottom.