Dad, I love you. Please stop. Please stop emailing me with random people you networked for me during your course of business. Please stop forcing me to email them back with my resume and other information. It’s embarrassing. They are not going to hire me. I am public interest. They are corporate. They don’t do what I’m looking for, and I don’t have the transcript to meet their standards. They are being polite by telling you to have me send in my resume. I am being polite to you by obliging (I’m sure they’d forget the offer, if I chose not to send it in, but you wouldn’t forget and would keep asking me if I remembered). I know you’re worried. I know you’re just trying to help. But know that I’m worried for myself. I’m horrified at how things are going. I don’t want to be the 20-something living at home because she couldn’t get her shit together. Dad, I love you. Please stop.
Undergrad friend, I love you. Please stop. Please stop asking. No, I have not met any new guys. I didn’t meet any new guys last time we spoke either. When I do, I’ll let you know. I let you know about that last guy as soon as it happened, and as soon as it ended. And the one before that too. Otherwise, no, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy reading, or editing, or clinic-ing, or furiously tossing all night trying to beat out my insomnia. Sometimes I’m too busy sitting on my couch staring at a movie I’m not watching, thinking about what ifs. Sometimes I honestly don’t have the energy. I know you just want me to be happy. I know you’re just waiting for the day when I say yes, that I’ve met some great guy and I’m feeling good and that things are looking up. But it hurts. Every time I have to say, “Nope, no guys,” it hurts. Undergrad friend, I love you. Please stop.
Brain, I love you. Please stop. Quiet down for long enough to finish one train of thought, and for me to get some sleep. Slow down so Conscious can catch up. Focus on something. Anything. Any one thing. Just focus so that I know you can. Stop thinking about yesterday, or could’ve-been-todays, or possible futures. I know you’re just trying to keep me going with these daydreams and hopes and pretending this outcome is a good one. But I need to get through this. I need to study and to write my exams, and I can’t when you’re like this. We can daydream in a year. We can go back to making stupid but awesome life decisions then, but not now. I need you to calm down for a little while. You’re making me feel like I abandoned you. I promise I haven’t. This is only temporary, but your dreams are killing me. Brain, I love you. Please stop.