When it gets crisp in the fall (On pretending to be Fitzgerald when you feel like Poe)

I want to talk about the art of pretending bad days aren’t that bad. I am currently in a recurring cycle of horrible days. It’s sort of institutionalized into the life I’m living (See also: three jobs, 18 units, self loathing). It’s like I have all these things I want to do and write about (including a really fun and exciting alternative to NaNoWriMo, coming soon!) and for once I feel like I’m on track to go exactly where I want to go. My plan is actually a reasonable and flexible one. This is a big deal for me. But the thing is I have no time to do life. Until I drop one of my jobs (and I’m trying. Desperately.) there will be no time whatsoever. I still wanted to write something though. I miss my blog and doing things that I’m not being forced to do. I mean, no offense manual labor. I’m just not that into you right now. So, what do we do? Turn a probably insignificant life moment into an extensive metaphor for how everything is going to be okay? I mean, obviously.

Worth Doing: Being Picky, Shamelessly.

Okay. So, hypothetically. The Starbs you went to for a mental health break instead of British Lit class is too loud and they’re all sold out of the adorable fall reusable cups (which, let’s be honest, is literally the only reason you went to Starbs in the first place). That’s fine. You think about getting  in line anyway and getting the cup later. Don’t do that. Leave. You’re at this point in your life in which you believe vehemently in getting what you want. Why? BECAUSE YOU EFFING DESERVE IT. So drive to two more Starbs. The next one will be closed for renovations and you’ll be so full of rage and convince yourself that the universe doesn’t want you to be happy. But then you’ll give up pretending to be happy, which is the most crucial step. Eventually, you’ll end up with your ridiculously cute cup and a yummy drink full of frivolous calories and you won’t even care. Then it happens. You look around and see that this is an Autumn miracle. You have the added satisfaction of realizing that the last time you were at this Starbs was the last time you saw your ex, when he was telling you why he totally stopped talking to you and then LITERALLY RAN AWAY FROM YOU, I’M NOT EVEN KIDDING. Except now the whole store is renovated and almost unrecognizable, and you, my dear, are not the kind of girl to let the metaphorical resonance of that moment pass you by, right? Right. Soak that shit up. Take a moment to appreciate how utterly unrecognizable you are from two years ago, too. Even if it doesn’t always feel like you’re moving forward, no one can deny that you’re moving. You may even get all Fitzgerald-y and dramatic and think of how this place has lost some colossal significance and your count of haunted objects has diminished by one. Maybe even christen the spot with a Fall themed insta pic with another Fitzgerald quote as the caption.* The world suddenly seems a little less aggressively opposed to your existence. Maybe things are turning around. Maybe it’ll get cold soon and you’ll get to wear your knock off Ugg boots again. You’ve got the pumpkin scented world in your hands (tragically, you are allergic to cinnamon so you’re probably going to end up with hives. Such is life). You’re a mess, babe. Own it.

xx, Tab

*Insta Pic was supposed to accompany this, with a caption I’ve been sitting on all summer waiting for Fall. Shout out to the people monopolizing all the tables in Starbs and making selfie-ing in a self-respecting way impossible. Guess I’ll have to be basic AF with my cup tomorrow, with no justifiable reason to be. Ugh.

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