Separation Anxiety
I know Paris is great. I know this program is fantastic. I know that this whole experience will make me grow and discover things about myself and all that lovely coming of age bullshit I encounter daily as a slightly jaded college student. I know. I really do. I swear to God, I know.
But right now all I can think about the fact that I feel like a large insect is trying to escape out of my windpipe, and that several of his friends are wandering around my insides in a similar Shawshank Redemption escapist stupor. This buggy feeling is undoubtedly a result of my pre-departure anxiety; more specifically, I believe it was caused by some vaguely sad song that began to trigger, once again, the reality that I am going to be separated from my boyfriend for several months.
I know.
It’s really stupid — It’s downright moronic.
This anxiety is particularly moronic because I’m in a long distance relationship, even if our situation is far easier than most. NYC isn’t exactly the most difficult of cities to which one might have to travel; full-time employment allows him a reasonable amount of disposable income and a designated amount of personal days, so traveling is not an issue. I survive without him an average of fourteen days at a time, maximum. We may actually be the most privileged long distance couple in existence. Seriously.
Whatever. The point is, I’ve survived without him by my side every second of every day over the past twelve months. I should have coping skills by now. Wait, hold on, I do. Logically speaking, the addition of more distance (Read: THE ATLANTIC OCEAN) shouldn’t be a huge deal; distance is distance, right?
It’s all about mentality — perhaps I could lie and just say I was in the same place I always have been. Would that work? I suppose not. I’d still know. I’m a pretty horrible liar.
I don’t even care. I wrote through my tantrum. SAD PLAYLIST IS SAD, OKAY?
