I looked at the clock about an hour ago and mused to myself, “Hmm, my friends will soon be coming home from the dance. For some, it will be their last homecoming dance, like, ever.”
I then proceeded to despair at the fact that I, Crystal Duan, had not gone to the last fall dance of my high school career. Earlier that evening, I had put a status up on Facebook asking the general population to guess what I was thinking for $2 (Devin, you win) in an attempt to alleviate boredom, and someone had written “Why am I not at homecoming?”.
At that point I had not actually written the status to alleviate any sadness over not attending hc because that feeling had yet to come at the time, but after a few more hours spent stalking the profiles of various hot college friends, watching Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s heart-wrenchingly awesome SNL monologue, reading books with various dreamy male characters in them, and looking up at that clock and thinking that thought about The Last Homecoming, I realized I was really wasting my time being in denial.
I, Crystal, have a problem! I didn’t go to homecoming and have some good ol’ co-ed fun because I thought studying and doing college apps to get me to a college where I can meet people to have good ol’ co-ed fun with would be more productive.
Read: IT WAS NOT. I spent the day watching Pretty Little Liars, and the night reveling in my frustration. And those supplements still lie un-edited….
Portland sucks, I think, College will be fun, I mutter, Why is my life going to be crappy and uninteresting for the next few months, I gripe.
But at the same time I was wishing desperately I was in college, I had a faint theory that if I kept up that kind of bitter and cynical behavior, i would end up bitter and cynical for life. I mean, look at me already!
Instead of actually conversing and dancing and having a social life with physical male beings, an opportunity basically handed to me by the school, 9/29 was wasted via using the virtual world to fuel my want of talking to at-the-moment-not-physically-present male beings.
As I type these words, friend chats me up. Yay he went to homecoming! I muse as I see the beginnings of an HC album appear on his wall. “So what’d you do all night?” he asks me.
I pathetically realize this blog post is the highlight of my evening.
“Why didn’t you go to homecoming?” he asks me.
“WHY DIDN’T I GO TO HOMECOMING?”
I enjoy male company. I have never denied it. I do aspire to have those “Go out at night with girls and guys and go home with the girls for a giggle-fest sleepover about the weirdness of the guys but have it be totally harmless” hangouts in college. But I should quit whining and sitting there moping about not having it now, and work on having a more #YOLO mentality with the people here. Even if I am thinking a lot about the people I’ll meet in the future.
So, basically, frustration is probably a two-way street. I’m making myself more miserable by not going out, so with my newfound license in hand, I should go out.
Next time I get the chance to homecome (metaphorically), I should take it instead of thinking it’ll be too much of a hassle blah blah blah. The payoff is better than the costs anyway.
Cause Joseph Gordon-Levitt won’t always be there to entertain me instead.