Tears rolling off my cheeks, I tried desperately to pin the last few hairs from my face. The tile floor was ice beneath me, made colder yet by the leaking water dripping from my bathtub drainpipe. I had entered Puke City. Vomitville. I was wandering just inside the city limits of Gagston, just thirty miles west of the metropolis Empty Stomach.
A large part of me was quite certain that this was the end of my life, and if not my life then most assuredly my intestines. It was while on the cold and wet bathroom floor that I began to think about how I wasn't going to sleep again that night, how I had to work the next night, how my study habits were slowly slipping, and how if I made a fraction of a mistake now then I might as well give up the hope of any eventual success. Just about five minutes into my tailspin of panicked thoughts, a voice bellowed from the darkness, "Shut the f*** up!".
I had lost my mind. Fantastic. And my voices were abusive. Even better.
The voice continued to scream, mostly inappropriate phrases, as I peeled myself from the frigid floor to investigate. I stumbled into my living room and turned on the light, inwardly pleading that no one was waiting in the darkness to curse at me. Relieved by the empty room, I quickly understood that my neighbor was fighting with his wife downstairs again, and their WW III had risen through the floorboards to my dying ears. Yet, "Shut the f*** up" was most likely the best piece of advice I had received in a while. There I was, not only physically ill, but draining myself emotionally between heave rounds. What was wrong with me!? I live in the most adorable apartment on the planet, I have a job that doesn't pay in Froot Loops, I am working toward a brilliant career, have hilarious friends,and a loving boyfriend. Yeah Autumn, Shut the F*** Up.
There and then I adopted a new philosophy: Get sleep when you can. Shut up when you can't.
I rarely thought about how beautiful my life was, and at some point I needed to stop focusing on how I don't get as much rest as I would like to or don't make as much money as I would prefer. I was going to focus on the good, and was going to be better for it.
I actually felt more peaceful, and although I had already rushed back to the bathroom to dry heave I was doing so with a metaphoric smile on my face. I became almost certain that happy people are happy because they choose to be. I was making a choice.
Sunlight met my swollen eyelids as I lifted my sore neck from the floor. Groggily thinking about how my life was getting a fresh, positive, start I glanced at the clock. I had missed my first two classes. I sang in the shower. I didn't have my work done. I drank a glass of orange juice. I sat down, got my work done, emailed my professors, and made it to my final two classes on time. Of course I didn't get enough sleep, but it wasn't the end of the world.
After my classes I made it home,choosing to be happy, productive, and loving. All of which were impossible without a smile on my face. I brushed my teeth, humming along with the songs that echoed inside my own head. Then I dropped my toothbrush. In my trash can.
One of the words in the phrase came before the rest, but "Shut the f*** up" eventually came to mind.
