I haven’t taken my meds today, which means that I am much less sensitive when it comes to finally choosing to throw out the perishables I removed from my refrigerator one week ago when I thought I was moving into my summer housing. It turns out, I’ve been in purgatory housing for the past week, with a locked kitchen and no card access into the surrounding dorms. If there was one thing I enjoyed this year, it was avoiding entering any dorm at any time. 

Today is the glorious day I get to move.

Today is also the glorious day I ran out of meds. Miraculously, I found my prescription that I thought was lost forever, so I was able to drop it off this morning. I conjectured that smoking might make the anxiety meds withdrawal (that does, in fact, occur within 3-4 hours of not taking the meds at the prescribed time) more manageable … instead, it blurred the line between choosing to say what I actually believe and what I know will hurt the most because I’m feeling attacked.

I am jealous that he knows what his life will look like next year and I don’t.
I am annoyed at how immature he sometimes is.
I am ready to have some space from him to be able to be a cute young artist in a trendy metropolis who has spent the last year and a half of her life in a co-dependent, but very sexually liberating and self-confidence boosting, relationship. 
I am worried I will remain in love with him, in spite of the circumstances.  
I am terrorized that he will fall out of love with me, all the while I remain enamored with him.
I am petrified he will fall in love with someone else and I will remain alone and longing.

This dorm room experiences the occasional waft of spoiled refrigerator potpourri. The problem with being a poor graduate and being the last one to move out of your house is that you feel inspired to take all of your housemates’ abandoned food because then you won’t have to buy your own. The problem with being at the bottom of the bureaucratic collegiate summer residential education food chain is that you haven’t had access to a freezer in over a week, such that your dorm fridge has held your frozens and your royally inadequate styrofoam picnic tubs have held your refrigeratables. And now, finally after a week of thawing in the mild heat of early June, they are starting to become rather fragrant. I am appalled that I have let myself live in such aromatic squalor, but then I remember that my summer carpentry internship has me working on my feet from 9 AM to 10 PM so my nose is much less interested in smelling than being smothered in pillowy slumber.