Alright, so here we are at the “maybe call Mom and Dad and apologize” phase. You know, for that whole Eid situation. The one I didn’t actually cause, didn’t participate in, and somehow still ended up being guilty of. Classic.
Because, as tradition dictates, they do something, I absorb the blame, and everyone gets to avoid the uncomfortable realization that maybe—just maybe—they messed up. So naturally, I get exiled from the emotional group chat. Love that for me.
And of course, this little performance will include crying. A lot of it. My least favorite hobby. It’s honestly impressive, thirty years old and still crying over everything and nothing, like I’m auditioning for the role of “emotionally available child who just wants unconditional love.” Spoiler alert: she does not get the part.
So tonight? Tonight requires a serious distraction. Something loud, consuming, impossible to think through. The kind of chaos that carries me safely to sleep without letting my brain spiral into its usual late-night drama series.
Because really, the goal is simple: survive the night… and maybe, just maybe, make it to the morning without falling apart.
Here’s hoping.
