phone a friend

First of all, I was starting to worry that someone would call blog-services on me for my utter neglect and absence in its presence. Although there are simply no excuses, midterms may or may not be the death of me and writing about positivity was far from my to-do list. Now worries, though; today is a beautiful day and I'm in the mood for procrastinating.

Let's talk for a minute about how my phone hates me. Yes, I know hate is a strong word and a phone is an inanimate object, but still. It is constantly dropping my calls, switching me to roaming without warning, delivering texts days later then they were sent... it hates me. Where is this story going? Well I'll tell you.

I sought counseling for us: coverage-therapy, I call it. About an hour ago I decided to call my provider, paving our way to the road to recovery. They, however, did not seem to be as enthusiastic about their participation in the process, as right now I am listening to corny (yet catchy) hold music while they ignore me.

Maintaining this whole positivity get-up, I can honestly say that one good thing has come from this experience. That being my conversation with Jen. She saved me from 30 additional minutes of this godawful so-called music and took the time to chat with me for a while. We talked about Grey's Anatomy, her favorite Thai restaurant in LA, her son's college application process and even my recent midterm stressors. So there you have it. Call your phone provider's 800 number and make a friend.

Ok, I'm going to hang up now. I may be a positive person, but I positively cannot take a techno version of Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours."

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fist pumps for positivity

One week. Two tests, an essay and a project. Four different classes. A 12-hour sorority retreat (consuming my Saturday, of all days). Do you know of what this recipe is in dire need? Positivity Week.

You heard me, self-proclaimed Positivity Week. What does this mean, exactly? Well, I'll tell you. Every time something looks grim, I start feeling stressed, overwhelmed, discouraged, etc. positivity week is there, requiring a glass-half-full mentality. Last Sunday, as I brainstormed my week of optimism, I began to like the idea so much that I decided to recruit my friends. Although their participation was a mix of mumbling, eye-rolling and sarcastic "I'm positive I hate Positivity Week" comments, they got over it and succumbed to forced cheeriness.

Forgot your book for Religion? No worries. You're neighbor was happy to share. The frozen yogurt machine is out of chocolate? Forget about it. That bag of peanut M & Ms was calling your name anyway. It starts a torrential downpour (in Southern California of all places) and you splash a puddle in your Uggs? You're over it. They were needing a good cleaning.

Moral of the story is not that being positive makes everything better or easier in any sense. It doesn't change the fact that you missed the lecture outline because you couldn't read over your neighbor's shoulder. It doesn't change the fact that you didn't get your chocolately-calcium for the day and it doesn't change the fact that your feet now look like raisons from being water-logged. It does, however, allow us to see life's curveballs through a different lens, a clearer lens.

So who's up for Positivity Semester?

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vitamin c, please

College is the convention center for germs. Here's how it works:

Roommate gets sick.
The health center is a joke. Her visit consists of waiting two hours watching daytime soaps and synchronizing coughs with her new waiting room friends.
Therefore, roommate gives up on health center, leaving you to your only mechanism of self-defense: Purell-ing your hands more than Howie Mandel.
Outside of the dorm, a girl in your lecture class sneezes on your laptop (ew).
Water polo team (inevitably dirty), hoards the Kleenex by the exit.
Grab a bite to eat in the Caf and a congested cheerleader hands you a fork. Thanks, but no thanks.

Two days later...
Roommate back to her normal self. Bubbly, charismatic, energetic... ugh.
You? In the fetal position on your bed, popping cough drops and praying for a spontaneous visit from mom.
Germs suck. Pass me a glass of the freshly squeezed OJ, s'il vous plait.

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