Yeah, It Will Get Better... But It Sucks Right Now!

It started with that first defining gulp of a cold Bud Light. The muscles in my body that had been twisted and contracted so tightly they felt as though they could snap like a rubber band began the process of de-tangling and relaxing. The welcoming smiles and hugs from people I have come to think of as family eased the process along as well. After a few more sips and the simple act of being off my feet after what seemed like an eternity working at the bar I began to feel somewhat human again.

I knew how the night would end before it began. I not only had accepted it, I knew it was necessary. A day earlier I was informed that my essay that I submitted to Glamour which would have been the "Big Break" in my writing career was rejected. I was rejected. I'm a writer, this is not an unfamiliar concept. However, this was a significant rejection. As they say, hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I prepared myself to be rejected. I'll tell you one thing though; prepared or not, rejection sucks. And all the positive words and support from friends and family, while greatly appreciated, did not make it suck any less. So I had a plan: one night to blow off steam, drink too much and just generally be pissed off, depressed, and negative. Then I would pick up the laptop and get the hell back to work!

Drinking too much is not a difficult endeavor among my circle of friends. They are all too willing to oblige when one of us is in need of some "liquid therapy". After a few beers and some very tasty shots I was forgetting all about whatever there was to be pissed about in my life. The rejection? Whatever, fuck 'em! My job? Just another day, another dollar. I had friends and I was young and spontaneous. More shots? Sure! Bring it on!

Then it snapped, broke, shattered, and collapsed. The walls tumbled down and the tears came and they came hard and determined. I at least had enough dignity left in my inebriated haze to remove myself from the building and find a quiet spot out back before I let the tears have their way. I couldn't fake the smiles and laughter anymore that night. I had to break at some point. I knew that when I walked in the door. My friends did their best to calm my sobs and lend a sympathetic ear but a drunk friend can only offer so much support. What meant the most to me is simply their presence. That was enough to show me that I have people who care. They didn't leave me alone in the dark to feel sorry for myself. They offered their shoulder for me to literally cry on, knowing full well that they couldn't fix what I had to deal with.

After I was all cried out I took a deep breath and joined my other friends inside. One more shot for the road and I was more than ready for bed. On the way home I was grateful even though I hadn't quite shaken off the self-pity of the general suckiness of the situation. I was grateful that I knew I would be OK, I have friends that care about me through the good, the bad, and the drunk, and I also knew that I have the fierce determination not to quit over one stupid essay rejection.

So my plan worked; one night to dwell on the negative and mourn the loss of a life-altering opportunity, one night to cry and feel sorry for myself, then it's right back to work! Here I am, back at my laptop, and I'm not giving up any time soon!