Look, I can stomach rejection all right, as long as it’s disguised as something other than COMPLETE AND UTTER rejection.

Thank you for your application for the recently advertised position of Editor.  Having reviewed all applications you were not successful in being called for an interview.

Unfortunately you didn’t make the shortlist for interview and our vacancy has now been filled.

Can’t you just say thanks but no thanks?  No need to tell me how far I DIDN’T make it.

Okay.  That’s out of my system.  Back to the drawing board.

The distance is hard!  Don’t ever let me or anyone else convince you it’s not.  It’s hard and it aches and it sucks because even the very best phone calls hurt that much more when they’re over.

Cutting out unnecessary purchases has made a huge difference in my money, and I hardly had any unnecessary purchases to begin with.  My rules are pretty simple.  The steadfast ones:

• Don’t exceed weekly/monthly budgets, which goes for dining out, groceries, transportation (both train and gas), and entertainment
• If there’s a store-brand option just go with it
• If I don’t fall in love with something right away, put it down and leave the store
• Spend the last of that Amazon gift card money wisely
• Put any extra or unexpected income straight into savings

And the flexible ones that I think I’ve just been following intuitively:

• If I can get home in the next half hour and find something to eat there, don’t eat out
• Order the cheapest thing on the menu (which leads to tea in every coffee shop, pasta in every restaurant, both of which are a-okay by my stomach)
• Take help where it’s offered, and only ask for it if I’m starving
• Don’t starve, no matter what the budget says

But even as someone whose material consumption is low for her demographic, sometimes, I really want something, and I can’t have it.  There are days where I can walk into a supermarket and walk by every single treat to head straight for the wheat bread, and then there are days where I stare resentfully at my precious quarters which I want to use on a Snickers bar but must save for laundry.  There are days where my face is very dry and broken out and needs good, proper exfoliation to look anyway presentable, but that’s a lot of money and it’s not going to happen.  Heck, I went through all of last year cutting my own hair with sewing scissors and a bathroom mirror, and practically cried with joy when my mom got me a salon gift card for this past Christmas.

Especially at my university, which is full of (mostly) well-dressed and pretty girls.  Even though I’m not trying to attract anyone’s attention, still: I spent all of last year feeling great about myself and the way I looked, and now I feel eyes skip right over me while I walk to class.  Sometimes that’s just fine — ya’ll know I hate BC social life — but sometimes it just pools into an overall sense of shabbiness, of being a cheapskate, of failing where other people aren’t.

There are just these little luxuries I’m extremely aware of now.  Not that that’s made me anymore worldly or appreciative of what I have in any kind of way.  Let’s not kid ourselves — I still want these things and think I deserve them.  But while the dress may look pretty and my ears could do with re-piercing, I can’t have it, and so I’ve got to suck it up.  Kick my heels into the ground, tug at my hair, and sulk at my lack of social options — do whatever I need to to make the jealous and covetous feeling pass — but I can’t.  Can’t, can’t, can’t.

And then hope that after a while, I won’t mind so much anymore.

Really really well, actually. Sometimes I think about it, sometimes I don’t, but for some reason this has been a decent 40 or so days.  It’s had its moments, of course — I acted very crazy just two days in, and a few weeks ago I had one of the worst panic attacks I’ve had in the last few years — but the good thing is, I can just barely remember why they happened or what happened, which shows how little they mattered.  (Okay, that’s a lie: I remember the panic attack really well and know exactly why it happened, but I’m okay now.)

One of the ways I’ve tackled by tendency towards bitterness is with a thing I’ve always done: take the blame.  For some reason, I have no problem taking the blame for things, especially things I didn’t do.  Back in high school, with drama left and right, I always let people know that if they really felt bad about saying or doing something, they could just say I did it.  (That sounded bad.  I should clarify: I did not take the fall for really bad things, just… things spinning around the rumor mill and unfinished homework assignments.)  Likewise, I’m really quick to say sorry when I know I’ve hurt/disappointed/angered someone.  If I’m not really to blame, well, then I have no real guilt to deal with.  If I am to blame, then I nip my fault in the bud and repent before the guilt fire grows too big.  Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

People who aren’t willing to take the blame for things they did wrong or bail someone else out puzzle me.  It makes me think that they don’t really have a conscience.  But on the other hand, mine is too overbearing so sometimes they’re better off.

So that’s what I’ve been doing this Lent.  If I say something misleading, or shout when I shouldn’t, or wrongly accuse, or lay on the sarcasm too thickly, I reel it in immediately.  I send a quick text to say, “Don’t mind me or my moods!!” or call back later to say, “I’m sorry I was so short with you, it has nothing to do with what you said, just a bad day here.”  Saying sorry quickly is one of my favorite things to do, because while I don’t necessarily feel better right away, the other person does — and that knowledge will take away my guilty after a day or two.

Is that weird?  I don’t know, probably — I’m the one who gave up being a sourpuss for Lent, after all.

It’s incredibly rude to remark on anyone’s weight, no matter which end of the spectrum it’s on.  Not everyone who’s lost weight is happy about it, and not everyone who says they’re not happy about it is in eating-disorder denial.  Not everyone can explain why it continues to happen even as spirits soar and fatty meals are consistently consumed.  Not everyone wants to look differently — some people were perfectly happy where they were.  Not everyone is flattered when attention is brought to how loosely their watch fits on their wrist.

That’s because for some people it’s just plain embarrassing and confusing and unwanted.

I used to be the queen of being alone.  But somewhere along the line it became the easiest way to cripple me.