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Facebook Comments: Where Souls Go To Die

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I know better. I do. I see an article posted on Facebook by NPR or some other news source and I tell myself, "Don't read the comments. Don't even look at them. You know you shouldn't read the comments."

And then I read the comments. Every. Damn. Time. This all started with the Hobby Lobby decision by the Supreme Court in early July. It wasn't a case I was even following closely. And then the Supreme Court ruled that, evidently, corporations are people with
"sincerely held religious beliefs" and those beliefs are--apparently--more important than women's health care choices.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when I went batshit crazy.
I mean it; I read the comments on some articles posted by NPR and other sources and I lost my mind. Suddenly, I was raging. And commenting on everything. To everyone. A lot.
Think I'm exaggerating? Let me paint you a picture of the depths of my blackout rage. I couldn't sleep the night I learned of the case …

Things are about to get real

At the best of times, my schedule causes minor (sometimes major) meltdowns. My day starts at 4:30am (okay... by the end of the year, 5am) and I'm at work by 6:45. On good days, I can be home between 4 and 5, eat dinner, and be asleep by 9pm. During speech season, I get home much closer to 6 or 7 and sometimes crash before I've even had time to eat. During that season, that schedule usually extends to Saturdays, as well. I clocked my hours, and during my busiest season, I put in about 60-70 hours a week and usually don't see sunlight for days at a time because my classroom is windowless. I understand that many people work hard and put in similar (or more) hours each week. But this is about me. And this schedule makes me tired. Exhausted. And frequently crabby.

And this year, it's about to get worse, because this fall I start graduate school.
And I didn't do the sensible thing that most people I know did--I didn't go online, and I didn't go through a cohort pro…

This is Really Going to Suck, Isn't It?

My husband and I moved two weeks ago. During the move, I twisted my knee on the stairs (I'm ridiculously out of shape). Then, two days later, I got a cool trip to the ER on New Year's Day to deal with four badly burned finger tips. This was quickly followed by the absurdity that was the "polar vortex, which forced school to be cancelled for two days because the wind chills hovered around -60 degrees, prompting my car to go completely dead. Add to all this endless problems with our cable/internet/phone company, the financial strain of moving, and 30 sophomores who won't stop crabbing about the trauma that is their life (apparently), and now 2014 is about to get worse.

Because tomorrow, I turn 30.

I recognize 30 "is just a number" and that the "only alternative to getting older is death" (that gem comes from my uncle), but it's a sucky number, and I feel as though there should be other alternatives, so I'm still going to complain. Cuz that'…