COMPLETED. A university student. A professional hockey player. They've proved they can be friends. Can they be more?
Although they're both in their early twenties and living in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, their lives couldn't be more different. Cami...
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The worst part was, I actually cried.
If the afternoon would have gone the same in every other way minus my crying jag, then maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't have been a horror show.
Thinking like that was pointless, though. Because not only did I cry, I cried. Not all crying is created equal. Sometimes it's just a tear in the corner of your eye. Or a single droplet on your cheek. And there's the Mercedes of crying fests, when you feel the tears spring to your eyes, your face flame, and your throat constrict.
And guess which one I did two hours ago?
I was a hiccupping, sloppy mess. In public.
Well, is the workroom in a research lab at the University of Winnipeg considered public?
My guess is that if it's not your bedroom, its public.
Goody.
The kicker is that the day started off perfectly normal. I had gotten to the lab at midafternoon, just after my Social Cognition class ended. I was in the midst of getting my senior thesis off the ground and running. My goal was to start calling interested participants in our database and set up a time when they could come to the lab to run my study. It was a relatively quiet day in the lab, with just myself, Shelly the lab manager, and Julie, a junior research assistant.
Julie was acting perfectly normal; a little quiet but perfectly polite. Shelly, on the other hand, seemed distracted. That should have been a warning sign, looking back, but I didn't pick up on it as much as I usually would have, because I was also distracted.
Clearly.
My mind felt like it was two months into the future. Everything needed to be planned out meticulously.
I enjoyed preparing a lot, which was why I had my phone script and research assistant schedule on the workstation in front of me, with the iMac opened to the database.
I was officially ready to call some people on the database's list, which is composed of all the people who sign up to be notified of the university's research studies. Participating is a good way to earn some cash and pass the time in between classes.
We really needed to get the participants in. That fact was what was giving me the motivation to call these people. If talking on the phone could be a phobia, I'd definitely have it. I needed the visual cues that you get face-to-face, otherwise I become an awkward mess. Case in point: my conversation with Taylor the day before. Actually, I was glad he wasn't in front of me during it, because my face was red hot the entire time. I tended to walk around when I spoke on the phone and when I got a glimpse of my face in my bedroom mirror, I recoiled like it bitch slapped me. I couldn't bear to look at myself when I was acting like such a disaster.
My first call of the afternoon was a real doozy. (Actually, it was my third. There was no answer on the first two. Thank god.) Little Miss Busy here had the most obscure schedule and it was like pulling teeth trying to find a time that worked for both parties. I couldn't help but think that if you're that busy, why bother adding something completely unnecessary to your plate?
