We've reached single digits.

8 days and counting, to be exact.

When we dropped to single digits, that's when it finally started to hit me.

I can't emphasize 'started' enough.

On the 10 day mark?
I was a complete bitch.
A bitch to the boy,
A bitch to my family,
A bitch to random strangers.

Not full out. I've been worse.
Let's just say I rolled my eyes a lot and walked around with my arms crossed for a majority of they day.

But, most importantly,
On the 10 day mark, I got to spend the night with the boy,
Holding hands and watching fireworks.

That might be significant, since it may be one of the last times I see him before I venture off to the land of higher education.



The 9 day mark?
Still bitchy,
But the second I was alone?
Waterworks.
I was a pile of pathetic tears.

I don't know how it started.
There was a car show at the park.
My dad invited me and my sister along to go with him.
I agreed - figuring it'd be nice (but boring) family bonding.
Like I said, I had realized that we were down to single digits.
I realized I had to slowly start my goodbyes.

I went upstairs, to change out of my sweats.
I had to dodge a few boxes on my way across the room, to my closet.
There were papers scattered everywhere from my college -
Orientation schedules, postcards from advisers, immunization forms I need to turn in yet...
The second I made my way across the cluttered space and started to open my closet door,
I just broke down.
Blubbering doesn't begin to describe it.
It was embarrassing.
I stumbled over to my bed.
Collapsed into a mopey pile.
Let it all out.
Regained composure.
And ran back downstairs.


Hours passed.
I just remained reserved and bitchy to everyone I came across,
Except for strangers.
I had a special peppy speech prepared for them.
A long monologue about where I'm going to school, what for, and how excited I am.
I did drama for 7 years.
I'm very good at role playing.

Then, I came home.
I went up to my room.
All of those boxes and papers loomed over me.
I'm not claustrophobic,
But in that instant, I felt like I was.

More hours passed.
I started to think.

I realized I only had 9 days left.
Friends facebook messaged me, saying what days they were free to hang out.
I realized it was crunch time.
It had reached the point where I had to start scheduling goodbyes.

I thought about the boy.
My stomach clenched uncontrollably.
Once again, I fell into a blubbering pile.

I came to the scary realization - I only cried whenever I thought about saying goodbye to the boy.

The family?
I'll see them again, every holiday for the rest of my life until I die.
Any goodbye to them is only a goodbye for now.

The friends?
As much as I'll miss them, I will easily find temporary (or not so temporary) replacements. I'll be able to manage. I'll always be able to find someone to gossip and watch reality TV marathons with.

The boy?
True, some will argue that he's completely replaceable too.
Again - one of these days I will go into the history of the boy on here. But for now, we'll just settle with - I spent 8-9 months laying the foundation for dating him, and 2 months working up the courage to ask him how he really feels.
I've put too much blood, sweat and tears into this relationship.
I'm not giving up that easily.

Saying goodbye to him?
It's almost, dare I say it, heartbreaking.


The bitchiness came back.
Why won't he text me back?
I know he's off of work.
He's probably eating dinner.
Can't he eat faster?

Then the texts came.
I was relieved when I saw his name flash across the screen.

Then the impatience.
Why was it taking him 5-10 minutes to answer to every text?

I think, over the course of a drawn out, 90 minute texting conversation,
I broke into tears 3, possibly 4, times.
All in the privacy of my room.

My family was downstairs, doing their own things.
Laughing, joking, unwinding.
And I was upstairs.
Freaking out about college,
And crying over the thought of saying goodbye to the boy.

We're not even going to mention how much it killed me when I read the text "Sorry, I'm hanging out with the guys. I'll text you later."
Here I am.
9 days away from going to college.
Sitting on my bed,
Curled up in the fetal position,
A puffy, sniffling mess

And he's hanging out with his friends.
(In his defense - for the last 2 months, he's hung out with his friends twice. Otherwise, his time was spent at work or with me)



I did what any girl would do.

I made a giant bowl of ice cream and coated it with too much chocolate syrup, paired with a giant glass of mountain dew.
I turned on the TV and changed it to a chick flick,
And I sat there,
Sniffling,
As I texted the best friend - asking her if this was normal.



We've now reached day 8.
This morning, there was a small slip of watery eyes.
But nothing drastic.
I think I've cried myself dry,
At least for a day.


The boy texted me later that night.
He mentioned how I seemed different.
I confessed how stressed I was over college.
He reassured me it would be okay.
He mentioned over and over how happy he is to be dating me.
He promised that I hadn't been a bitch over the last few days (liar)


Now, I've decided to channel my energy.
There will be no more repeats of last night.

Hang outs will be scheduled in advance.
Boxes will be packed and ready to go by the time we reach the 5 day mark.
Final things are being taken care of - physicals, eye exams, errand runs for pencils and pens...

I just have to breath.

Even though I found out that the boy works for the next 8 days straight,
From 11-7.
And has mandatory sports practice from 7-9, Monday through Friday.

At best, I will get one more day with the boy.
One more day to say goodbye, that will have to last at least 3 months.

With that, I'm off to the pool,
To stalk my boy at work,
And try and OD on seeing him before I leave...