9/52: I wonder when it will all make sense. By “it” I mean my life, not the drunken German voices filled with laughter and revelry down the hall. I feel like in the past two days I have been on the largest rollercoaster of emotions. I’ve gone from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. I’m on this existentialist bender to figure out who I am and how I want my life to turn out. How am I supposed to feel when I’ve made the biggest athletic mistake of my life, especially one that was completely in my control? I get that you get to lick your wounds for a while, dust yourself off and get back at it, but what if I wasn’t planning to do that? I wanted to walk away clean, be happy with any outcome and move on with my life, I didn’t expect that I’d actually feel as if there was a gaping hole in my chest. It hurts, it fucking hurts, and I don’t know what to do anymore. Am I willing to put in the effort to struggle through the lack of balance in my life and do this all over again? I’m just so tired and I just can’t reconcile with my own brain, these carefully constructed plans I’ve built in my head are starting to crumble. All I want to do is lay in my larger than European standard twin bed in my rusty smelling room and turn the clock back forty-eight hours. But life doesn’t work like that.