While last week was a hot mess of late starts, looking like trash, and not enough coffee, I had high hopes that this week – my last week of classes – would flow smoothly and effortlessly, but of course, I would be wrong. This week I felt like death. Remember last Monday when I felt like a truck ran over me on its way into the bay because I decided that an all-nighter was the best option? Well, this past Monday morning it felt like a train had steamrolled over me – I had the flu.

I despise being sick. I make it my mission every year to mentally coach myself into a defensive attack on the submissive hold germs have on the immune system. I would much rather refrain from sick dollops and high fevers, but unfortunately, the virus caught me and held me hostage until … well, I’m still sick, so now.

It was such a pleasure to zombie walk through my last week of my last full semester on campus with some of my favorite characters. Behind curtain number one we have the stout older gentleman with his signature red suspenders and thin wire framed glasses. Behind curtain number two we have yet another gentleman with eclectic taste; this chap wears numerous patterned ties and consistently arrives late. Haughtily sat behind curtain number three is another gentleman, and this one prescribes lengthy novels and oodles of criticism – most times constructive. And lastly, behind curtain number four sits a professor who consistently tried to get me to call him instead of emailing him like a normal professor. That right there, ladies and gents, is this year’s cast of characters for “One of the Most Stressful Experiences of Alex’s Life.”

These crazy professors kept me on my toes, and at least this time they didn’t tell me that I looked like trash. Needless to say, I made it through, and I’m finally home for an interim of one more day before I jet set to London, which will begin my next set of exciting adventures. However, while I’ve been home for all of 0.3 seconds, a lot has happened. For example, the other day I was reminded of something that happened to me quite a while ago now, and I feel like I need to say more about this experience, and of course it involves men.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again … dating in this generation is horrible. However, it is even more atrocious when they lie to you over and over again. This is the sequel to a story that occurred as summer ended and my last semester of strictly English classes in undergrad began. And this story is centered around gossip – something I despise.

I never buy into gossip. I’ve been the subject of many a rumor in my day, and I just don’t see the point in perpetuating a thought, a belief, or an idea if I’m not fully educated about the topic. Gossip can also be detrimental when the fiends grasp at straws to filter an idea into society. Therefore, I typically refrain, but this is the one caveat to refraining from gossip; this was one situation when I should have listened to the “rumors” floating around.

If you avid readers have kept up with these crazy excerpts from my life, you would remember an episode titled “You’ve Got Mail: An Unromantic Comedy.” I contemplated even posting that initial tidbit because I didn’t want to cause drama. However, I did because it was my truth about something that happened in my life at a time when I had finally let my guard down with someone. And then it fizzled into the nothingness it derived from, and I am forever grateful. It would have been a disaster, and I am worth so much more than a side piece or someone you spill your woes to because you can’t or won’t give them your full attention.

Now, here is where the story gets juicy and where my neurotic female tendencies emerge to foster a fury that I’m not sure where to direct. I had completely forgotten about this individual who led me on for quite some time. I’m going to be real, I was probably stupid for even letting it go on for as long as it did. I mean, it started with an email, which wasn’t the most professional form of communication at the time, but I’m over that now.

Anyway, I had forgotten about this human, and then I was asked about him once again. A pet peeve of mine is when people whisper about you when they are two feet from your person. Just say it to my face; however, don’t always expect an answer. Another pet peeve is when people randomly inquire into my personal life. Like, “hi, hello, yes, please ask me about how crappy and nonexistence my dating life is. I’m not lonely or anything.” I share what I share online; that’s all you get. I comply sometimes just to satisfy the masses, but generally, I don’t like to retrieve tools out of the toolbox if they’ve already done their job in making my life more difficult.

What I will discuss, however, is the fact that I am not your typical garden hoe, but I have stumbled across quite a few – men and women included. Without causing too much of a rift or calling anyone out, all I’ll say is that tools and garden hoes happen to infiltrate my life, which also furthers my distaste when it comes to dating.

It turns out that a lot of the rumors I was hearing were true in some respect, and I chose to ignore them because I was blinded by attention. Every woman loves to be the center of a man’s world for just a little while. Next time, I’d prefer if it wasn’t a rusty tool out of a crusty toolbox, me, his past, and a garden hoe. From now on it’s my world, and I’ll decided whether or not I’ll allow you onto the premises. I don’t have time for getting played, and the irony of the entire situation is that the rusted tool expressed a similar bout with suspicion of multiple personas. I should have known …

This is the last time I’ll ever speak on this experience. I think now all my anger has been expressed through various metaphors; the art of writing has curbed my fury. I will never be your typical garden hoe, nor will I ever understand having relations of whatever capacity with more than one partner. I can barely handle texting more than one person at a time. What I learned from this monstrosity is that I was never friends with a bunch of girls for a reason. Some can be vindictive and two-faced, and I don’t have time for that.

I’m moving forward once again, leaving tools and garden hoes in the past with my coffee cup in one hand and my pen in the other, because my life is sure to be a wild ride from here on out. I’ll definitely have more stories – hopefully none that involve gossip and drama. Stay tuned for the next 20 days because my Europe blogs begin tomorrow. I’ll be reaching you from 35,000 feet with a smile, a hot brew, and many more adventures.