The Pain of Euphoria

What goes up must come down.

Gravity: Not only does it work, it’s the law.

They say that a full moon is so powerful that it can affect people’s moods and the balance of chemicals in their brain. 19 years ago, I was born on a full moon. This year, my birthday was the day before the full moon. It was so beautiful that night, rising large and red, looming over the Denver skyline. That was 5 days ago. As the moon waned, I went on a retreat, coming back with a sort of spiritual “high” similar to that which came with the Steubenville Retreat of my last summer. As I came off that high, I found a new source of euphoria. Moving out, no matter where you are changing from or too, is exciting. Though the building I move from is the residence of almost all of my friends and the new one is condemned, asbestos filled, small, old, and has rooms smaller than legal jail cells, the move is exciting. The perspective of having my own space is even more exciting. And so, I have caught up in the euphoria of packing and moving. Before that, I had ridden the euphoria of bonding and a retreat. Before that even, I had enjoyed being home and rode the euphoria of friendship and family. This whole time, I suppose I was under the altering influences of the full moon.

The full moon has departed. The tide slams the other way. A paper was due today at 8am. Another paper was assigned yesterday, and there is a third one in the works. Assignments pile up, teachers talk down, movies baby-sit, a new work schedule has evinced confusion and more work, and my prime motivation for loving my home has turned its back on me, and has become my prime regret. I haven’t even moved out yet! The new life that awaits and beckons will not receive the happy recruit who signed the paperwork.

There is no feeling worse than regret. Whether it is knowing that you weren’t there for someone, that you failed to study hard enough for a test, that you set in motion a trend that has self-destroyed –hurting you with it, - or that you just handed in a paper not worthy of being called more than a rough draft to an excellent and expecting prof, the knowledge of your own failings has a peculiar quality to antagonize your mind. And that’s what I live with. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t once been happy.