Pretend, and go to bed before midnight.

Yes, that's what you should do. And live our your life like you're Jane Austen. And not really care about what people think of you. Or what you write. And "miss your mother so much you almost can't breathe". And wear yellow tights. And have a picnic in the park by yourself with a double cheeseburger and a large french fry from McDonald's because you weren't white-trash enough before. And talk to one of your friends on the way to class and across campus. And realize that the two of you have nothing really to talk about and question why you're even friends at all. And get so homesick for your best friends that it almost brings you to tears. And remember that you've only got 43 more days--you can do it. And stalk the guy who works at Apple Spice bakery even though he seriously needs a new pair of jeans. And admit to yourself that you're a little bit OCD when it comes to a bedtime routine because it takes at least twenty five minutes. And promise yourself that you'll find a boy good enough to lean into, one that wants to lean right back. And then, he'd call you up and say, hey, how 'bout coffee, or drinks, or dinner, or a movie... for as long as we both shall live. And don't cry, shopgirl. Don't cry.