It never really ends.
Mutual respect for others…people really need to learn that.
- Mom: (muffled in the background) find college boys!
- Dad: Why are you so concerned now with her finding guys?
- Me: Wait. What did mom say?!
- Mom: Study hard!
- Me: Is that really what you said?
- Dad: No!
- Mom: Yes!
- Me: What'd you say?!
- Mom: Study hard!!
- Me: ...okay. Bye mom. Bye dad.
I don’t think he knows how happy he makes me.
Not like a happy “I have a crush on you and I’m super happy because you always talk to me”, but more like a “you always know what to say and even if it makes no sense, it still makes sense because you’re you and that makes me happy.”
I honestly don’t think anything will happen, and soon, like all things, it’ll die down. You’ll find cooler, newer friends. You already have. And I’ll just become a backdrop in your busy life, fading to a dull glimmer until I’m not there anymore. But despite that, I’m okay. For now, you still aknowledge me and talk to me and make me laugh for no apparent reason. I’m happy now, and I shall hopefully go to bed with a happy mind and have happy dreams full of happy, fluffy clouds and flying whales.
Late in the night, while everyone is asleep, and the halls become eerily silent, I like to sit and write letters. Write letters to anyone who I miss and care about. So, friends, snail mail is coming your way. Soon. I promise.
I’m just odd.
Maybe it’s just me and I have a problem that needs helping. So please. Someone help me.
I get overly excited over small things. And my imagination, God, I hate it sometimes. It will be the death of me…or maybe not. Maybe my imagination, that tends to get me into trouble, that tends to make me seem crazy or insane or wreckless, will lead me somewhere amazing. Somewhere where I won’t have to be seen as a complete maniac. Or at least I’ll be a wealthy, successful, completely happy maniac. Yeah. That sounds pretty good.
I had this whole idea, some sort of random motivation for this post. But somehow I lost it. So I’m just going with the flow. Hoping that somehow, my mind, in all it’s utter chaos and confusion, will figure things out. I’ll figure things out. I always do eventually.
I like college. I like how I have the freedom to wander randomly through campus, or go back to my room and just cuddle up with a good book (currently Freakonomics) and just enjoy time alone. I don’t know. I mean I could do that at home, of course. But it’s not the same. It’s like a breath of fresh air. Or rather, a whole tank full of oxygen that medical professionals use on patients who have trouble breathing.
And even though I like this, even though I enjoy every new, single, amazing moment of this journey, I still feel something. I still feel lost and alone and sad and just not myself. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I thought I knew. I thought I knew who I was, but I don’t know if I know. You know? Haha, I don’t even follow what I was thinking just then. I mean, I know my goals. I know my dreams and my passions. But that’s not all there is to me. I know I like immature jokes and stupid tv shows. I know I like whales and the color periwinkle. But that’s not all there is to me. I know that that’s not all, but I don’t know what else there is to me. I don’t know what else there is to know. And when I don’t even know that, how is anyone else supposed to know or want to know?
I keep hoping that I’ll be funny enough or cool enough to stick out and make some sort of amazingly wonderful impression on people I meet. But frankly, it’s just awkward. I like being stupid sometimes and not needing to worry. And I just can’t do that here. I just can’t not worry because every single thing I do will have some sort of hideous consequence that will make me happy or make me devastatingly alone and depressed.
Maybe everything will be fine and I’m just worrying over things that don’t even matter. But even if that’s the case, I’m worried about worrying too much. It never ends with me. Never. I want it to. I want to just be carefree and happy and know what I am, who I am. But I constantly question myself and my choices. And you know, maybe that’s not a bad thing to do every once in a while. But it becomes so tedious and overwhelming that things seem to move too quickly and by the time I blink once, things change, and so must I.
And I absolutely hate how I thought this would be an uplifting, fun post. I hate my mind.
PS: I also hate how nail polish takes a bajillion hours to dry and I eff up the last coat by running my nail against my earphones while watching tv episodes on hulu. I hate myself sometimes.
At first I was lost. I don’t know what I expected. And I still don’t know what I want. But just when things seem to be better, a lot better, I still have that feeling. A sort of thump in the pit of your heart that extends down to your gut. I don’t know why I feel it. All I know is I do. And I don’t want it. I don’t want this anxiety and inability to be so sure of myself. I want happiness. Pure bliss that takes me over and allows me to just relax for once. I want to be happy-go-lucky again. I don’t want this. I don’t need it. Can’t I just take all these principles from The Tao Of Pooh and apply them? Why isn’t it so easy? Pooh bear is so calm. So carefree. He just allows things to happen as they are and goes from there. I envy that. I never envied a stuffed animal character before. But I do now. I thought I’d learn something. But all I learned is that I can’t be like this anymore. And I’m so used to being wound up and unsure that it’s too hard to be any different. It’s too hard to change and be pooh. I’m more of a piglet. And I don’t know if I want to be. I guess I need to reread The Te of Piglet. I need to find a happy medium. Whatever that means. Or else I’m going to drive myself insane. And that feeling, that little thump in my heart, not the good “I have a super crush on a guy” feeling, won’t ever go away.
I still feel like…
I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing now. I want to just fast forward past the awkward introductions and find my place. Make my place. Just be fine and be okay and make my dreams into some kind of distorted, but ever-so-wonderful reality.
Can’t I please just have that?
FIDM…I’m coming for you soon, yeah? I’ll make it happen.
I normally think some guy calling a girl “baby” or “sweetie”, or god forbid, “baby girl”, is extremely degrading. And don’t even get me started on “boo”. I’d hate for someone to call me that. But to be honest, I would not mind Shemar Moore calling me “baby girl”. Kirsten Vangsness is one lucky gal. I seriously can’t get over how amazing their chemistry is on Criminal Minds. Too bad he’s about forty. Damn.
Can suck sometimes.
I get it. Being a girly girl has it’s bonuses. Guys like long hair, make-up, and all that. But honestly, why? What’s wrong with having short hair? What’s so un-sexy about that? What’s so wrong with wanting people to look at your face rather than your hair or your cleavage, butt, legs, or anything else? Example? Emma Watson. She’s classy, stylish, gorgeous. But after she cut her hair super short, something slightly Mia Farrow-esque, guys around the world slightly died. And why? Because they don’t find it attractive. However, personally, I think her short hair is amazing. She definitely has the bone structure, the face, to pull it off. She’s a strong woman with no doubts about herself, and why is that so bad?
I just don’t see it. I mean sure, I want long hair sometimes. Hair that will slap someone in the face on accident if you happen to turn around too quickly. But another part of me wants none of that. I want to like my short hair; to be able to say, “Yeah, I love being slightly androgenous and not caring about what people think, ever.” But unfortunately, that’s not the case. I’m insecure, of course. Who isn’t? Sometimes I think it’d be easier to just go with it and have long hair, side bangs; the things that guys always swoon over.
I hate it. I hate that I cut my hair super short in order to “stick it to the man”. What man? Stick what to who? I don’t even know. Was I trying to prove something to myself? To someone else? Who even knows. I mean, I like my short hair, I do. But there are days when I say, “What the hell…I want long hair.” But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be indecisive and not know what to do or feel or think. I want to be sure of every decision I make, even something as trivial and stupid as a haircut.
I told myself that in college, I wouldn’t make these mistakes. That I’d please myself, not others. That I would do what I loved, what I wanted, what made me happy. It’s nothing new though. Why did I have to wait for college to make those promises? Why can’t people just do that right off the bat? Why can’t we just be ourselves and not worry from the very beginning? I got a late start, but I won’t change myself for other people. If I want a damn haircut, I’ll get one. And if I want to grow out my hair, I’ll do that. No more being so indecisive about every damn thing in my life. This isn’t what it’s about. Life is far too short for others to try and control you. Life is too short for society to dictate who you can and can not be.
But, I didn’t need to say that, because no one ever thinks it’s fun. It’s annoying and lame and awfully boring.
It looks like something exploded and my room is a complete mess. I can’t sleep on my bed because there’s a pile of clothes strewn all over the sheets. How did I ever think I’d get through this in one day? I am forced to try on basically every item of clothing I own in order to see if it will be suitable for college life. I want to bring versatile things that can be worn with more than at least three outfits. I know…I’m a freak and insane. But it’s like…why bring something that only looks good with one particular set of clothing? That’s so unreasonable. And so, I am setting higher standards for my choices in what I bring. Wait, what? Did that sentence even make sense? No, it didn’t. But I’m far too lazy and tired to backspace all those letters that I just typed. And sure, I could use my mouse and highlight and press that magical “delete” button. But that’s just way too much effort.
End of ramble for tonight. Or maybe. I don’t know. Agh, I didn’t double space in between the last two sentences. Boo.
I hate when plans are ruined by other plans. Even if those plans involve merely jumping around in your living room while listening to a hodge podge of music: a sad excuse for exercise. Goodbye lazy Tuesday, full of promise and hope. And “exercising”, packing, crafting, and watching tv. Hello babysitting all day, and working with my mother all night.
Chopping off about 8 inches of my hair was very liberating. Although I am very disappointed my hair doesn’t grow faster, because if it were a measly 2 inches longer, I could have donated it to Locks of Love…but my hair grows insanely slow…
I thought having shorter hair would make me look older, but my dad says I look younger…I am frustrated, but still happy. Oh well. I turn my head and expect to have 20148 lbs of hair whipping around with me, but there’s nothing! It’s basically weightless, and I love it. I “danced” as soon as I got home and stood in front of the mirror seeing how swishy my hair was. So basically, that means I jumped up and down and inspected the moveability of my new hair. The verdict?
It’s pretty damn swishy.
And that’s a good thing.
I had a dream/daydream that I was the costume designer for Criminal Minds.
This obsession has gone too far. Maybe…Oh well.
But I do think it would be cool to be a costume designer for them…or for any show that I also enjoy watching. Psych…White Collar…Covert Affairs…that would be so awesome. But I have other plans for myself. If the opportunity came, I wouldn’t turn it down though.
So…HIRE ME! :) I would appreciate it. Heh.