We’ve all had those moments before. Don’t try to deny it.
One minute you’re going about your business, light as a bird. The next minute, something happens that’s worthy of sending you first class to the land of Humiliation. Your eyes dart quickly around, anxious to make sure that no one noticed your blunder. Just when you think you’re in the clear, you see them. That lone stranger in the distance. Your eyes meet. Your heart stops. You know. They saw the whole thing.
I am that person.
For some reason I cannot fathom, I have been chosen to be a witness of the strange, the embarrassing, the completely random. To see that poor soul slip on the ice. To see that guy accidentally punch himself in the face when he sneezes. To see those random people wearing super creepy clown masks while driving a slug bug down a deserted road at 6:00 am.
Seriously, that last one is so freaking creepy. And, weird. It’s been almost ten years, and I still can’t get that image out of my head. I mean, that one guy looked directly at me. He just stared at me as they drove by. Why? And, why did it have to be clowns of all things? That experience shook my middle school self to her core.
My hyperactive observational skills are both a blessing and a curse. I am constantly seeing things that I don’t really want to see. That spider in the corner? I see it. Those people making out behind the dorms? Ew.
On the other hand, I get to see things that a lot of other people may miss. A few weeks ago I witnessed a gang fight between a group of squirrels and some mockingbirds. I rooted for the squirrels. Yesterday, I saw a little kid dancing alone on a tree stump. These incidents may seem insignificant, but they were moments that made me smile when I didn’t really feel like smiling.
Since this post should probably have some kind of point:
There aren’t a lot of things I’m sure about these days. One of them is that this world is weird. It’s also pretty wonderful.
I’m glad I’m here to experience it.
Don’t worry. This isn’t the angst ridden “where do I belong in the world?” “who am I really?” type of post that the title might lead you to believe it is. There are no whiffs of existential crisis to be found here. Instead, I have for you a grumpy cat (though not the grumpy cat), a sassy redhead, and a bookworm. Confused? So am I.
Let me explain.
A few months ago there was this weird game going about. I don’t remember if it was a general weird game, or if it was just something that my family came up with. Anyways, the game was basically just finding three characters, whether they be from book or movie, that describes your personality. However, rather than pick the characters ourselves, we had to rely on the decisions of others. Like I said, I’m not really sure where this strange game came from.
After many hours of deliberation and false starts, my sisters finally decided on the three characters that, together, pretty faithfully describe my hodge-podge personality.
I really shouldn’t be surprised that this character was the first, and quickest pick, of the lot. With our rampant sarcastic wit, often pessimistic attitudes, general grumpiness, dry sense of humor, and love of lasagna, sleep, and candy, this sassy, orange tabby and I are scarily alike.
Some may have quickly tried to defend themselves when given this comparison. I mean, he can be kind of a jerk. He is a cat, after all. From me, however, there were no complaints. I knew that what my sisters said was true. Besides, I’ve actually always loved Garfield. He just…gets me. You know?
Destiny has deigned that Garfield and I be kindred spirits, and I must say that I am perfectly okay with it.
2. Belle (Beauty and the Beast)
Pick number two was, of course, the lovely Belle. While I may not be a French beauty, I do love to read. Which is probably the only reason this character was picked for me.
I would like to point out, however, that I actually have much more in common with her than our love for books. For example:
a) I am a big daydreamer.
b) I am a hopeless romantic with high expectations (no Gastons for me).
c) I have a case of wanderlust that would make your head spin.
d) I enjoy spending my afternoons reading to sheep.
e) I have a tendency to burst out into song whilst twirling about.
So, as you can see, I’m at least 33.3% Disney princess. Now, if I could just find myself a tragically misunderstood prince with a castle and a swoon-worthy library.
(P.S. Please don’t take the reading to sheep thing seriously. I don’t actually do that.)
3. Donna Noble (Doctor Who)
When I asked my sister why she thinks I’m like Donna, she replied with one word: Strange. Thanks, sis.
Me and Donna Noble are actually a lot alike. Besides being strange, we’re both super stubborn, sassy, and sarcastic. We also both try to act tough and aloof to disguise the fact that our metaphorical insides are actually quite mushy. *laughs to hide the tears*
Really, it seems the only difference between me and this sassy redhead, besides the hair, age, and her Britishness, is the fact that I’ve never gone on adventures with a handsome time travelling alien. This actually upsets me more than you might think.
If you see a blue phone box floating around in the sky, let me know.
“Though my soul may set in darkness,
it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly
to be fearful of the night.”
-Sara Williams, “The Old Astronomer to His Pupil”-
I cannot tell you how many times I have heard the phrase “You should write a book!”
I just…I can’t just…you don’t under…*sigh.*
People who don’t write just don’t seem to understand how freaking difficult writing can be sometimes. You know, as much as I enjoy it, writing is not that easy. If anyone ever tells you it is, they are lying. Yes, some days the words flow easier, the stories swirling in your brain are a bit clearer, but this is the exception, not the rule.
Even now, I am struggling to find the words to explain how difficult and frustrating writing can be. Sometimes the words you want to say just refuse to come, and when they finally do, they are often far inferior to the words you need to express how you truly feel.
Plus, I just suck at the whole creative writing thing. I tried that whole scene in college, and it was a disaster. Some people are blessed with the creativity and imagination to pull new worlds and characters out of thin air. I am not one of those people. So, I think I can pretty much nix the idea of writing a book.
Despite this, I really do love writing. It actually wasn’t until recently that I discovered just how much I love it. It’s not just a desire. It’s a need.
Sometimes I feel like I’m going to burst, my fingers tingling and itching to get out the words stuck in my head and my soul. Sometimes I don’t even have anything to say, or what I do have to say is just complete nonsense. In those moments, I just know I need to write. Which is actually kind of how I feel right now, writing this. I was just sitting at my desk, trying to get through the last few hours of the day, and suddenly I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to write. So, here I am.
That’s honestly one of the main reasons I decided to create this blog. I didn’t have any specific plans, I wasn’t hoping to make a career out of it, and I certainly didn’t think that the world was in desperate need of my small-town, naive, uncalled-for bouts of wisdom. I was just in desperate need of an outlet. I needed a reason to write. And someone to write for. I can’t write for myself. I can be very critical.
The more I think about this, the more I write, the more sure I am that this is what I want to be doing. What I’m supposed to be doing. I’ve never been sure about what I wanted to do when I “grew up.” I’ve so many ideas of what I could be, just an endless stream of desires coming and going. Growing up, I thought I might become an archaeologist or a police officer. Maybe a fashion designer or a baker. Now that I’m here, though, I think I can pretty confidently say that I want to spend my life working with words. It may not always be easy, it may end up being an incredibly frustrating and unfruitful path, but I think I would regret not going for it.
So, wish me good luck. Cause there’s like a 70% chance that it’s not going to work out.
I’ve planned a lot of parties in my day. A lot. Okay, maybe not a lot, but I’ve planned a few. At least 5. And, for the most part, they turned out pretty well. So, when I started planning my friends surprise party I was like “I got this! No big deal!” Time and place? Check. Food and drink? Check. Decorations? Check. Then, I got to the entertainment portion of party planning. That’s when I started to panic.
What do normal people my age do for fun? I mean, besides drinking and going clubbing and all those sorts of shenanigans. Cause that kind of stuff was not in my list options. No thank you. Although, I do actually rather like red wine. Don’t tell my mom.
That’s also when I learned a few things about myself: 1) I actually quite like party planning. It’s fun, and it feeds the OCD gene in me. 2) I’m a simple soul. 3) I know nothing about my generation.
If someone were to plan a party for me, I would be cool with just having a movie or game night. All I need is some good food, some good friends, and some Just Dance or Apples to Apples. But, as my friend and party planning partner pointed out so kindly: I’m not normal, and normal people my age apparently don’t do that sort of stuff at parties. C’mon? What’s not to like?
So, as is probably clear now, I was completely out of my element when trying to think up how entertain the crowd of strangers that had been invited to the party. I tried. I really did. Let me just tell you this: the commercials lie. People apparently aren’t content to just hang out and talk and enjoy each other’s company, with food provided, of course. At least, people in my generation aren’t. Or, maybe it’s just people in this town. Maybe there weren’t enough people. Maybe I just suck at throwing parties. But, I doubt it.
Anyways, time went by, party plans were finalized, and the big night arrived.
Did I eventually find out the secret to throwing a good party for young adults?
No. No, I did not.
My social awkwardness strikes again. I’m not a very good young adult. Or, regular adult.
Nevertheless, the party actually turned okay in the end. I mean, the whole point was to celebrate a good friend, right? She enjoyed it, and that’s all that matters. But, I think it’s safe to say that I can definitely cross “Party Planner” off my list of possible career options.
Oh, 2017. I just can’t seem to make myself feel sad that you’re gone.
In general, 2017 was pretty crappy. It brought a lot of let downs and disappointments, some strained personal relationships, and a few nights crying alone in my room. I reached my peak of poor physical health, my iPod got stolen out of my car, and one of my sisters moved away.
However, I can’t say that last year was all bad. I now have a new adorably puffy-cheeked niece. I was able to afford a big, comfy bed, as well a shiny new used car named Charlie. I finally conquered my fears by driving long distance on the interstate (Yes, I’m a loser). I got my first tattoo. I took some good pictures. I found a new show, read some new books, and bought some new songs. I also received a sloth doll for Christmas. His name is Noel.
Plus, I can now say that I survived an entire year in the grown-up world.
Yep. It’s official. My first year as an out of college semi-official adult is over, and I don’t quite know how to feel about that.
It’s hard for me to believe that I’ve actually been out of college for a year. Just think about it. It’s been a entire year since I last had to write a paper or study for a test. A year since my last lecture and my last badly misguided all-nighter. All throughout high school, I couldn’t wait to just get the whole school thing done and over with. I thought I would never get out, but here I am. It’s weird. Yet, very freeing. And, also, slightly terrifying as I’m still a complete novice at this whole adult thing.
Those first few months of freedom were pretty great. No school. No waking up early. I could stay in pajamas all day if I wanted to. The downsides of being jobless, however, soon caught up with me. It kind of sucked not having any money. No money equals no fun. That was a hard lesson to learn. Adulthood seemed a lot cooler when I was a kid.
The constant nagging from my mother to get a job also helped to pretty thoroughly destroy any of that post-college, pre-real world giddiness.
My first job offer caused a lot of relief, terror, nervousness, hope, and sadness all at the same time. It kind of made me dizzy. On the upside: Yay! A job! On the downside: Mediocre pay and boring work. However, I accepted it, telling myself that this first job was just going to be temporary. It was a way to make some money while searching for a job that I might actually enjoy, and one that I could actually support myself on (Yes, I still live with my parents. Don’t judge.) But, here I still am. 8 months later.
It’s not for lack of trying. These last few months have been spent applying for job after job after job and receiving denial after denial after denial. I may finally know where I want to be, but I can’t seem to find the road to get there. It’s disheartening. Still, I hope. Hope is hard to kill, my friends. It’s a wonderful curse.
Anyways, I’m just glad that 2017 is over.
If pure force of will can affect how this new year goes, then I can go ahead and tell you right now that it’s going to be amazing.
You hear that strange rumbling noise? That’s the sound of my determination.
Bring it on, 2018.