Now what is he thinking?? "Damn, I wonder who I have to invade to get one of those cool hats?"
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
I mean, come on, sometimes it's too damn easy..
Now what is he thinking?? "Damn, I wonder who I have to invade to get one of those cool hats?"
That giant sucking sound
I'm pretty sure I have ADD or something. Maybe not ADD, but some kind of personality disorder that causes my moods and general well-being to violently fluctuate for no apparent reason. Sounds charming, eh?
I genuinely don't know what my problem is; one minute, I am perfectly content with the state of affairs in my life, and the next, I'm questioning everything all at once. Maybe I should major in philosophy in graduate school. That way, I could go ahead and self-sabotage myself into a life of true insanity..I jest.
I dunno, maybe it's just that with all of the choices a person of my age (22, of course) is confronted with, we have no option but to question, second-guess, and then fool ourselves into thinking that everything is fine for the time being until we start the questioning, second-guessing part all over again. It's maddening. No wonder pharmaceutical sales of anti-depressants have skyrocked in this country.
Sometimes, I truly envy people with simpler minds, who seem perfectly content to follow the prescribed path in life: Go to college, major in something that won't threaten a potential life partner, meet your husband, get married right out of college and then pretty much shelve your goals to raise a family..
Now, here's the thing. I could probably do that until the part where the kids go off to college, and then I would have an American Beauty-type breakdown where I would question what I had done with my life and probably start working out in the garage, listening to Frampton and smoking pot while fantasizing about my son's hot soccer teammate.
That seems to be more of a recipe for disaster than just trying to figure shit out right now, you know?
I do wish I could turn my brain off sometimes, though. It's exhausting just to listen to some of the thoughts I have on occasion..and dreams..good Lord, the dreams. I have had dreams that really ought to be studied by a team of doctors in Sweden.
And the result of this overactive brain thing seems to serve to sabotage stuff for me as well. I am a girl who just says, text messages or e-mails whatever pops into my brain and then, about 70% of the time, I feel a fair amount of regret, but it's too late. I've already changed my mind about whatever it was that I unleashed, and I can't pull it back.
I guess what I'm saying is that I have no personal self-discipline. I have always been too passionate a person, listening to my heart way more than my head and usually paying a price for it. And wondering how in the hell others can be so frustratingly logical while looking for an appropriate Shakespearean sonnet to sum up my feelings.
At times, I think, well, I would much rather be like me and actually feel stuff and experience love and the requisite hurt and pain that can accompany it, and then there are those times when I'm in the throes of that lovely hurt and pain, that I think, "Emily, your brain is there for a reason. Start listening to it rather than your stupid, wide-open heart."
I dunno which way is better. Without passion, there would be no great poetry, music, art or love, but do you ever notice how those artists, writers and musicians who felt all of that exquisite pain and passion die horrible, gut-wrenching deaths because no one could ever fulfill their expectations?
Something to consider..
I genuinely don't know what my problem is; one minute, I am perfectly content with the state of affairs in my life, and the next, I'm questioning everything all at once. Maybe I should major in philosophy in graduate school. That way, I could go ahead and self-sabotage myself into a life of true insanity..I jest.
I dunno, maybe it's just that with all of the choices a person of my age (22, of course) is confronted with, we have no option but to question, second-guess, and then fool ourselves into thinking that everything is fine for the time being until we start the questioning, second-guessing part all over again. It's maddening. No wonder pharmaceutical sales of anti-depressants have skyrocked in this country.
Sometimes, I truly envy people with simpler minds, who seem perfectly content to follow the prescribed path in life: Go to college, major in something that won't threaten a potential life partner, meet your husband, get married right out of college and then pretty much shelve your goals to raise a family..
Now, here's the thing. I could probably do that until the part where the kids go off to college, and then I would have an American Beauty-type breakdown where I would question what I had done with my life and probably start working out in the garage, listening to Frampton and smoking pot while fantasizing about my son's hot soccer teammate.
That seems to be more of a recipe for disaster than just trying to figure shit out right now, you know?
I do wish I could turn my brain off sometimes, though. It's exhausting just to listen to some of the thoughts I have on occasion..and dreams..good Lord, the dreams. I have had dreams that really ought to be studied by a team of doctors in Sweden.
And the result of this overactive brain thing seems to serve to sabotage stuff for me as well. I am a girl who just says, text messages or e-mails whatever pops into my brain and then, about 70% of the time, I feel a fair amount of regret, but it's too late. I've already changed my mind about whatever it was that I unleashed, and I can't pull it back.
I guess what I'm saying is that I have no personal self-discipline. I have always been too passionate a person, listening to my heart way more than my head and usually paying a price for it. And wondering how in the hell others can be so frustratingly logical while looking for an appropriate Shakespearean sonnet to sum up my feelings.
At times, I think, well, I would much rather be like me and actually feel stuff and experience love and the requisite hurt and pain that can accompany it, and then there are those times when I'm in the throes of that lovely hurt and pain, that I think, "Emily, your brain is there for a reason. Start listening to it rather than your stupid, wide-open heart."
I dunno which way is better. Without passion, there would be no great poetry, music, art or love, but do you ever notice how those artists, writers and musicians who felt all of that exquisite pain and passion die horrible, gut-wrenching deaths because no one could ever fulfill their expectations?
Something to consider..
Friday, November 18, 2005
A little bit of everything and a white trash family tale
This will be another ADD post, because there are many things rolling around in my brain today.
First of all, I saw the Johnny Cash movie last night, and it rocked beyond any expectations. Joaquin Phoenix had an eerie resemblance to the late Man in Black, both aesthetically and emotionally. I highly recommend it. I drove home after watching it and thought a lot about it, as I do when I see a movie I either love or hate, and really thought, "Hmm..Johnny Cash took a while to really get his shit together. Should I really be that hung up on my own perceived shortcomings?" I mean, how awesome is the line "There's just something about a Sunday that makes a body feel alone?"
Second of all, having come to a financial crossroads due to being unemployed now for over a month, I am in full acceptance of the fact that I will have to take whatever job I can, as long as it starts as soon as possible. It's almost cathartic I guess, to be as a big a professional snob as myself, to realize that I may be working at a Quik Cash sometime soon, because being charming, winsome, and a social butterfly doesn't seem to pay the bills as it may have at one time. Oh, well.
And lastly, and completely diverging from any sane train of thought, I was thinking about one of the trashiest things I ever witnessed a few days ago and realized that I simply had to write about it, because it's too funny to keep to myself and the select few that have already heard it. Here goes:
In high school, I was friends with people who were somewhat shady. All of my really close friends were basically okay, but there were people on the fringe of our crowd or friends of my friends who were ready for Jerry Springer before there was a Jerry Springer show. In fact, they may have since been on there. I digress.
One day, my friend Melissa was giving me and my friend Jessica a ride home. I had a car, but rarely was allowed to drive to school, so it was always cool when I could ride home with someone. The two of them had been friends before I came to that school, so I was really new to their friendship, but we were getting along swimmingly until this particular day.
Melissa and I stop to let Jessica out at her house, and the two of them began to argue, about what I don't remember, and suddenly, they were both out of the truck, clawing, slapping, pulling hair. (In retrospect, I should've found the closest group of guys and sold tickets, but I wasn't as enterprising in those days)
Anyway, me, not having any personal stake in the outcome whatsoever just kind of sat in the truck, stymied over what to do. I think my best effort was a halfhearted, "Um..guys? Maybe you should stop." Can't imagine why it didn't work.
Finally, the girlfight stopped with Melissa jumping into the truck, crying and freaking out and Jessica yelling at her at the top of her lungs. Well, I wasn't thrilled about being driven home by a panicky mess, but her truck was a stick shift, and I never had redneck initiation into driving such a vehicle, so we tore off, 70 mph down curvy, steep roads in rural Mississippi toward a mutual friend of Jessica and Melissa's, the notorious Jones (names are changed to protect..me) house.
Okay, here's what I know about this family. There were anywhere from 10 to 15 people living in this 4-room house, there was no indoor plumbing, they always had drugs, and therefore, rather unruly parties, and they were all related to each other somehow. Two of the guys were brothers; the rest were cousins, uncles and aunts, I dunno, but I attended one party of theirs where I'm pretty sure a crack pipe was passed around, and there were at least 3 babies being breast-fed at various times by aforementioned crack partakers. Classy stuff.
So, Melissa and I head over to this house so that she can talk to one of the cousin/brothers and presumably get high at the same time. We arrive, she heads off into the back with one of them, and I opt to hang out in the living room with another brother/cousin and his mother, along with someone's 7-month-old baby who is in a car seat on the couch, breathing in more second-hand smoke than some people ever do, let alone an infant..and I start to hear this exchange between mother and son:
Mother: "Curtis, I'm gon' cut myself! I am!
Curtis: "No, you ain't! No, Momma!
Mother: "Baby, I got to; I ain't got no choice!
Curtis: "Momma, don't! I'll punch you out to keep you from cuttin' yourself!
At this point in the dialogue, as I sit on the couch, trying to wave the smoke from in front of the baby's face, they notice that I'm sitting there.
Curtis begins to explain (why, I don't know, because I was perfectly content to be left out of the "cutting conversation) that his mother is on probation and is scheduled to see her probation office that day. Apparently, for medical reasons, like maybe glaucoma, she might not entirely so much pass the required drug test. So, in Momma's infinite wisdom, she decides to cut her arm with a butcher knife so that she will have to go to the emergency room and therefore postpone her meeting with her probation officer. Clearly, it's brilliant on many levels, but Curtis doesn't seem to like the idea. They resume yelling:
"Baby, I'm 'gon do it. Ya ain't gon' stop me!"
"The hell I won't! You do it, and I'll knock you clean out the door!"
Well, really, it goes back and forth for some time, and at times, I desperately wanted my friend to come out of that room so we could leave, and at times, I was sucked into the white trash train wreck and really just wanted to know what would happen.
Here's what did happen. Curtis and Momma came up with a compromise. He would cut her arm in a superficial way, but enough to draw a fair amount of blood and perhaps require stitches. It seemed that Momma had been medicating her glaucoma that very day to the extent that she likely would have lopped off her arm had she administered the knife herself, so they made a compromise.
About 15 minutes before my soon-to-be-ex friend came out of the back of the house that Clorox forgot, Curtis and Momma made their way to the emergency room with Momma's left arm swathed in a bloody towel. The last thing I heard was, "Baby, I feel lightheaded."
I have no idea how their plan turned out, and thank God, I never saw any of those people again after that day, but I often think about the pure love that boy clearly had for his Momma. Because Lord knows if I ever want to get out of a drug test with my probation officer, I want a son who will knock me clear out of the house to protect my safety.
First of all, I saw the Johnny Cash movie last night, and it rocked beyond any expectations. Joaquin Phoenix had an eerie resemblance to the late Man in Black, both aesthetically and emotionally. I highly recommend it. I drove home after watching it and thought a lot about it, as I do when I see a movie I either love or hate, and really thought, "Hmm..Johnny Cash took a while to really get his shit together. Should I really be that hung up on my own perceived shortcomings?" I mean, how awesome is the line "There's just something about a Sunday that makes a body feel alone?"
Second of all, having come to a financial crossroads due to being unemployed now for over a month, I am in full acceptance of the fact that I will have to take whatever job I can, as long as it starts as soon as possible. It's almost cathartic I guess, to be as a big a professional snob as myself, to realize that I may be working at a Quik Cash sometime soon, because being charming, winsome, and a social butterfly doesn't seem to pay the bills as it may have at one time. Oh, well.
And lastly, and completely diverging from any sane train of thought, I was thinking about one of the trashiest things I ever witnessed a few days ago and realized that I simply had to write about it, because it's too funny to keep to myself and the select few that have already heard it. Here goes:
In high school, I was friends with people who were somewhat shady. All of my really close friends were basically okay, but there were people on the fringe of our crowd or friends of my friends who were ready for Jerry Springer before there was a Jerry Springer show. In fact, they may have since been on there. I digress.
One day, my friend Melissa was giving me and my friend Jessica a ride home. I had a car, but rarely was allowed to drive to school, so it was always cool when I could ride home with someone. The two of them had been friends before I came to that school, so I was really new to their friendship, but we were getting along swimmingly until this particular day.
Melissa and I stop to let Jessica out at her house, and the two of them began to argue, about what I don't remember, and suddenly, they were both out of the truck, clawing, slapping, pulling hair. (In retrospect, I should've found the closest group of guys and sold tickets, but I wasn't as enterprising in those days)
Anyway, me, not having any personal stake in the outcome whatsoever just kind of sat in the truck, stymied over what to do. I think my best effort was a halfhearted, "Um..guys? Maybe you should stop." Can't imagine why it didn't work.
Finally, the girlfight stopped with Melissa jumping into the truck, crying and freaking out and Jessica yelling at her at the top of her lungs. Well, I wasn't thrilled about being driven home by a panicky mess, but her truck was a stick shift, and I never had redneck initiation into driving such a vehicle, so we tore off, 70 mph down curvy, steep roads in rural Mississippi toward a mutual friend of Jessica and Melissa's, the notorious Jones (names are changed to protect..me) house.
Okay, here's what I know about this family. There were anywhere from 10 to 15 people living in this 4-room house, there was no indoor plumbing, they always had drugs, and therefore, rather unruly parties, and they were all related to each other somehow. Two of the guys were brothers; the rest were cousins, uncles and aunts, I dunno, but I attended one party of theirs where I'm pretty sure a crack pipe was passed around, and there were at least 3 babies being breast-fed at various times by aforementioned crack partakers. Classy stuff.
So, Melissa and I head over to this house so that she can talk to one of the cousin/brothers and presumably get high at the same time. We arrive, she heads off into the back with one of them, and I opt to hang out in the living room with another brother/cousin and his mother, along with someone's 7-month-old baby who is in a car seat on the couch, breathing in more second-hand smoke than some people ever do, let alone an infant..and I start to hear this exchange between mother and son:
Mother: "Curtis, I'm gon' cut myself! I am!
Curtis: "No, you ain't! No, Momma!
Mother: "Baby, I got to; I ain't got no choice!
Curtis: "Momma, don't! I'll punch you out to keep you from cuttin' yourself!
At this point in the dialogue, as I sit on the couch, trying to wave the smoke from in front of the baby's face, they notice that I'm sitting there.
Curtis begins to explain (why, I don't know, because I was perfectly content to be left out of the "cutting conversation) that his mother is on probation and is scheduled to see her probation office that day. Apparently, for medical reasons, like maybe glaucoma, she might not entirely so much pass the required drug test. So, in Momma's infinite wisdom, she decides to cut her arm with a butcher knife so that she will have to go to the emergency room and therefore postpone her meeting with her probation officer. Clearly, it's brilliant on many levels, but Curtis doesn't seem to like the idea. They resume yelling:
"Baby, I'm 'gon do it. Ya ain't gon' stop me!"
"The hell I won't! You do it, and I'll knock you clean out the door!"
Well, really, it goes back and forth for some time, and at times, I desperately wanted my friend to come out of that room so we could leave, and at times, I was sucked into the white trash train wreck and really just wanted to know what would happen.
Here's what did happen. Curtis and Momma came up with a compromise. He would cut her arm in a superficial way, but enough to draw a fair amount of blood and perhaps require stitches. It seemed that Momma had been medicating her glaucoma that very day to the extent that she likely would have lopped off her arm had she administered the knife herself, so they made a compromise.
About 15 minutes before my soon-to-be-ex friend came out of the back of the house that Clorox forgot, Curtis and Momma made their way to the emergency room with Momma's left arm swathed in a bloody towel. The last thing I heard was, "Baby, I feel lightheaded."
I have no idea how their plan turned out, and thank God, I never saw any of those people again after that day, but I often think about the pure love that boy clearly had for his Momma. Because Lord knows if I ever want to get out of a drug test with my probation officer, I want a son who will knock me clear out of the house to protect my safety.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
It's all about me..as it should be
You know, lots of people who know me really well would probably say that I'm self-involved..and they wouldn't be wrong, really. I tend to freak out about stuff more than the average bear, and if something affects me in any slight way, it's possible that I have a stronger reaction that necessary. I've been to therapy, I've been on anti-depressants, and clearly, I've established this blog to kind of serve as an outlet for the crazies that creep in when I can't do much to stop them. But the thing is, I am actually not all that self-involved when it comes to the important stuff.
I have postponed career paths, educational paths, hell, sometimes just weekend plans, to accommodate others' needs, even though it might not be what I personally want to do. There are certain people that I've made changes and allowances for, because I'm being quite the opposite of self-involved, and if there were some sort of support group, I think this would be the "moment of clarity," where I stood up and said, "Hi, I am Emily, and from now on, everything really and truly is all about me."
For instance, I have been stressing for months on which grad schools to apply to, in order to make family, significant other, etc.. happy. Why in God's name have I been doing that? Do these people have to attend said grad school? Fuck no, I do, so decision #1 in pleasing Emily's goals is to go where I want. I'm the one who has put this off more times than I can count because it wasn't the right time, not just for me, but for others' agendas, and I'm done..DONE. I haven't decided 100% where I'm going, but rest assured, when I do, it will be because it's where I want to go..me, the one going..that one seems as though it should have been fairly obvious, huh?
Also, I'm done being a good girlfriend. Not to point fingers at any men I may've brushed up against for too long in the last few years, but Compromising and Understanding Emily has hung up her jersey.
In fact, I'm really done with being a girlfriend..period. I've come to the realization that I've been in an irrational hurry to get married because I want children so badly, and the whole turning 28 thing this year freaked me out to that end, but good God, do I really want to be in an unhappy, unfulfilling relationship so that I can then end up being a single mother, most likely? Ummm..lemme think..no.
I've decided that I am settling for no less than someone who wants to write a personal thank-you note to God for creating me and allowing me to be with him, and until I find that, I'm not settling. Why should I or anyone else have to? Dating should be viewed, I think, as more of a learning experience than anything else..that whole "you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince" philosophy. And God knows, frogs have overpopulated the planet at an alarming rate since I started dating..but I'm not going to dwell on that. It's all back story and life experience for the many best-selling novels I will write.
I will say this, if I've ever dated you and you've pissed me off, I would be very concerned..just a caveat.I feel I should be fair before taking some people off at the knees. I can't completely go cold turkey with the pseudo-selflessness thing, I guess..
So, anyway, to sum up, Emily (who, in fact, will be referring to herself in the third person from now on) is about to get serious about what makes Emily happy. It's been trial and error so far, which is about the best any of us can hope for, but I am no longer concerned with the feelings of others if they interfere with what I feel is my path.
It's an Emilyaissance, so to speak, and we'll (also the royal pronouns) see how it pans out.
I have postponed career paths, educational paths, hell, sometimes just weekend plans, to accommodate others' needs, even though it might not be what I personally want to do. There are certain people that I've made changes and allowances for, because I'm being quite the opposite of self-involved, and if there were some sort of support group, I think this would be the "moment of clarity," where I stood up and said, "Hi, I am Emily, and from now on, everything really and truly is all about me."
For instance, I have been stressing for months on which grad schools to apply to, in order to make family, significant other, etc.. happy. Why in God's name have I been doing that? Do these people have to attend said grad school? Fuck no, I do, so decision #1 in pleasing Emily's goals is to go where I want. I'm the one who has put this off more times than I can count because it wasn't the right time, not just for me, but for others' agendas, and I'm done..DONE. I haven't decided 100% where I'm going, but rest assured, when I do, it will be because it's where I want to go..me, the one going..that one seems as though it should have been fairly obvious, huh?
Also, I'm done being a good girlfriend. Not to point fingers at any men I may've brushed up against for too long in the last few years, but Compromising and Understanding Emily has hung up her jersey.
In fact, I'm really done with being a girlfriend..period. I've come to the realization that I've been in an irrational hurry to get married because I want children so badly, and the whole turning 28 thing this year freaked me out to that end, but good God, do I really want to be in an unhappy, unfulfilling relationship so that I can then end up being a single mother, most likely? Ummm..lemme think..no.
I've decided that I am settling for no less than someone who wants to write a personal thank-you note to God for creating me and allowing me to be with him, and until I find that, I'm not settling. Why should I or anyone else have to? Dating should be viewed, I think, as more of a learning experience than anything else..that whole "you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince" philosophy. And God knows, frogs have overpopulated the planet at an alarming rate since I started dating..but I'm not going to dwell on that. It's all back story and life experience for the many best-selling novels I will write.
I will say this, if I've ever dated you and you've pissed me off, I would be very concerned..just a caveat.I feel I should be fair before taking some people off at the knees. I can't completely go cold turkey with the pseudo-selflessness thing, I guess..
So, anyway, to sum up, Emily (who, in fact, will be referring to herself in the third person from now on) is about to get serious about what makes Emily happy. It's been trial and error so far, which is about the best any of us can hope for, but I am no longer concerned with the feelings of others if they interfere with what I feel is my path.
It's an Emilyaissance, so to speak, and we'll (also the royal pronouns) see how it pans out.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
The Third of a Life crisis
Well, I've been back at the teat of my parents for approximately 3 weeks now, and here's what I've figured out about myself thus far (in no particular order):
I am a 28 year-old woman who doesn't own anything of value, I have no job, gray hair, laugh lines, my face has suddenly reverted to adolescence by breaking out inexplicably; I can't do anything girly like decorate to save my life; I have less than $200 to my name unless I start selling eggs or a kidney, and I want children so badly, my womb aches when I'm around them, yet the thought of marriage really and truly scares the bejesus out of me. Oh, and clearly, I live with my parents..
And yet, I'm not particularly suicidal over all of those things, because at long last, I think..I think I've figured out that nobody else has all of those things particularly figured out, and that is quite frankly, what life is. Also, I've had time to think A LOT (which is never really all that good at thing) about what things are right with me and what things are wrong.
I have always been a social kinda gal, one who thrives on what people think (whether I admit it is another story), almost defining myself through the eyes of other people, be they boyfriend, friend or casual acquaintance, and quite frankly, I've been left feeling empty most of the time due to that personality quirk of mine.
While, yes, it makes me easily comfortable with different kinds of people; I will know no stranger at a party, etc..it also has left me with odd feelings of loneliness, which would seem to be the opposite of what a social person would aspire to feel.
I guess what I mean is that when you adapt your personality so heavily to those around you, going along with what they want, you forget or ignore your needs and wants, and you end up feeling, as I have come to recently, that you don't know who you are or what your wants and needs are anymore.
Further, I think that I have a problem with relationships sometimes because while it takes quite a bit to really get me, in that Jerry Maguire "You had me at hello" kind of way, once I'm gotten, I turn into a mouth-breathing Stepford person, and that's no way to be either.
I'm setting some goals for myself while in Mississippi, because frankly, there's not a whole hell of a lot else to do, but I digress.
I figure that I've returned to my childhood home, the scene of the crime, so to speak, so if I don't work out some issues I have with myself while here, they will never be worked out.
It's a bit of an undertaking, yes, and I don't claim that I will "Dr. Phil" myself in less than a year, but I think this is a truly rare opportunity to figure out who I am and what I want before I move on to the next thing.
I wish I had a Magic 8 ball to pose life's big questions to that would tell me what my path should be, but I think that's part of the problem.
I've been expecting that Magic 8 ball in some form or another since college and continue to be disappointed by its elusiveness.
Not to sound like a complete kook, but I am my own Magic 8 ball, and all of those answers are within me. Clearly, it would be an uncomfortable ordeal to shake myself around each time I have a big question, so it would probably be wiser to stick with introspection in that regard.
See, I can be funny when having an existential crisis.
All that being said, just for my own edification, there are some awesome things about me, too, that I will never change and make me feel good about myself.
Those being in no particular order: My niece Jillian loves me a lot and refers to me as "her best friend" sometimes, (see above text about children making me ache -- this is why) I am an excellent Trivial Pursuit player and bowler, having at one point been in a league..bowling, not Trivial Pursuit..however, if there is a Trivial Pursuit league, do let me know, which leads into one of my other wonderful traits..I am a DORK. I like to explain how to diagram sentences, I love listening to NPR, especially Terry Gross, I liked the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Batman Begins, AND the last Star Wars movie, and I'll take you down if you make fun of me...and last, but not least, and really probably not last..I am irreverent, sarcastic and downright obnoxious sometimes, and I don't care. In the event that God hasn't cursed me relationship-wise, and I do end up with grandchildren, my grandkids will tell friends about their grandmother who flashed at Mardi Gras and St. Patty's Day when she was younger, did ridiculous karaoke with her closest friends, sang "Proud Mary" with a band on Beale Street, "Me and Bobby McGee in Jacksonville, Fla., not to mention Mississippi, and used the word "Fucko" as both an insult and term of endearment.
All hope is not lost.
I am a 28 year-old woman who doesn't own anything of value, I have no job, gray hair, laugh lines, my face has suddenly reverted to adolescence by breaking out inexplicably; I can't do anything girly like decorate to save my life; I have less than $200 to my name unless I start selling eggs or a kidney, and I want children so badly, my womb aches when I'm around them, yet the thought of marriage really and truly scares the bejesus out of me. Oh, and clearly, I live with my parents..
And yet, I'm not particularly suicidal over all of those things, because at long last, I think..I think I've figured out that nobody else has all of those things particularly figured out, and that is quite frankly, what life is. Also, I've had time to think A LOT (which is never really all that good at thing) about what things are right with me and what things are wrong.
I have always been a social kinda gal, one who thrives on what people think (whether I admit it is another story), almost defining myself through the eyes of other people, be they boyfriend, friend or casual acquaintance, and quite frankly, I've been left feeling empty most of the time due to that personality quirk of mine.
While, yes, it makes me easily comfortable with different kinds of people; I will know no stranger at a party, etc..it also has left me with odd feelings of loneliness, which would seem to be the opposite of what a social person would aspire to feel.
I guess what I mean is that when you adapt your personality so heavily to those around you, going along with what they want, you forget or ignore your needs and wants, and you end up feeling, as I have come to recently, that you don't know who you are or what your wants and needs are anymore.
Further, I think that I have a problem with relationships sometimes because while it takes quite a bit to really get me, in that Jerry Maguire "You had me at hello" kind of way, once I'm gotten, I turn into a mouth-breathing Stepford person, and that's no way to be either.
I'm setting some goals for myself while in Mississippi, because frankly, there's not a whole hell of a lot else to do, but I digress.
I figure that I've returned to my childhood home, the scene of the crime, so to speak, so if I don't work out some issues I have with myself while here, they will never be worked out.
It's a bit of an undertaking, yes, and I don't claim that I will "Dr. Phil" myself in less than a year, but I think this is a truly rare opportunity to figure out who I am and what I want before I move on to the next thing.
I wish I had a Magic 8 ball to pose life's big questions to that would tell me what my path should be, but I think that's part of the problem.
I've been expecting that Magic 8 ball in some form or another since college and continue to be disappointed by its elusiveness.
Not to sound like a complete kook, but I am my own Magic 8 ball, and all of those answers are within me. Clearly, it would be an uncomfortable ordeal to shake myself around each time I have a big question, so it would probably be wiser to stick with introspection in that regard.
See, I can be funny when having an existential crisis.
All that being said, just for my own edification, there are some awesome things about me, too, that I will never change and make me feel good about myself.
Those being in no particular order: My niece Jillian loves me a lot and refers to me as "her best friend" sometimes, (see above text about children making me ache -- this is why) I am an excellent Trivial Pursuit player and bowler, having at one point been in a league..bowling, not Trivial Pursuit..however, if there is a Trivial Pursuit league, do let me know, which leads into one of my other wonderful traits..I am a DORK. I like to explain how to diagram sentences, I love listening to NPR, especially Terry Gross, I liked the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Batman Begins, AND the last Star Wars movie, and I'll take you down if you make fun of me...and last, but not least, and really probably not last..I am irreverent, sarcastic and downright obnoxious sometimes, and I don't care. In the event that God hasn't cursed me relationship-wise, and I do end up with grandchildren, my grandkids will tell friends about their grandmother who flashed at Mardi Gras and St. Patty's Day when she was younger, did ridiculous karaoke with her closest friends, sang "Proud Mary" with a band on Beale Street, "Me and Bobby McGee in Jacksonville, Fla., not to mention Mississippi, and used the word "Fucko" as both an insult and term of endearment.
All hope is not lost.
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