Today has been a day. Piper is so hyper from her post-spaying comfort that she is acting like a squirrel on crack, I found out that I WILL have a place to live once the house closes, and I am either getting sick or seriously fighting it. I find that my life seems to be a series of a lot of nothing happening and then something cataclysmic occurs, and we are off to warp speed. I also have either destroyed or Piper had a hand in destroying probably my 9th phone charger this year. I detest this phone, and have spent an estimated total of $100 just on chargers this year. A plague on Samsung's house.
I admit; I sort of thought I might be homeless come house closing date. I have no job; true, my mom is co-signing, but luck has not been my particular strong suit in the last few years. I'm not a pessimist, truly. I'm the one who always tries to infuse humor into the situation, but I feel sometimes like a lot of really funny/extroverted people have expressed they feel: It can be exhausting. I do NOT want anyone to worry about me. I think there are so many other important things in the world on which to focus your concern. Even if I genuinely need worry and concern, I'll tell you that I'm fine.
Is this a bad thing? I dunno. I depended on someone to comfort and console me, and that didn't turn out so great. I don't want to be a distant, cold person, and frankly, I don't think I actually know how to do that, much to my probable imminent demise....death by caring. My grandmother always told me that I was too sensitive, and I never really thought about what that meant, until recently.
I care and love with my whole heart. What you see is what you get. I've always found that to be one of my better qualities, and people that love me have, too. However, I could see where that might've gotten me into trouble. If you love and trust with your whole heart, you get stomped and squished that way, too. What is a girl to do? Be distant and build walls or just jump in to the deep end, regardless?
Speaking of the deep end, I'll tell you a little story. When I was about 7, I went to the public pool for a friend's birthday party. There was a high dive, whose height I couldn't fully gauge, like a standard high dive. No one, would dive from it, no boy, girl, or adult. I said, "Whatever," and dove perfectly into the water. It felt like my skull hit knives when I connected with the water, but I still remember seeing astonished faces as I resurfaced. That's how I want my life to be.
To my detriment, possibly, but I don't do tentative, and I don't do shy and wallflower-esque. I'm no Popeye, but I truly "am what I am." I've figured out, FINALLY, at 36 years, that if you don't like me, the real me, the one that I always project, then that's your problem, not mine. You are not going to turn me into Martha Stewart or June Cleaver or anyone other than Emily Beryl Gaither. I will not make myself small to fit into any more boxes. That is done.
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