I am going to do each of these things:
Wait, explanation is needed. We’ve already discussed my roller derby dreams. Tryouts are in November and I haven’t been on wheels in, maybe, fifteen years. I’d like to start my own version of training soon, but the next paragraph and the fourteen chapters following it will explain my uncontrollable-reservations. As for PAWS – if I had unending finances, and acres and miles of housing, I would adopt every single animal on the planet. Unfortunately, neither of those things exist for me, so I’ve decided to volunteer instead. Of course, there are selfish benefits to this (something to do! cuddling kittens!), but really, I just want all of those little pets to be as loved as possible. And I am the candidate-iest candidate you’ll find! I’ve got orientation on March 21st to learn the ropes. Can’t wait! As for the Girl Scout – no, I will not do her. First of all, I don’t even know who she is. Second, she’s a little kid. But jokes aside, I never had the chance to be a Girl Scout as a little, uh, girl (sad face sad face sad face infinity). Just last month, I watched Troop Beverly Hills for the first time and, because I live my life according to television and film, I’ve wanted to be a Wilderness Girl ever since! Anyway, I know I won’t get to be a real Girl Scout, but I’ll get to do all of the stuff they do (including wearing a cute outfit, I think, right?!?!?!) while also shaping and forming minions of little future MEs!
But after the planning comes the doing, and this is where I find myself staring at the future instead of making it. And then a million different thoughts and concerns and hopes and wishes abound, jumping in front of the windows of my eyes, and I eventually spew sentence after sentence of deep, dark pain hidden with wit, and written almost nonsensically. So, enjoy, friends!
I’m beginning to feel there isn’t much to me other than celebrity crushes, redheads, and Nancy Drew. At least here, anyway. I’ve opened up a bit in the past, but I’ve kept things far too surface. I’ve got a good number of blogs on my Reader that I aspire to become (Keiko Lynn and Hannah and Landon’s, to be specific), but it’s like I’m too shy and stuck in the muck to make it so. I long for the day I’m comfortable enough with myself to start thrifting again. I was one of the only people I knew that regularly shopped at thrift stores in high school. I became such good friends with one store that, when they closed, they gave me a giant record player and bunches of things to play on it as a “thank you for your patronage!” gift. Because of my unhappiness with my body, though, I really pay no mind to what I wear anymore. I just buy stuff that fits, regardless of how I actually feel about the item. It’s really frustrating, but it’s become near impossible for me to fight my way out of this funk!
Since high school graduation (maybe even senior year, in general), I’ve just had this pulsating “blah”. I didn’t apply to colleges when I should have; I didn’t go to classes when I did, eventually, attend college; and I’ve been through over thirty “careers”. I’m only twenty-five, y’all! I’ve had more jobs than years I’ve lived. Not at all sane!
Anyway, the next eight years have been spent spiralling in and out of full consciousness. I wasn’t hard-up on the drugs or anything!, I’ve just been not living. It sounds so utterly dramatic, but there is no better way of explaining it. We all have moments of realizing how quickly life is going, but that feeling seems to never leave me. And that feeling, in itself, has me depressed. It’s a cycle. I’m depressed because I’m “fat”, I’m “fat” because I’m depressed. I’m depressed because the years are flying, the years are flying because I’m depressed. And with the amount of years I’ve wondered if I’m depressed, you’d think I would’ve taken the initiative to find out for sure. But no. I’m a right, stubborn little jerk and insist that I fix myself on my own. It’s only recently that I’ve realized that, unfortunately, I can’t. No amount of pushing (from me or anyone else) is getting me out of the emotional and mental shell that I or life has created in me. I’ve felt so guilty, too, being this way. Like I really am just a lazy, excuse-ridden brat that doesn’t want to help herself. I really, really do want to help myself, though! But it just isn’t that easy. To a normal mind, it’s the easiest way out: just, you know, do. But that jumpstart is where my mental engine chokes. Doing feels like the hardest thing in the entire universe.
Oof. So, maybe I didn’t mean to get so personal and in-depth here, but I don’t feel like tinkering out a new entry, replete with the same amount of fancy speak. Maybe this’ll explain why I’m shy and outgoing, tired and energetic, and excited and bored, any given time my “real-life” readers encounter me. I always enjoy company, I attack new friendships with so much fervor that I live in constant fear of scaring away, and I’m a lot nicer and funnier than what my stone-like exterior shows when you first meet me (or, really, hang out with me at all; I act as though I’m going through a new awkward initiation every time I hang out with someone).
But the point I’ve been reaching to in this entry, is that I’ve really got to do some changing. I am not giving up on my roller derby dreams, and I won’t not make more goals to achieve this year as well (hey, PAWS and Girl Scouts is new, eh? eh?!?!). I’m hoping by the time my birthday gets here, I’ll have gotten some thrifting done and will want to take pictures of myself in those thrifted items – and then post those pictures online! Whoa! So, I’ve got all the planning done, and now I’m at that scary brink of doing. Maybe all of the therapeutic writing I’ve just done will help. Probably not, but I am over being lost in the fog. I am going to shoo my way out whether I like it or not. And I am going to be a giant baby about it, so:
