Today is a very special occasion. This is my, correction, thirty-seventh blog, and I'm not quite sure how to celebrate. How about with an exclamation of how amazing it is to be alive.
This has been such a learning process, and skimming over some previous entries has brought me to one conclusion: I am irreversibly screwed up. Every time I turn around, I've changed my mind, my mood, my heart. Just two blogs ago I swore off stability and flew at spontaneity, and now I sit safe on a Bible college couch awaiting nothing more exhilerating than curfew.
I found a new hobby. I adoringly call it "Wedding Stalking." Basically, I creep around Facebook until I find someone with a wedding album and go from there. I'm putting together a collection of my favourite ideas. The truth is, I'm planning crazy. Just the other day I picked out my rings. HOLD UP! Before you judge me and see the rest of this blog through jaded glasses, hear me out. I am very open to whatever my man wants to get me. And if his taste completely differs from mine but it's what he really wants for me, I'm so okay with that. ...BUT, if I'm going to be completely honest, I know what I want. And they're beautiful. It's not that I'm uber picky, I just love originality.
Speaking of being original, I cannot wait to have a job that pays tons of money so I can save up for stuff, and then re-design my wardrobe. The more I look around, the more I see the typical style of today. Yes, some people attempt to be original, but it's still within the same box. I want to be so beyond the box that things like "pants," panties," and "ponchos" don't even enter my vocabulary. I want to be like "BAM!" and people would be all like "WOAH!" and whip their heads around so fast they'd fly off and their hair would wrap around telephone poles and swing into oncoming traffic.
Regarding my latest mood swing: I am cured, I think. I know how depressing I've been, and it's only made me feel worse to write about it. Yet even as I'm typing this, I know that isn't the entire truth. It is such a release to just be honest and put my entire self OUT THERE, vulnerable, pouring out my soul. The more I pour, the more room there is to be adding grape juice back in. The more lemonade I replace, the more outwardly beautiful I become. Don't confuse this with physical beauty, I'm talking about the type that shines straight from my heart and out my eyes. My mom used to say that she could always tell my mood just by looking in my eyes, because they're so expressive of my deepest thoughts. I've learned that as much as I can smile it away for those who don't know me as well, the ones who honestly know my heart will never be fooled.
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day Eve, my second favourite day of the year. What will I do with myself? Not a clue. What will I not do with myself? Stay in my room feeling sorry for myself. Or happy for myself. I refuse to be anything beyond accepting of my singleness. I can be happy despite it, but not with it. And I'm sick of hearing how that's not okay. I'm okay with it, so all should be supportive. Like when someone's on a horrible downward spiral, caught up in drugs, sex and alcohol. Come on people, get it together.
So here I am. The latest and greatest of my thoughts. Am I confused as ever? Yes. Do I have any clue where I will be two months from now? Not the slightest clue. (These self-reflecting questions are my favourite, in case you haven't caught on by now.) Do I know how to interpret my crazy dreams lately? AHAHAHA as if! All they make me want to do is have babies more than ever.
I am irreversibly screwed up.
2 comments:
great, i bought some jaded glasses the other day, and now i have no use for them T_T
lol so when I read the part that was something like 'I'd be like BAM! and they'd be like WHOA!' I laughed so hard because I could totally hear you saying that because you always used to say that like all the time lol.. I miss you!
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