Oh hey, February. I sometimes get this longing to write something profound but it’s actually total crap that no one should ever read. Yeah, this is that crap.
Now that I’m 23 I feel like I’m mature enough to admit that there are certain humiliating practices that can and probably shouldn’t be shared on the internet. So here goes.
I don’t cry for no reason nearly as much as I should. And I say should because I honestly think that the expulsion of tears and the working up of irrational emotions is a necessary part of preserving sanity and, thereby, saving face. Preferably in traffic. There’s something about losing it while you’re trapped in a metal box on wheels in the midst of a thousand irritable strangers that does the body good. But how to make this moment more like that breakthrough scene in some sub par drama? Why the appropriate soundtrack, of course. All this to say, I highly recommend painstakingly questioning your purpose, your ambitions (or lack thereof), and perhaps your choice of lunch while Imogen yells OOOH, WHACHA SAYYY in the background. You might take a momentary break from your introspective meltdown to curse out that motherfucker that cut you off and while that is all well and good, keep your eye on the prize. What is the prize, you ask? The prize is not making everyone else crazy because you have some pent-up emotional issue that you’re inevitably gonna take out on him or her or whoever. So, rule of thumb: sob in traffic every once in a while. I suppose you could also get a therapist. Noted.
Sometimes, I feel guilty for not feeling guilty.
I think you find your life fundamentally shifts based on how you measure your days. Let me elaborate. For me, and a lot of others in my post-graduate predicament, everything used to be measured based on when I would end a semester or start a vacation or graduate–they were things with definitive deadlines. Now all my deadlines are open-ended. So I count the days based on when my days off are or when I get to see somebody. It sucks. It sucks because deadlines don’t exist for me anymore. There are no absolutes to when something must be accomplished. The lack of a regimented schedule with goals is that I don’t know how to create my own. I forgot what it means to have to do something.
Things I currently love: stupid-ass toothy grins, puppy stampedes, and checking my bank account (for comic relief)
Things I currently hate: Lana Del Ray, whiny children, and self-discipline
