Try again, fail better.

Being on the verge of tears for about a thousand different reasons while at work is a really interesting experience. I’ve been mildly depressed for pretty much the majority of the year due to the fact that I went from one crap-paying stressful job to a slightly better paying yet mind-numbing one. My days are completely routine and I spend most of my time alone in an office staring at a computer screen.
It hit me today that I have to go back to school, which is an idea I’ve been toying with for about a month now. The thought is enticing. The reality, not so much. As much as I wish studying for the GMAT would be some sixty second montage with an upbeat, get-down-to-business pop song playing in the background, that’s not actually the case. At all. Like, not even a little.
Then there’s the thing that has ruled all of my life decisions: fear.
What if I don’t get in?
Which was, of course, the first question my mother asked me when I first mentioned this idea to her.
What if my mediocre undergrad GPA,and nonexistent extracurricular activities other than what I did at Truman (the school I didn’t even graduate from) aren’t enough?
What if I’m not good enough?
Do admissions boards actually care that I’ve since found a passion and want to pursue it? Do they give a shit about my personality sob story that makes it really fucking hard to apply myself when I don’t see a point to the effort? Or will they just think I’m lazy?
The fear got to me a couple weeks ago and I actually abandoned this idea until today.
Today, I was bored out of my mind. It was one of those days at work where I finished everything I needed to do within my first hour of being there. Which just left 7 more hours to kill. I’ve felt like I’m slowly dying all day, and the thought came to me again:
I have to go back to school.
And then the fear creeps in. But today, instead of succumbing to the fear and abandoning the idea again, I remembered a conversation I had with a mentor when I was seventeen and applying to colleges.
He played into my fears, and ultimately convinced me that I wasn’t talented enough to bother auditioning for my dream school out of state. I believed him. He had this idea that failing is the worst thing that could possibly happen to you, and would continue to influence my decisions with that line of thinking throughout the next couple of years. I became terrified of failing.
Sometimes I wonder what that version of my life looks like, the one where I ignored him and auditioned for my dream school anyway. I think I would have been accepted. After that, I’m not sure. I know the 26 year old Becky in that version of reality is nothing like this one, though.
So,
what if I don’t get in?
Then I figure something else out. I take some classes outside of a degree to boost my GPA. Try again. Maybe fail again.
At least then I’ll know. I won’t be cowering behind some hypothetical situation in my mind that’s not the ideal outcome.
So, yeah.
I’m going to go back to school.

Wanna-be cool girl.

It’s interesting to me how different the character version of myself is than my real-life persona.
Character-version? What the hell are you talking about, Becky?
The version of myself that I imagine when I’m daydreaming. The version of myself that is cool and calm and collected. I use this visual of myself to either play out potential situations that I might find myself in, or just to kill time at my insanely boring desk job.
I have somewhat severe social anxiety. I’m like a goddamn deer in the headlights in brand new situations that I didn’t have time to mentally prepare for, and if those situations occur in an atmosphere that I’m already uncomfortable in, watch out, I might totally freeze and have an epic fail.
I practice things I’m going to say. Sometimes it’s out-loud in the mirror at home while I’m getting ready, sometimes it’s in the car (I’ve had entire hypothetical interviews with myself in the car), and sometimes it’s just mentally walking myself through a situation. It helps. It sounds crazy, but it helps. Practice makes perfect, or at least as close to perfect as I’m ever going to get.
When I imagine myself in these scenarios, it’s this character of myself, and goddamn she’s so much cooler than I am. Because she doesn’t have social anxiety, her hair is never frizzy, and her makeup doesn’t start to break apart during the last hour of work (goddamn hot and humid office). She doesn’t stutter when caught off guard, her eyes don’t get all big and give away her poker face when something new is put on the table, and she waits to think something over without getting excited right away at a new opportunity.
She’s so damn cool. Cooler than I’ll ever actually be.
My high school band director was the first person who ever told me how read-able I was. He said I should never take up poker. I haven’t.
I’m a very emotional person with a very expressive face and it’s very hard for me to keep my feelings to myself. This is also why I write, it’s like a pressure valve for whatever I’m feeling, and honestly, the more I write, the less major meltdowns I have so it’s gotta be doing something.
As much as I know that my emotional capacity is a huge part of what makes me who I am, I gotta say, there are many days where I wish I were a little more of an Ice Queen. A little more calm and collected.
Instead of the girl who gets so excited over animals that she’s practically in tears.
Eh.
Maybe it’s not so bad.
That character in my head is a nice daydream, because the truth is, me without high emotions or anxiety isn’t me.
…I could do without the stutter though.

Here’s some existential dread to go with your Monday morning.

          The longest relationship I’ve ever been in has been with my depression. Which pisses me off because I want to scream from the rooftops that it gets better and that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel for everybody else, but here I am, lying in bed at 6:30 am, staring at the ceiling, trying to psych myself up for another day of the mundane. The older I get, the more my depression feels like a chronic illness than a curable disease.

            Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suicidal. I’m not nearly as bad as I used to be. I think I might have finally learned to deal with it, and I can go for periods where it’s not an issue at all, but then one morning I’ll wake up and feel exhausted despite just sleeping for a solid 8 hours. My whole body feels heavy. When I notice that I feel detached from my body, then I realize what’s happening.

            Oh hey. I was wondering if you were going to show up again.

            It’s partially situational. When I start to lose a firm grip on my life, that lack of purpose triggers my depression to stick its head out and greet me.

            I’m experiencing a lot of existential dread lately. A lot of “What the fuck is the point?” type of thinking. Again, not suicidal, just nihilistic. Which isn’t me at all. I’m the glowing optimist that proclaims that everything happens for a reason and everyone has a purpose. But when I feel detached from myself, I lose that thinking. It feels more like I’m on autopilot and have no real control over my life. I fall down a rabbit hole filled with sleeping entire days that I don’t have to be at work and drinking a lot, because nothing matters and we’re all going to die someday anyway.

            The drinking tipped me off that I was really starting to slide back down again. I disregard my weekend drinking when I’m being social and having fun, but drinking during the week is usually a sign that I need to administer some ~self-care~.

            I still have yet to learn what self-care is for me. It sure as hell isn’t bubble baths and yoga retreats. Usually it’s going for a walk with my dog, blasting stupid happy music, trying to get myself to feel literally anything other than the void of darkness that is creeping into my mind.

            It’s exhausting to fight it back into submission. I’ve been doing this pretty much my entire life, and it is fucking exhausting. But the good days are finally more common than the bad, and what happens on those good days is 100% worth sticking around for.

            See, there’s that glowing optimist making an appearance again. I’m not totally dead inside.

            Not yet, at least.

A Quiet Place: feat. my inner dialogue while sitting next to the loudest girl in America.

I don’t go see movies in theaters very often. Occasionally something will come out that I just won’t want to wait until digital release for, so I’ll consult with others who I’m fairly sure have seen it and then decide if I actually want to go.

It’s not that I don’t like the experience of a movie theater. Big comfy chairs, surround sound, and a giant screen are all things that I thoroughly enjoy when watching a movie for the first time. It’s that I hate the other people in the room nine times out of ten.

For example, I went and saw Black Panther, it was magnificent. But the man in the seat next to me fell asleep and started snoring. He started snoring so loud that he woke himself up. Then he proceeded to constantly raise and lower his recliner chair, despite the fact that it squeaked loudly while moving.

It wasn’t the worst experience I’ve ever had, but it was annoying.

Last night, on the other hand, well…

I went to go see A Quiet Place, by myself. I love a good thriller movie and just felt like getting out of my house for a bit. I got there, found my seat, and reclined enough that my feet were up but I wasn’t horizontal. Then the waiting game of who I would be sitting next to began.

The woman who sat on my left, in the seat that was grouped with mine, showed up with no food or drink. Huzzah, I’m probably not going to hate you.

I normally dgaf if you have snacks during a movie but snacking during a movie that is mostly silence is a dick move.

We proceeded to ignore each other. Another point for this lady. She’s cool.

Then two girls came giggling down the aisle.

Oh god, please no.

They started walking down my row, and plopped down on my right, talking loudly as they unloaded what can only be described as $50 worth of movie theatre snacks from their purses.

Fucking hell.

I try to stay positive, surely they’ll know that they need to be quiet during a film that is literally titled A QUIET PLACE.

I don’t really notice them much during the previews, other than their comments about, “Why are they still making Mission Impossible movies?” which I can’t be mad about because I was thinking the same thing. Tom Cruise is broke and needs money, I guess?

But then the feature starts, and I become hyperaware of how much I loathe listening to people eat. Just when I think she’s done, she whips out another fucking package of sugar.

We’re maybe halfway through the movie when she finally finishes eating.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

Just when I think I can go back to not wanting to punch anybody, she starts talking to her friend.

“OH my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. That thing is so SCARY”

I definitely gave her the human equivalent of this Unamused_Face_Emoji a few times, but she didn’t seem to get the message.

She was the type to be like, “Oh my god, there it is! It’s right there!! Be quiet! It’s RIGHT THERE! Don’t move! Don’t die!” every. time. the. creature. was. shown.

Ron

I really don’t understand why people can’t just be quiet? I’ve talked in theaters, but only when there’s like nobody else there. Which is actually really fun! I remember in high school I went and saw The Strangers and we were the only people there and we just made fun of it the whole time. Thats fine! Nobody was there for my friend and I to bother! I would NEVER do that in a full movie theater.

A full movie theater for a movie where the silence is part of what makes it so fucking good.

Anyway,

go see A Quiet Place. It’s really, really good. I jumped a couple of times and definitely cried a little (no shame!). I recommend eating before so you don’t feel the need to get snacks and don’t piss off the people you’re sitting near. I will send you good movie vibes that you don’t wind up sitting next to garbage people who ruin the experience.

 

TL;DR? Best summary of the movie:

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Truuuuue.

Ghosts and Military Conspiracies: What more do you need?

Okay! So I am officially fed up with finding new ways to discuss and analyze my past, so we’re moving forward. One of my favorite blog posts to write was my Nintendo Switch review last March after I’d jumped down the rabbit hole head first on launch day.

I am a diehard Nintendo fan, and have never been able to bring myself to purchase another console, although I’m sure at some point it’ll happen just because I really love gaming.

I feel like at this point, Nintendo should give me a discount code because I’ve talked a decent amount of people into buying a Switch.

It’s been over a year since I preordered the Switch along with Breath of the Wild. I’ve logged over 175 hours on BotW, which I’m equally ashamed and proud of. That game is as good as everyone says it is.

Skyrim has also become a favorite of mine, although I do tend to get bored with it and ignore it for awhile. It’s still good.

Mario Kart is a blast, and I’ve recently started playing online with friends who live out of town.

Over the last couple of months I’ve started exploring the Nintendo eshop and finding some real gems in the $20 game price range.

Night in the Woods was the first one I tried out, and certain parts of dialogue had me in tears over how real the depression commentary was. Highly recommend.

This weekend I discovered Oxenfree.

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I am a suspense/horror junkie. My first favorite author that I discovered on my own (as a younger sibling, I would usually read/play/watch whatever my sister did) was Stephen King, and he’s still a favorite of mine. I love suspenseful storylines. Oxenfree has everything I enjoy: ghosts, government conspiracy, demonic possession, and a few jump scares that actually got me.

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You play as Alex, a teenage girl who accidentally opens a rift to another dimension with her friends and they all have to deal with some pissed off ghosties who would very much like to come back to life. I’ve always loved the communicating-with-ghosts-via-radio trope, so I was happy to see that in this game.

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It’s creepy and suspenseful without being overly scary, in my opinion. So if you’re not really into super scary stuff, I think you would still enjoy playing it. You’re not fighting ghosts, it’s all conversation led storytelling, and it’s pretty damn good.

I will say, I was playing pretty late last night and had all the lights off, and my 100-year-old house decided to creak, as it usually does, and I about jumped off my couch. I enjoy that sort of thing though. I think things are actually scary or suspenseful when it translates into your real life as well. If you walk out of a horror movie and aren’t glancing over your shoulder every once in awhile, then it probably wasn’t that creepy.

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There are also multiple ways the story can pan out, based on the conversation choices that you make. I went the righteous route on my first play through, but saw some choices along the way where I made a mental note of, “Oooh, I’m definitely doing that next time just to see what happens.”

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The use of camera was really well done. It’s obviously third person, but occasionally while you were exploring it would slowly pan out to reveal something creepy at the edge of the map, or coming up in your path.  There are a few jump scares, enough that you learn to expect them, but not so many that you’re just like, “Oh for fuck’s sake, ENOUGH ALREADY!”

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Also a light touch of commentary that anger can completely consume your existence, but done through the use of pissed off ghosts who are angry that they are no longer living, which I’m sure that most are.

I highly recommend turning subtitles on. I am not typically someone who uses subtitles, I just crank up the volume and tell the other people in the room to stfu, but it makes it easier to understand what’s being said. In the beginning the music was almost louder than the dialogue, so turning up the volume on my TV didn’t really help. Subtitles also guarantee that you actually understand when the distorted pissed off ghost voices are threatening your life. I got about halfway through the game, annoyed that I couldn’t understand some dialogue before I remembered that subtitles are typically an option and turned them on.

10/10. I like that you can play it multiple times and have different experiences based on the choices that you make. It was a fun way to kill some time this weekend.

What are you playing nowadays that you’re really digging?

 

Switch things I’m excited for:

Donkey Kong

SUPER SMASH BROS omg

 

That’s all for now. I’m sure I’ll be back soon with more gaming posts, because that’s like a solid 50% of my free time these days.

 

 

 

Reflecting.

I think I’m going to start a new series where I drink wine on a Monday and ramble about whatever the hell has been on my mind.

Which, lately, has been a lot.

I’ve been debating bringing the podcast back but I feel like I have so much to say right now that I don’t exactly know how to script each episode to stay on topic without fully writing it out. And fully writing it out makes it a blog post.

Literally everything from here on out started as basic podcast notes that I started writing down while at work and it just expanded to the point where I basically had an entire blog post written in the notes app on my iPhone.  A lot of this I have touched on before, but I feel like the more time that goes by, the better I am at explaining things that happened to me in the past.

I’m in a very good place at the moment, and have been for about a year now. There are brief periods of time where I experience mild depressive states, but it’s nothing like it used to be, and it’s typically after totally exhausting myself by staying out too late or just generally not getting enough sleep. So it’s fairly controllable. Winter is hard to deal with, but thankfully that’s about over. The longer I stay happy and content, the more I start to think that I actually managed to put myself back together and grow into a functioning adult.

And the question that lingers at the back of my mind is, how the hell did I pull that off?

Which is a terrifying question for me, because really thinking about it and analyzing how I got to this point requires me to question a lot of the things I was taught.

I don’t view my medication as ever having helped me much. If anything, they mellowed me to a point where I wasn’t suicidal, which has some value, but they didn’t cure me. They were a crutch that kept me alive until I could get better.

I was in a small town where my resources for help were very limited, and I also wasn’t in a place where I actually wanted help for quite a while. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to get better.

Why would you not want to get better?

 Well, you’re in denial that anything is even wrong with you in the first place.  Admitting that you have a mental illness and actually need help feels a lot like admitting that your brain is defective and you suck as a human. It’s hard to understand if you’re standing on the outside but it’s very hard to get to the point where you’re like,

“Okay, this isn’t going to be my life anymore, I need to get better,”

And for me, it required me to slam my face into rock bottom a couple of times before I got the message.

I read in school that low self-esteem can contribute a lot to certain mental illnesses, mine included. (I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder in 2012). It’s not that it’s necessarily a CAUSE, but that low self-esteem can put you at risk for developing disorders, which makes sense to me.

I struggled with low self-esteem for that majority of my life. Like, twenty-five years, and I’m twenty-six.

I’m still not the person that walks around thinking their shit don’t stank. I notice how far I’ve come with my self-esteem the most with my body image.

I noticed it today at work.

I watched these girls in the break room with their diet shakes or their protein bars and that’s literally all they’re eating for lunch, and I remember being that girl. I remember obsessing about what I ate or what I was seen eating. If I was with a group of people and they all decided to go eat somewhere, I would usually make up some excuse or reason as to why I couldn’t join them. I knew I’d be tempted to eat too much, and I didn’t want to deal with it. So I’d go back to my apartment and chug water and eat an appropriate meal, usually with less than 500 calories.

God, I never thought I would actually admit my thought process for that.

I’m so obsessed with food now, but in a good way. I’m learning to actually cook and that moment when you sit down to a meal you made yourself and take a bite and it’s like a party in your mouth is just the best. I used to worry that allowing myself to love food would cause me to gain weight but that hasn’t been the case. My biggest weight gain came from a period of being extremely depressed and trying to stay sober. Without alcohol to help me cope, I used food instead. It had nothing to do with enjoying food and everything to do with my mental state. Which is typically where most of my problems stem from.

I didn’t use to have a sense of self. I didn’t really know who I was or even who I wanted to be. Because of that, I felt like I had to be the best. The best saxophonist. The best at some incredible awe-inspiring job. The skinniest. The most fun. The most sarcastic.

When I became more comfortable with myself, and who I am, all of that dissipated. Don’t get me wrong, I am an arrogant asshole when it comes to some things, and I will always be a sore loser. But I no longer feel like my job needs to complete me in some way. I don’t want my job to be my entire life, I just want it to support me.

Wanting and needing to be the best saxophonist led to completely ruining something I used to really love and enjoy. Also caused my first couple of major mental breakdowns. Good times.

Being obsessed with something that doesn’t exist (i.e. perfection) will destroy you, and trying to be better than everyone else (and make sure they know it) will lead to your entire life revolving around other people instead of the starring character, you.

This is starting to sound like a self-help book.

What’s that line again? You should be the starring character of your own life? Something like that.

You don’t have to live out some delusion of grandeur to have accomplished something.

I wrote last time that I’m very happy with my normal life, and I truly mean that. I think this is the first time in my life that I feel genuinely happy, and it all came about from being hyper-aware of my thoughts and constantly challenging them.

Why does what that person said anger me?

Is there truth to it?

Am I afraid there’s truth to it? (This is a huge thing that I may touch on in the future)

What’s going on in their life to make them say that?

Do their words actually have an impact on my life?

No? Then why am I concerning myself with it?

I’m obviously referring to personal social interactions, such as gossip, not necessarily things of actual importance like hate speech. By all means, get angry and punch all the Nazis.

People poke fun at the standard line of questioning from therapists because it’s usually just asking “Why do you feel that way?” or some other why-based question, but there’s a lot of value in training yourself to question your first reaction and analyzing your thoughts.

There’s always another perspective. Hell, there’s always a few hundred more perspectives.  A lot of the things that you think are about you aren’t actually about you, it’s about whoever is doing/saying it.

And I’m guilty of this. I have been emotionally abusive to people in the past, I will be the first person to admit that. I still feel a lot of guilt about it, but I’m slowly learning to forgive myself. It’s a work in progress. Those acts came from the fact that I was upset with my self-esteem and my life in general. It had nothing to do with the person I was hurting. That absolutely 100% does not make my actions okay, but I think the people in my life who stayed with me through that or came back to me at a later time understand that that wasn’t actually how I felt about them. That was how a younger, more immature version of myself poorly chose to deal with the crappy situation going on in her brain.

Shoutout to those of you who knew me then and still call me a friend now. You da real MVPs.

So,

how did I get through all of it?

I got to a point where I couldn’t keep living my life the way I was living it.

I wanted to be a better person that people actually wanted in their lives.

I trained myself to start questioning my mind, and thus became a lot more understanding and empathetic towards others.

I also just, well, grew up.

I hate saying that, because I don’t want it to sound like people struggling with serious mental illness just need to grow up because that’s not true at all. But I have a lot of confidence in myself now knowing that if my mind started to go south again, I would immediately seek help, instead of just being like,

Nah, this is fine.

One more long island iced tea, please.

Actually make it two.

I’m fine.

Nowadays I don’t even touch alcohol if I’m super anxious or mildly depressed. I don’t even go there. I just let myself feel whatever it is that I’m feeling.

Which is yet another thing that I want to talk about at a later point.

Emotions are valid.

Let yourself feel them.

I’ve gotta wrap this up or this is basically going to turn into a novel.

I’m settling into a very content place. I have this unwavering trust in where I am and what’s coming. I feel like my life is finally starting to line up and become something that I’ve always wanted it to be. I don’t know exactly what that is, but I have this weird trust in not knowing.

I’m happy, possibly for the first time in my life.

Life is good.

Also Kendrick Lamar won a Pulitzer and I’m so fucking stoked about it.

Anyway. Happy Monday. Thanks for tuning in.

Until next time.

xx.

 

 

 

 

Wine Drunk on a Monday

So, to state the obvious, I haven’t written much recently. I mean, duh, I haven’t posted anything in for-fucking-ever, everyone who reads this blog knows I haven’t written anything long form recently. And even with my poetry, it’s not original. It is, it’s my work. But it’s from old emotions and shit I felt 1+ years ago, and it just doesn’t feel authentic.
I haven’t even really had writers block either, I’ve had ideas of things to write, things to discuss. I’m just at this point in my life where I don’t feel like what I think matters. It’s part of the reason why I don’t tweet that much anymore. I used to live-tweet situations. It was mildly obnoxious, but looking back on my timehop is hysterical because here are these quotes from moments I would have otherwise forgotten about. But now? When I want to bitch on twitter, I think, “Oh my god, nobody cares, just get over it,” and when I want to celebrate an accomplishment, I think, “Oh my god, nobody cares,” It’s this endless cycle of wanting to communicate but feeling like my voice doesn’t matter, and that nobody is listening. So why put in the effort?
I’ve grown up so much over the past couple of years, and I love it. I have my mini-meltdowns about how the hell I’m ever going to be able to afford to fully support myself and buy a new car, and live in a decent place, but overall, you couldn’t pay me to give this all up. I really feel like I have an actual life and that’s the most incredible thing. I look back on my younger self and I cringe. Not because of what I struggled with, but with how I dealt with it. I bragged of being “mature for my age,” yet coped with very serious issues in an extremely immature way. It’s hard to regret it though, because I grew through that and into the woman I am now, and I know I wouldn’t be this version of myself if I hadn’t gone through all of that in the way that I did.
I don’t know. I want to write. My dream since I was a little girl is to eventually have a hard copy of something with my name on it. I want to be published. But I suck at writing fiction, and I can’t help but think that my blog posts are just the voice of another white girl who used to drink too much and once attempted suicide. None of it feels original. None of it feels special. I don’t think I’m some literary genius whose words will touch people. I’m just a normal person, and after years of trying to convince myself that I was special and unique and going to live some incredible life, admitting to being normal feels somewhat comforting. Maybe that’s what this is all about?
Lately I’ve been finding a lot of joy in just being a good friend to people. Making people laugh is one of my favorite things. I like being real and genuine, and I think maybe that’s what’s always made me a decent writer. I’m very in touch with my emotions and I’m not afraid to just say what I feel. I’m very genuine, and have found it’s actually really fucking hard  for me to lie nowadays.
I changed positions at work recently, and walking away from sales was incredibly clarifying for me, and I think that if I had stayed in that position for much longer, I might have gotten totally wrapped up in materialism.  I even told my manager that if I didn’t get the promotion, then I would probably leave because I just didn’t see myself there anymore. While I’m a sucker for a good pair of shoes, at the end of the day, the name on the stuff in your closet doesn’t fucking matter. I’m now working in operations, doing a lot of tedious things, but it feels more like me.
I turned 26 last month and I’ve just been reflecting a lot and laughing at my younger self. It cracks me up. I remember being younger and thinking, “I’m NEVER going to get married and have kids! I want a fabulous life!” and literally the only fabulous life I can imagine myself having involves being the matriarch of a family. I couldn’t ever see myself being a mother, and now that’s one of my life goals. I have to be a mom at some point. I’m not in some crazy rush to make it happen tomorrow, I’m aiming for like, my thirties, but I really want to have kids. I should probably find someone to father them, but ya know, we can figure that out later. #singleaf.
Also, where the fuck did the past twenty-six years go? HOW AM I THIS OLD? I mean, I understand logically how I am this old, but HOW? Also, why are all of my friends married or engaged? Did I miss some memo that we all need to be hitched by now? Because I’m obviously failing miserably at that. Which, I would like to rant about for a bit, so buckle up.
The other day, someone mentioned to me that I used to date a lot. I basically had back-to-back relationships when I was younger. I was rarely single. I’ve been single for most of the past five years of my life. I’ve dated people, felt nothing, and walked away. I don’t think it’s necessarily that I’m avoiding dating, I think it’s more that I have higher self-esteem and higher standards for the men that I date. I want to have something in common with them. I keep going out with these guys who look at me like I’m some magical unicorn and it freaks me out. I’m not special, as I already said. Also I somehow wound up dating a guy who doesn’t listen to music recently and that’s one that really baffles me. My hobby is literally going to concerts and I was dating someone who didn’t listen to music. Wut.
I’m fine on my own. I wouldn’t MIND having someone but I’m so much happier on my own than in a mediocre relationship (isn’t everyone?) and I’m sick of listening to veiled jabs at my relationship status. I’m single, so what? I’m happy. Isn’t that what really matters here?
I realize this is such a rambling rollercoaster, but I haven’t written in SO LONG and this is just what’s been on my mind lately. Thank you for witnessing this clusterfuck of a blog post while I take out a bottle of wine.

TL;DR: I feel like I am a fraud of a writer, but life is going pretty decently otherwise. So, yay?