I think my blog needs a little more action. Razzle dazzle. Flash. The reaction will be passionate, right? I know I am so why not? I want questions. I want thoughts, I want ideas. I’m also thinking of posting a creative writing blog to encourage myself to write. When people (even if they are imaginary) are reading my stuff, it forces me to actually continue to write. I love writing. There is no comparison to how easy it is for me to explain what I’m thinking or feeling to a computer screen or a piece of paper. I can’t do it to people. I sound like a Valley-Girl, I pause and awkwardly think in the middle of a sentence. It’s horrible. Seriously, just like my crying, I’m an ugly-explainer. But when I’m talking to the computer, when I’m safely wrapped in the lines of college-ruled paper or my notebook with the doodled owls in the margins, I’m untouchable. It doesn’t matter how weird, unique, beastly, absurd or any other adjective that is both strange and wonderful at the same time, I am. Because I’m just me and that’s it. That is my judgment-free zone. That is my white, padded room where I’m free to jump around and smash into stuff like a lunatic. Okay, a little sidetracked. What I was saying, is that I would love for you all to be more into my life, my blog, my thoughts. I want to know what you want to know. There’s this thing that people around me do called Thirsty Thursdays (I don’t know how widespread it is) but we’re going to do “Supposin’ Sundays.” I want your questions, I want your thoughts, I want your feedback. Tell me how I can make reading my crazy, in-and-out, I-don’t-really-understand-it-myself, thinking better for you.
Alright, now that that’s off my chest. I sit here, with a suitcase on my bed, Chicago playing in the background, growing sleepier by the second. I’m supposed to be packing for our big trip. This is our first “real” vacation in I don’t even know how long. Usually, we cheat. We go on vacation and stay with family, which means we stay at the same places every year. Vacation sort of becomes a chore. Well, even this is tiresome. My eyelids are drooping and I can’t get last night out of my head. I just want to curl up in my bed and take a nap. Last night, I went out with Allison and her friend, Bridget, who is now my friend, I guess. Well, I would like her to be. I got dressed up, since it was Saturday and we were planning on going to a bar, which we did. And when we did, no one…and I mean, no one was interested in me. Complain, complain, complain, right? That’s all I seem to do. Sometimes though, I feel like I have this big sign on my boobs, face and ass that says “oh, hey by the way, if you’re looking for a hit-it-and-quit-it, don’t call me!” Everyone seems to know that I am not to be messed with but last night, I wanted to be messed with. I liked flirting with Allison’s other friend’s boyfriend because he was flirting back. Obviously, it wasn’t anything serious because he’s already taken (though I don’t think she’s very serious about it) but both Bridget and I were getting vibes from him. He’s a flirt and you know what, I enjoyed it. I wanted to make out with a total stranger, to just randomly latch on to some guy, grind all up against him and really let loose. Even if I knew it wasn’t going to get past that, the physical attraction between the two of us, the passion and heat of that precise moment would be enough for me. I feel like a soda bottle that someone has been shaking for the last six months but is absolutely refusing to take the cap off. Eventually, the carbon will calm down. Somehow (and don’t ask me how, I have no idea where my science consultant is), the bubbles dissipate and everything is all good again. Your soda might be on the flatter side but it isn’t going to spray in your face. Whoa, let me clear this up first. I don’t mean this in like an “I-so-horny” type of way. That’s another matter entirely that might not be discussed in this episode. I mean it in the “I want to feel something other than this inward obsession.” Okay, that still sounds really conceited. Let me try again. I have passion, right? I’ve said it numerous times that my emotional capacity is that of a child, that I feel like either 360 mph or not at all, and lately, everything I feel has been consumed with my own life. Yes, I do other stuff for other people but in the end, it boils down to me. It’s about getting a job or figuring out school, all stuff that pertains to myself and my own future. For just a split second, for just that one moment in time, I would love to be interlocked with someone so tightly that our shadows can’t fit between us. I want to know that someone, anyone out there can, at least on a primal level, feel the same passion and drive as me. Thomas informed me today that if we could actually see genetic sequencing, women would be striped because of the X-chromosome patterns made throughout their DNA (he’s my science consultant, in case you couldn’t guess). I want to know that there is a guy out there, someone else in this entire universe that can see my stripes. He can see my stripes, can see how clashing and weird and strangely hard to look at they are, and still wants to stare at me. That’s what I want. Because I am invisible.
I came forward. I told the truth to Flower about my momentary lax moment. She was (obviously) concerned but didn’t want to make too big of a deal out of it. Heading out to California tomorrow is drawing my eyes closer and closer to my stomach. Scrutiny is getting harder and harder and I can feel how my shirt and shorts fit me now at every second of every minute of every hour. And I hate it. Sometimes, I can ignore it, and sort of be okay with the fact that my thighs are bulging a bit or that my calf sticks out funny when I cross my legs because I’m alone in my room, or I’m only around my family. But even now, that is ridiculously hard. And, as I was packing, I found an old, external hard drive that had literally 1,000’s of pictures on it. Some from high school, where I was smaller (but at the time believed way too big) and some were from a few months…well, I guess it’s been a year. It’s been a year since I’ve lost a dramatic amount of weight. And I’m not okay with that. The numbers haven’t moved since that lax moment and I don’t know how to get them started again. The girl Allison, Bridget and I met at the bar yesterday was whining about being in the low 100’s. I had to refrain from punching her in the face. She had no figure but I know if I looked like that, I would look amazing. I would be just trim, and fit and just amazing. I don’t know what to do with those pictures. I don’t want to keep them because most of them contain Mara…I know, a name that has not been mentioned in a long time! But, some of them are pleasant memories. To delete or not, that is the question!
Thomas has gotten no better at…adulthood.
I miss my dog.
West Coast bound. Will write when we land/unpack/whatever exactly you call settling down in the first city we’re not actually going to be settling in.
(Oh, and expect those updates I mentioned!)