Yes, I have indeed been a Neglectful Nancy to my blog this past week. My closest friends know that I sometimes stray off into my own little world, or "hermit", if you will. That's definitely been happening lately, as much as my random insularness annoys even me. I am also (deep breath!) taking a half-sketched leap into adulthood next weekend when I move into my first real rent-paying apartment and start my new job. Yay! Exciting! The problem? I'm scared. As you can see, this entry isn't really laughter-inducing, but I don't laugh when I'm scared, only when I'm nervous. Like, "on a date" nervous, not "going onstage in 30 seconds" nervous.
That usually makes me nauseous. Not important to this conversation (soliloquy?), but still true. The point is: I've lived in this house my entire life. My room is exactly how I want it. I know where everything is. I have my cat. My parents and I live in symbiosis. My dad might disagree with that statement, but don't let him tell you I'm all parasite, okay?! Anyway. I know that it is time to move on, but that's never made it easier for me. I will never live across the hall from my sister again and head to her room at 3am when I've finished Harry Potter 6 and I need a hug. Look for my cat every morning in his bag and follow him around everywhere. Hear my dad snoring in the middle of the night. Or my mom (now she will probably kill me), and know that they are always down the hall when I need them. I understand that that's the way it is supposed to be. I'm excited for the future. But letting things go has never been a strong point of mine.
A couple of nights ago I ran into my first "boyfriend" (and giver of my first kiss at Tracy Forschler's pool party! Ah, 6th grade. What a time!) and his now wife outside of Portillos. They got married in January, and told me that they are expecting their first child! I couldn't believe it. It's like none of us has aged a day, and here they are, having a BABY. I have a letter in my old diary from this boy. He told me, in 6th grade, that I was pretty, that I was special because I looked past what other people thought of him, and that he loved me. In 6TH GRADE. He was, and is, a very special guy. Even then I remember thinking to myself that he would be a great father someday. I'm so happy for them. For some reason, when they told me they were expecting, it made me cry. Why would I cry? I'm not sure why that might make me so emotional. They're starting their lives. It's wonderful. I hope to be as happy as they are someday. But I get scared, and when I get scared I tend to push people away. If my fear had its way, it'd probably kidnap me and keep me in a room with a comfy couch, widescreen tv, and all the movies I could possibly wish for. I don't want to be content with that.
How do you get a job in Santa's workshop? What is the application process?
Every time I do something like wash my clothes, clean the bathroom, take out the garbage, or load the dishwasher, I am outrageously proud of myself. I expect the world to stand up, slow clap, and tell me, "YOU DID IT. LOOK AT YOU!"
Yes, I have indeed been a Neglectful Nancy to my blog this past week. My closest friends know that I sometimes stray off into my own little world, or "hermit", if you will. That's definitely been happening lately, as much as my random insularness annoys even me. I am also (deep breath!) taking a half-sketched leap into adulthood next weekend when I move into my first real rent-paying apartment and start my new job. Yay! Exciting! The problem? I'm scared. As you can see, this entry isn't really laughter-inducing, but I don't laugh when I'm scared, only when I'm nervous. Like, "on a date" nervous, not "going onstage in 30 seconds" nervous. That usually makes me nauseous. Not important to this conversation (soliloquy?), but still true. The point is: I've lived in this house my entire life. My room is exactly how I want it. I know where everything is. I have my cat. My parents and I live in symbiosis. My dad might disagree with that statement, but don't let him tell you I'm all parasite, okay?! Anyway. I know that it is time to move on, but that's never made it easier for me. I will never live across the hall from my sister again and head to her room at 3am when I've finished Harry Potter 6 and I need a hug. Look for my cat every morning in his bag and follow him around everywhere. Hear my dad snoring in the middle of the night. Or my mom (now she will probably kill me), and know that they are always down the hall when I need them. I understand that that's the way it is supposed to be. I'm excited for the future. But letting things go has never been a strong point of mine.
walking around, and then I think to myself: I wonder if he isn't confused by clothes. HE doesn't wear clothes. So what exactly am I putting on? Why do I not have gray fur and whiskers? What kind of creature voluntarily gets into a water box torture device? What AM I? (These are HIS thoughts, not mine.)
