Unnecessary Hiatus Explanation

“I did it, happy now?” -me to Ivy who has asked me repeatedly when I’m restarting this blog

 

So, it’s been a grip since I’ve seen you all (my 26 followers). I’d love to say my absence has been due to the extravagant lifestyle I fell into shortly after beginning this blog. However, the truth is rather anticlimactic (read: disappointing): I just wasn’t feeling it.

 

I began this blog as a hobby. Something to be enjoyed, and not to stress over. Then I began to stress over it. Not terribly, just kind of dragging my feet. So, like the many other hobbies I’ve begun over the years, I dropped it. This time into the endless rabbit hole that is the internet.

 

Maybe I am funny and interesting to people other than myself

Then, earlier this week my long-time friend Ivy (ourfriendshipcanvoteanddieforitscountry) asked me when I was going to start writing again. Apparently, she sincerely likes my writing and isn’t paying lip service, because she’s asks me this at least three times each time we hang out. This leads me to believe that maybe what I have to say is worth saying to people other than the ones who already love me.

 

Nice!

Regardless, here’s an update: I made friends! Even more of an update: I made friends with minimal awkwardivity (that’s a word, spellcheck, I’ve added it to your dictionary, accept it).

 

Cool, cool, that’s the next post (sorry?).

 

Back on track

One of those new friends I mentioned above, Virginia, and I were talking about wtf we’re doing with our futures (spoiler alert: I still don’t really know). I asked Virginia if she could be anything when she grew up what would she want to be (well, in more adult words than that, but essentially that). When she threw the question back at me, I had an answer: a writer.

 

What I want to be when I grow up

 

In fact, I’ve wanted to be a novelist since I was 9. I wrote it in black and white underneath the writing prompt that every child in the United States of ‘Muricuh is given “what do you want to be when you grow up?” (okay in red crayon on pink construction paper (probably, I don’t really know, I more remember the answer than the material it was written on, does it really matter anyways? (No.))). For most people, the answer changes (you know, from superhero to something slightly more attainable like employed), for me, not so much. It went through variations (novelist, journalist, poetist, grant writerist, etc.), but has never really changed.

 

Okay, so I have an answer to the persistent question of what I want to do after I graduate. Yay?

 

What do words taste like?

Sure, yay. But there’s a voice in my head (that may or may not be my mother’s, but really is just my fears of failure parading as a dire warning said years ago in a half-hearted attempt for me to change my major to something more useful than English (I settled on Psychology)) saying: words won’t put food on the table. Virginia kindly pointed out that this was bullshit (in nicer words than that, maybe? I don’t remember, it was late), and that I was just scared. And I was, and am.

 

How I imagine the words _United States of America_ taste.

 

It’s terrifying to do what you love with the distinct possibility that you will fail and/or grow to hate it. I don’t want that to happen. But there are a lot of things I don’t want to happen. And there are even more things that I didn’t want to happen that happened anyways. But I somehow always enjoyed (aspects of) the ride, and I wouldn’t go back to change a thing despite the sometimes not so great consequences.

 

So, I guess I’ve added part of an answer to my overall question: what am I going to do when I grow up? Write. Novels specifically. Maybe a novella or two. Maybe some poems, if I learn how not to suck at writing them (or at least how to get past the first stanza (by the way that isn’t self-deprecation, I suck at poetry and I embrace it as character development)). At the same time, I won’t quit my day job (that’s over-used, how about I’ll hedge my bets, nope, that’s no less cliché, do you come here often? (that doesn’t even make sense, Joh)).

 

The thing I always end with

Q&A time (yes, that’s going to continue being a thing). What’s something you wish you’d figured out sooner? My left from my right (actually, I still don’t know (ask the yoga instructor who kindly ignores the fact that I do every third pose backwards)).

 

Left or Right I cant tell

Advertisements

The Art of Making Friends  

“We’ve interacted, does that mean you’re my friend?” -me to alarmed strangers

 

Chapter one: admitting it is the first step

So, my best friend, Ivy, of 18 years (ourfriendshipcanvoteanddieforitscountry) is moving very far away. And by very far away I mean I’d have to drive slightly over half an hour to see her. That time by distance ratio would seem like a joke to most, but we come from a place where a 15-minute trip is our entire day (you can drive from one end of the state to another in under an hour, but mostly because speed limits, like blinkers, are mere suggestions). This has only cemented in my mind that my social circle needs to expand.

 

The past few weeks I’ve been trying to soak up as much Ivy time as is humanly possible while still wanting to be friends afterwards. This time has been spent the way it’s always spent, non-stop talking veering wildly from the serious to the silly while passively exploring our surroundings (read: bitching to each other while we take a walk around the neighborhood).

 

While savoring our friendship I’ve realized that what I love about it (silliness, adventures, trusting her with my deepest secrets and half joking about the fact that we have so much on one another we’ve kinda blackmailed each other into being best friends until death do us part) are the same things that are present in my other close friendships (although each one has a different flavor (the deep dark secrets of one friendship might be embarrassing while another might be illegal, who can say?)). In fact, I firmly believe my friends would all be best friends if I ever gathered them together at once (this would either be the greatest or worst thing I could bestow upon mankind).

 

I guess what I’m saying is: I know the kind of friends I mesh with. Now, I need to find them.

 

Chapter two: there’s an easier way, I just don’t know it

Finding them has been harder than I thought. At first, I figured I’d just invent some sort of divining rod for new friends, but divining rods of any kind only work if you believe in them, and science has told me there are too many factors that go into being a human (even though we’re more bacteria than human, look it up) for anything magical to be effective, and so this is not a viable option. Then I wondered briefly about creating a survey, but thought that might have the opposite effect on making friends. All this is to say that the impressive research skills I posses won’t be helpful on their own (this has shaken my faith in the scientific method).

 

What do you mean this isn't how you make friends_!

 

Chapter three: further investigation

I’m fairly certain that I have resting leave-me-alone-I’m-busy face, so the likelihood of being approached is kinda low (and, honestly, I am often leave-me-alone-I’m-busy). Unless I can somehow make myself look more approachable. Days of wracking my brains for this elusive strategy were ended by a short walk with Ivy in which she smiled and said hi to somebody, and they did the same thing back.

 

Why is this a revelation to me, you may ask. I mean, out in Seattle I did this thing all the time, so what’s the disconnect? Why, when I came back east did I suddenly lose the whole friendly vibe?

 

Chapter four: acceptance

I could chalk it up to wanting to leave, so I’m stubbornly refusing to make attachments, and that’s probably part of it. There’s more, though. There’s the reason I left in the first place: I hate this place! Ugh, I couldn’t wait to leave. This isn’t something unique to me, and neither is the fact that I ended up right back here. We don’t leave. I hated that thought and couldn’t (and can’t) figure out why anybody would love it here.

 

I've been told our beaches are pretty (1)

 

But, this is where I am, and where I’ll be for the foreseeable future. So, I could be stubborn, dig in my heels, refuse to grow, and blame it on where I live (because we’re all blameless when it comes to the bad bad not good situations we create for ourselves). Or, I could figure out how to love where I am, or at least find a way to continue maturing while I’m here (like an expensive smelly cheese).

 

I’m trying the latter, because who’s it helping for me to stamp my foot like a five-year-old and push away any happiness I can find (outside of dogs, I mean)? Of course, once I made this decision I ran to the internet to do some research and made a plan: carve out a space that is mine. This extends to the physical, mental, emotional and social.

 

So, my homework is to smile at people (apparently, it’s a thing people do to signal to other people that they don’t harbor any sort of ill will towards them), DIY my apartment up (maybe I’ll make that unusable and slightly dangerous ceiling fan into something pretty) and find something I love about this place that I can’t find anywhere else (other than the dog I’m trying to convince my mum to adopt).

 

Final thoughts

Random Q&A time! What issue will you always speak your mind about? Milk chocolate and why it’s the best of all the chocolates even though it hurts me to eat it.

 

Milk Chocolate

 

How to (Not) Make Friends

“Nope, nope, haven’t talked to you in a year, nope, nope, do you even like me? Do I even like you? nope, who’s number is this…” -me scrolling through my contacts trying to find somebody to make plans with

 

Idle hands and whatnot

Last week I woke up feeling pretty good, but when I realized that the day was stretching out before me with nothing but boredom I spiraled into a low-key hours-long temper tantrum. About 20 minutes in I realized the root of my boredom was the lack of people to hang out with. I spent the rest of the time sitting on my couch trying to think of something to do solo.

 

Initially, this went well, but my mind kept insisting on wandering and I got tired of trying to force it not to, so I let it off its leash. It weaved its way through embarrassing moments from a decade ago (stilettos seemed like a damn good idea five seconds before I realized they weren’t) and small triumphs (like how I did the laundry so good the other day), and finally it found its way into thinking about Seattle.

 

I lived in that wonderous city for about ten months a while back. Then I spent the another five in paradise, which can be found forty-five minutes and a ferry ride north of Seattle. That time was both the best and worst of my life.

 

Eventually I ended up back where I started from to recuperate from what was essentially the emotional equivalent of a parachute-less sky dive. I wish I could say something funny about it, but it really did break my heart. But, once back here, I learned that there were things to live for (beyond just dogs), and slowly followed the twisting path I’m currently on.

 

Am I still here?

But since the moment I left up until my mind-boggling realization that I didn’t have many friends (despite being upstanding friend-fodder), I had my mind in Seattle. My mission, once I trusted that I could build a life worth living, was to go back west. To the place I loved being (even if my favorite café exploded from a gas-leak (everybody was fine (are parentheses within parentheses within parentheses even allowed? I guess they are now, because I’ve done it?))). My whole being was focused on getting back to Seattle.

 

Seattle_ Where the Hispters Are

 

How I make friends, apparently

Then last week, as I sat on my couch bored af it suddenly clicked why I had nothing to do and nobody to do it with: my life was on hold. In my mind, I was going to Seattle ASAP, and nothing was going to keep me here.

 

The side-effect of this was that I actively avoided making attachments. Hell, the only friend I’d made in the going on five years since I got back had (in her words exactly) forced her friendship on me. I’m grateful that she did, becuase I love her to bits and pieces. She’s it, though, and I didn’t even mean to make a friendship.

 

What do you mean I’m lonely?

Now, I have a handful of wonderful friends who have busy lives that they were shaping while I was waiting to leave. It took me scrolling through my contacts, looking at numbers of people I hadn’t spoken to in years to make me realize I was lonely.

 

Not in a romantic way. I love standing on my own, and, honestly, I’m not completely sure how to have a relationship that I won’t disappear into, so I’m in no hurry to be in one.

 

But I have no friends to reliably call up and chill with. And I work at a college where I’m surrounded by people who are quite literally a decade younger than me (which means if I hung out with them I’d be that weird older friend every friend group in their early 20’s has and nobody really knows what they’re doing there, but there they are anyways, and, honestly, it’s a little creepy, like, why don’t they have friends their own age, what’s wrong with them (I’m so sorry if I’ve offended anybody who is that person, but, seriously, people your own age are much less awkward to hang around with)). I’ve now learned the unfortunate truth, while age ain’t no thang, it actually is a thang.

 

Age Doesn't Matter (1)

 

The art of making friends

It’s hard to make friends in the first place. Add in the whole I’m an adult living in a state that nobody who is born here ever leaves (there are literal bumper stickers proudly proclaiming this fact), so they made all the friends they’ll ever have twenty years ago, and it feels nearly impossible.

 

So why am I whining about this to you? Well, this whole blog is about a transition from being a non-traditional student to a non-traditional adult. Apparently, part of the non-traditional thing is that I need to figure out how to make friends. While this isn’t what we’re told is the normal course of life, I don’t think I’m the only one in this predicament.

 

So, you get to follow along with this new saga, and learn from what’s sure to be many many mistakes, awkward encounters and learning how to smile and say hi to people in a state where that’s a bizarre thing to do (and may sometimes be read as, or even be, a threat).

 

Final thoughts

Random question: what’s the best thing you got from one of your parents? Random answer: high cheekbones, thx mum!

 

I got it for my birthday

 

Always an Aunt Nary a Mother

“When are your going to have kids?” -stranger whom I’ve just met (why would you ask this thing of me?)

 

“Gross” the clinical term for not wanting children

Kids are great. But I don’t want any. Mostly because they’re sticky at every stage, but also because of the lifestyle I want to lead.

 

This is why being an aunt is awesome. I get to love and spoil my niece and nephew, but when it comes to laying down the law I refer them to their parents. It’s so convenient:

 

KATE: “Can I have cookie?”

ME: “Ask your dad.”

GABE: “Can I watch tv?”

ME: “Ask your mum.”

KATE: “Can I go outside?”

ME: “Ask your dad.”

GABE: “Can I ask my mum a question?”

ME: “Ask your…ah, I see what you did there.”

 

My niece and nephew are amazing little humans, and that’s speaking from a completely unbiased place (read: I’m so biased that I can’t see that I’m biased. Probably, but not really since they’re the best). So, I’m perfectly happy to remain an aunt.

 

There are other reasons: mental illness runs deep in my family, financial worries and the promise of a stable job that ain’t lookin’ so promising (plus maybe I’m a little affronted by the fact that I’m expected to have children when I’m really not interested, so I dig my heels in and if I ever actually want to have children I’ll be more than a little chagrinned).

 

But here’s the thing, other people aren’t happy about that. Not only do they expect me to have children, but they seem anywhere from confused to angry that I don’t want to. Thankfully I can’t include my family or friends in this, but I can include the (ex)CEO of (no longer in business) Toys R’ Us, apparently.

 

Your Child Is Sticky

 

A sharp right turn followed immediately by another

What is happening here? Sexism, sure thang (when hasn’t it been a thang?). Infantilization of an entire generation (rhyme unintended, but not unwelcome; double negatives and sentence splicing ftw), of course. Being given the responsibility of fixing the mistakes of a prior generation whilst being told I can’t and/or that I am doing a terrible job at it (that’s just plain insulting, guys), definitely.

 

However, the political commentary and subsequent excessively agro arguments (because we’re all anonymous on the internet and can say whatever we want without any consequence beyond hurt feelings and pent up anger that cycles back into said arguments) are for a different blog. This one will be about the last sentence of the first paragraph: the lifestyle I want to lead (and it only took about 400 words).

 

Let me first say that my idea of the life style I want to lead is less, the same and more vague as the plans I have in line for after graduation (i.e. get a job), so they’ll change as I go. I guess it’ll be nice to see what they morph into as this blog progresses (kind of like a time-capsule except buried under a ton of blog posts instead of dirt, and maybe I should schedule a blog post a year from now reminding me to repost this post, because otherwise it isn’t a time-capsule at all, it’s just that one post I wrote a year ago and swiftly forgot existed).

 

I’m going to tell you what I want in no uncertain terms

So, I imagine a day-in-the-future-life of mine would go something like this: wake up to get ready for a stable job that pays what I’m worth (a salary that allows me a dog, which I will cuddle for 20 minutes before actually starting to get ready). Walk down the hall into my bathroom to shower in a shower that also has a tub (it’s the bubble bath, really, that I’m looking forward to the most). Dress in clothes that I bought because they were nice, and I could (I only hope I work somewhere that allows sweatpants).

 

I will then walk through the doorway to my kitchen (if possible, I’d like to put in an order for a black and white checkered floor here), make a breakfast that isn’t just cereal (well, maybe it’ll still be cereal, but it’ll be a conscious decision knowing full well that in two hours I will be ravenous) and sit down at my kitchen table to eat.

 

After that I will pass by the second bedroom that is my office/miscellaneous hobby space (maybe there’ll even be a yoga mat laid out on the floor to remind me that yoga is a thing I do periodically but should do more) as I finish getting ready. Walk through my sunny living room (full of plants in various stages of death), out the door and get into a year-end car to go off to work.

 

After work maybe I’ll meet a friend and buy a coffee/dinner without worrying about exceeding my budget (maybe I’ll go wild and buy a new book!).

 

I believe the above sums up my current desires nicely, but I’ll clean it up a bit due to run on sentences (and unnecessary parentheses). Cool job, dog, two-bedroom sunny apartment that I can decorate as I see fit, a reliable car and not worrying about money when I grab a coffee/dinner/book at the most B.S. hipster hangout I can haunt.

 

I bought these things with my Adult money (1)

 

Lucky AF

As of now, that isn’t my life. My life is wonderful and I’m lucky, so lucky, beyond imaginingly (sure let’s Shakespeare it up in here, and make a word that’s not a word, that will never be a word, but I want it to be a word, so it’s now a word) lucky for the life I have. Still, it’s not the one I want to lead forever.

 

I don’t think there’s anything wrong in asking/striving for a life that I want. In fact, I don’t think it’s wrong for anybody to ask for what they want, because, more often than not, it’s actually not what they want, but what they need.

 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m worth the life I’m dreaming of, (even if it doesn’t include children or other societal expectations such as not wearing sweatpants to work) and if you don’t already know it you are, too (accept it, it’ll make this whole thing easier and cut out the part where I have to be corny).

 

Final Thoughts

Here’s that random question, and equally random answer: what’s something you learned in the past week? Kids don’t get all their sinuses until they’re 7 or 8. WTF kids? That’s downright creepy, and another reason not to have you.

 

The Development of Your Anatomy Confuses and Scares me...

On Being a Adult

“Nana, is Auntie Joh a kid or a grown-up?” -my niece (this is my fault)

 

Adulthood so far

My posts have centered around two things: spiders and overwhelming anxiety about being a Adult. The spider thing is a coincidence (probably), but I might note that I’ve technically been an adult for a decade.

 

And that I’ve lived on my own for the past eight years. Plus, I moved to and lived on the other side of country for a bit (and even found my way back).

 

I’ve had jobs where I’ve had major responsibilities. I went to college, made the (right) decision to leave for my well-being and came back again to finish. I’ve navigated owning a car, being in a hospital (and paying the bills from that), dealing with insurance claims, and handling financial aid.

 

Adulting like a BAMF

 

The Ultimate Goal

The thing is, all of those years were transitional years where I was getting to where I was going. And yes, I’ll never actually get there. I’ll always be in transition. But this is different.

 

This is achieving the Ultimate Goal. Not only that, but up until recently it wasn’t the Ultimate Goal. That goal was getting a Ph.D., and I was comfortable with the fact that I wouldn’t get it for quite a few years to come.

 

A few months ago, I allowed myself to think “what if I don’t go to grad school?”. Not in the panicky, “what if I don’t go, because I don’t get in?!” But, what if I choose not to go. I made that choice once already, and it had been the right one. Maybe it would be again.

 

Guess what? It is. I know this if only because the moment I decided to go a different way (fer reel this time, tho) this huge weight I didn’t even know was there was lifted. However, the consequence of this decision is that I’ve suddenly sped up the timer for when my life starts from six or seven years to less than six months.

 

Planz for dayz

I should also mention here that I am the person who has back up plans for my back up plans. Plans A through Z, and beyond. And they’re detailed. Thoroughly researched and fully prepared and ready to go long before they’re launched.

 

My plan currently is: get a Job.

 

PLAN A_ COME UP WITH PLAN A

 

As much as this makes me hyperventilate I’ve come to realize that I need to chill. To just relax, and not think that far ahead. There’s nothing I can do, and, to be honest, most of those back up plans weren’t necessary or once plan A was initiated something went wrong, and the rest of the plans were unusable.

 

I would just get there and figure it out. Yes, I had those plans, but hardly any of them worked. Why did I even make them? To assuage my anxiety of course.

 

Why you do me like this, brain?

The brain, apparently, wants you to feel good, so if I make plans I feel calmer. Which means when I don’t have plans my anxiety surrounding the whole not having plans is amped up. And how do I cope with this, you may wonder.

 

A bunch of ways, most of which I learned in therapy (which, incidentally, is one of the top ways I cope). They’re the things that are commonsense, and we’re told over and over again (often in therapy) to do:

 

  1. Exercise (I’ve been steadfastly against it for years, but, apparently, I enjoy it?)
  2. Eat healthy (I eat to live, not live to eat, so this is tough for me)
  3. Have hobbies (you know, like the thing you’re reading that I did)

 

The only problem is that I’m human and imperfect. Which translates into weeks of not exercising (I walked around campus today, isn’t that enough?), of eating cereal for dinner (if I add fruit I’m knocking out three food groups at once!) and being uninspired to keep up with my hobbies (I’m crossing my fingers for this one, because I really do love it so far).

 

It’s been really discouraging for me in the past to have a habit fall off. I used to cover it up with excuses (I’ve been really busy, Netflix won’t watch itself!), but I’ve come to realize that it’s gonna happen and that’s okay. Just get back up.

 

My point is…?

Most posts like this will then go on to tell you what things you can do to stay on track. However, I can’t tell you how I got past all of the discouragement and overwhelming aspects of life, because I’m still stumbling through them. But I’m jotting down how I handle them here, so stay tuned for tips and tricks (and mistakes, don’t forget the mistakes) I gather on the way.

 

Last Thoughts

Finally, the random question and answer: what’s your worst habit? Not keeping habits.

 

 

IRONY
Note: I am one

 

 

 

How to be Brave in the Face of Baby Spiders

“We can never use that vacuum cleaner again.” -me to my redheaded genius of a friend (Hale)

 

Paradise is a rural bus ride on a foggy day

From April 2014 to the end of July 2014 I lived in paradise. It’s on Whidbey Island and is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. It has long and lazy rural bus rides, and clouds so close you can reach up and touch them. Some of my fondest memories are from the short time that I lived there.

 

I had a wonderful roommate named Hale who is now one of my dearest friends and has spoiled me into hating all roommates I’ve had since. She’s a redheaded genius who doesn’t appreciate her hair and is under the impression that I’m joking when I say one day I’ll steal it.

 

We lived in a duplex with a checkered kitchen floor, and a sweet view of the sunrise from the front porch. Our home was a stone’s throw from what, I guess, was downtown (three convenience stores, a Walmart and two grocery stores), so it was a convenient set up.

 

Silent mid-sentence stopper

One of my favorite things was listening to Hale speak. She has a particular way of talking. It’s just a stream of consciousness. On most, this isn’t great, but with her, it’s amazing. Mainly because of her thoughts (which are profound at times and hilarious at others), but also because she would begin with a hundred mile stare out the window and slowly do a panorama until she was looking at me with her gorgeous blue eyes (I know you’re reading this, Hale, and you will accept the truth of all the good good things about you).

 

You are the most wonderful (1)

 

The best part, though, the best best part was the game I played. I’ll title it “Gargoyle Face Which Effectively Freezes Hale Mid-sentence Which is Unfortunate Because she Stops Speaking but Her Reaction is Completely Worth it, so I did it More Often Than was Strictly Necessary”. It wasn’t exclusive to our conversations, but that was the greatest time to do it due to the panorama action that took place.

 

It would go something like this:

 

HALE: “[insert the most insightful thing a human being can say, because I could never recreate the genius of her thoughts.]”

HALE slowly turns her head towards me while speaking to find that I am making the most twisted gargoyle face I can

HALE: “…”

ME: “AHAHA, you should see your face reaction to my face!”

HALE: “…”

ME: “Aaaaahahahah, it’s great!”

HALE: “…”

ME: “Okay, so what were you saying?”

HALE: “…”

 

A big pile of small things

I always did this thing when she was least expecting. Such as when she rounded a corner. Or when she opened her door. Or when she would walk through the front door after watching the sun rise, glorious and slow, while she smoked her morning cigarette on the tiny child-size orange plastic chairs with the cutouts on the back (this run on sentence is important to the next part, I promise).

 

It was one such morning when the following incident occurred:

 

HALE walks into living room, stops short and stares horrified at me for a few moments before I rearrange my face to look like a human’s again

ME: “How was the sunrise?”

HALE: “Beautiful.”

HALE plops on the futon across from me, grabs her notebook and commences recording what was sure to be another poem of lovely language

ME: “[insert whatever I said next, because it was a while ago and I don’t remember, but it was probably something about her two kittehs or maybe about something else, but probably about the kittehs as they are my heart.]”

HALE replies noncommittally, because she is deep in her thoughts.

 

This is when I notice something strange. There is a weird violently trembling beige puddle spreading around her from the back of her shirt. I lean forward to discover it is tiny baby spiders. There must have been an egg strung up in the cutout of the chair she sat in to watch the sunrise. Slowly, because I didn’t want to panic her I said the following:

 

ME: “Hale, I don’t want to freak you out, but you’re covered in baby spiders.”

HALE looks down, sees the puddle of spiders then stands unnaturally swift

HALE: “I’m taking a shower.”

Is now a pile of clothes on the floor.

 

It will include spiders

 

I then spend the next twenty minutes vacuuming up the spiders with one of the two identical looking vacuums we had, and then replaced said cleaning utensil beside its twin. Two days later, we had forgotten which vacuum I used, and decided that we could live with a dirty floor as the lease was up in a few scant (read: five) months.

 

Why would you do this to me?

So, why would I tell you this story of terror? Well, let’s return to the title of this blog “how to be brave in the face of baby spiders”. It could symbolize braving the fear we have of tiny things, and how when they pile up they are no longer tiny. However, I delight in telling this story whenever possible, often when Hale is in the room (her face reactions are still the best face reactions I’ve ever seen), so I doubt there’s anything philosophical about it. I’m just cruel and as twisted as my gargoyle faces.

 

Last thoughts

‘K, time for the Q and A: what dumb (not my word, the random question generator generated it) accomplishment are you most proud of? Fearlessly vacuuming up a bunch of baby spiders (which may or may not be a metaphor for taking care of the big thing made of small things, but probably isn’t, but it makes me sound like I’m good and excellent at metaphors, so why not?).

 

it's a metaphor

Mutt Lovin’ and Other Things That Keep Me Going

“I love dogs!” -me to everybody I meet (whether relevant to the conversation or not)

 

I live in a shoebox. It’s an efficiency, maybe 400 square feet. While miniscule, it’s an amazing deal, which I’m lucky to have. It enables me to live alone, and so not be judged for the weird things I do when nobody else is around (like carrying on actual conversations with myself: “what do you want to eat today, Joh?” “I don’t know, Joh, there’s ingredients to make a meal, or, alternatively, there’s cereal in the cupboard.” “Meals are subjective. I’ll have the cereal.” “What an excellent point! I’ll grab the milk.”).

 

It does look good

If I use the word “cook” I won’t be a disappointment to society

 

I love it, I really do. However, (there’s a but in every good thing) it makes having a dog impossible. So, I find myself a dog lover without a dog.

 

Though I lack a tail-wagging pup, my friends are flush with them, so I get my dog fix fairly often. This doesn’t negate the fact that I don’t have pup kisses on demand.

 

Okay, so there are other factors for why I don’t have a furry-four-legger in my life. Money, time, space (emotional and otherwise). This still doesn’t change my longing for being a dog owner. I look forward to becoming one someday when I make bank with my Adult Job (said loudly to ward of the paralyzing fear that I will not, in fact, make bank or even get an Adult Job).

 

A side effect of this longing is that I have difficulty paying attention when there are dogs around. You can imagine, I bet, that whenever I go to a farmer’s market I almost lose my dog-lovin’ mind. It takes all my will power not to gather every last pup there into a pile and spend the rest of my life laying in the middle of it.

 

The pining is terrible, just terrible. I mean, it’s not actually terrible in the grand scheme of things, but to me it’s terrible (subjectivity, the state of being human, etc. etc.). How do I cope? In a few ways. They’re listed below in descending order of effectiveness:

 

  • Pet my friend’s dogs
  • Ogle other people’s dogs, because I’m too awkward to ask if I can pet them
  • Try to convince my mum (whom you can convince nothing of as she is not a force to be convinced) to get one (specifically a corgi) by inundating her phone with gifs and photos of adorable dogs (mostly corgis)

 

I promise to feed it and walk it everyday

I couldn’t find a corgi template, but if you squint you can pretend

 

Lately, I have mainly been focusing on the third option. Mostly because I enjoy bugging my mum, but also because of all my friends (yes, she is chief among them) she is the closest. And probably loves me the most, but only because I’m her progeny and there’s all sorts of evolutionary influence there.

 

While I truly do adore dogs, I refuse to get one unless I can afford it in every way. Which brings me to the whole point of this damn post (two-thirds of the way in): reasons not to dig a hole in the sand and stick my head in it to avoid thinking about my impending future.

 

So, without further ado here’s my list of reasons (in no particular order this time, it’s this new thing I’m trying):

  • Having a dog (it’s first, because it’s the topic I used to introduce the actual topic)
  • Buying a car that I don’t worry daily about dying on me
  • Moving into an apartment with more than a single room
  • Being able to travel
  • Moving back to Seattle
  • Living the lifestyle I want to live instead of the one I have to

 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m lucky af to live as I do. I just know that I’m in a transitional stage, and have been for going on a decade, so I’m pretty done with this part. Senioritis is what I’ve been formally diagnosed with (my therapist is a smartass sometimes). The only treatment is tolerating the moment(s, upon moments, upon hours, upon days, upon months).

 

I also know that there’s a chance I will be writing a post in a year’s time about how I want to go back to now (I’m sure I can figure out how, time is a fallacy). But, from my taste of the real world (read: the near decade I lived and loved it) I doubt it.

 

Looking back, there isn’t a single time I want to go back to. I only want to move forward. And that’s a wonderful thing that I thought I’d never feel.

 

So, while I’m impatiently tapping my foot at the future like a brat, I’m also trying to learn patience and how to truly live in the moment. This mostly because I need a distraction from the whole dog-lover without a dog situation, though.

 

Last Thoughts:

I leave you with the customary random Q and the honest A: what incredibly strong opinion do you have that is utterly nonsensical? Apes have tails, but only if my brother is around, because this is a thing that bothers him to no end, and therefore is something I argue vehemently (I’ve tried to get my niece on board, but she’s too loyal to her father). If you call it an opinion you can pretend it’s a fact, right?

 

This is defo an ape