More Musings

We celebrated my birthday early this month and mom posted some pictures of the festivities on Facebook and people wished me a happy birthday. Except it wasn't on my actual birthday. So now people think my birthday is March 2nd. It's not. I don't have my birthday on Facebook cause I don't like insincere birthday wishes. If you remembered on your own and it's like, two days later, that's cool. But if you only remembered because Facebook told you, and not because you scheduled a reminder or something, and you felt it was necessary to say something, I would rather you didn't. It makes me think you want people to think you're thoughtful and kind when really it was just bold text on your page that caught your eye.

Except my sister's mom. She can wish me a happy birthday in July if she wants to and I'd be pleased as punch about it cause she's one of most earnest people I know. Her well-wishings just make me think... she wishes me well. For Christmas one year, she got me a coat and scarf. It was a great coat too, which I still have even though it no longer fits cause I got chubby. (And fabulous!)

My mom made me a cake. It was, and still is, delicious. The other half of it is in my fridge and keep refraining from eating the entire thing. It's a struggle. She also hosted a taco night for me and I got to see friends who I rarely ever see. It was pretty exciting times guys.

I'm focusing on my birthday cause it's in a few days (obviously) and when I thought about it a few months ago it really brought me down. I was in that state of mind where it felt like everyone I knew was doing these great things, and reaching the goals you're supposed to reach when you become an adult. Not immediately when you become an adult, but at least before you're thirty because the stigma seems to be that after thirty if you haven't accomplished certain things than you're a loser or you lack motivation and drive, you have no ambition, blah blah blah.

At 8:37 Thursday morning I will officially turn a quarter of a century old.

I'm incredibly excited about it. I have no idea what's been happening lately with me mentally but this is the same event that made me devastated about the state of my life when I thought about it not even six months ago. Yet somehow, when I've considered it more recently, I am genuinely happy about it.

I thought by now I would have a better car, a better home (maybe be on the way to owning that home), be pregnant (if I didn't already have at least one tiny baby), have money saved so that when I had to take maternity leave we wouldn't be in the shit house, have a matching set of pots and pans (still a thing I hope to have one day... :le sigh:), have finally received an acceptance letter from an agent/editor/publishing house... I thought I would have done more by now.

Of the things that I have accomplished, which is absolutely not any of the above, I manage to look at my life and think how great it is. I know that where I am now isn't where I'll be in five years, or even next year. Twenty-five is exciting instead of terrifying because I say it is.

I have an amazing best friend, an amazing dog, a shabby apartment that people always seem to think is 'cute', I have a pretty great job (even though the people are disgusting), I write as often I can, I read as often as I can, every once in awhile I get in touch with people I haven't spoken to or seen in a long time and it doesn't seem like it's been that long, my family is insane but I guess I love them anyway, my Jeep is a piece of crap but Jeremy and I make jokes about it and it's not so bad afterward- what I'm driving at here is that there isn't an obvious amount of terrific going on in my life. And the operative word is 'obvious.' (Because it seems pretty terrific to me right now.)

This All Gets a Little Confused Near the End

I feel like I'm hearing people talk about how they don't want people to read things they wrote when they were younger, or that they don't want to expose themselves too much in regards to their literary pursuits, quite a bit lately. It's strange to me, in the way that when you learn a new word suddenly everyone is using it. I'm sure the people in my life who are talking about these things now have been for some time but I'm only realizing it now. Except it isn't because I've found myself in the same mental position, it's the opposite really.

Without making any conscious effort, I've found almost absolute clarity. This also didn't occur to me until someone told me that's what was happening, well they said something to the effect. We had been talking about trying to find direction and consistency in our work and lives and when she was leaving she said I seemed focused. This possibility had never occurred to me. She said she thought I was going to be fine and that even though I didn't see it in myself she felt that I seemed focused. That's the word I zeroed in on. After she left I thought about it constantly. I kept going back to it. Focused. This whole time I've felt directionless, like I had no idea what I wanted, and even if I did know I had no idea how to get it. But someone heard me talk, they saw how I carried myself, and they said to themselves, 'that girl seems focused.' I couldn't stop replaying it in my head, and that night, well very very early the next morning, I lay awake in bed because I just wasn't tired and I said to myself, 'maybe I am focused.' Somehow that made it true.

So now I'm focused. Once I said it, everything felt like it fell into place. I want to be a writer. I want to share my stories, my thoughts, my inconsequential opinions, with as many people as possible, as often as possible. And I want them to share with me. Which brings me back to that first paragraph up there. Remember me telling you about deleting half of my work and how it seemed to be an insult to a friend of mine? I do absolutely believe that sometimes you have to be willing to just throw some things out. Which is why I did. But I also believe that sometimes you have to be willing to show people the parts of you that are so embarrassing they're practically shameful, because it helps you accept yourself. I published some of my awful, awful poetry on the website linked on the right of this page (where you can also find some of my awful, awful short stories) and the only apology I made was that I was once a young, passionate teenager. That is the only excuse I made for my work. I shouldn't have even had to do that, but I haven't reached full acceptance yet. When I do, I like to think that instead of using my youth as an excuse for my shitty melodramatic poetry, I'll use it to mount my defense. 

You should read my poems. Because it's the work of someone who has cared very deeply, and very much, and tried so hard to be open and vulnerable that she didn't realize she was the only one hurting herself. It's the work of someone who grew up way too fast, and not fast enough at the same time. Literally the exact same time. It's honest, and it's tries way too hard, and it's over-the-top, and it has no discernible direction except that of moving forward; sometimes at a steady pace, sometimes at a gallop, sometimes in a clumsy stumble. If nothing else, it is always earnest.

After that, you should read my short stories.

After that, you should ask me what else I'm working on, if I've written anything new, and can you read it. You should ask because chances are exceptionally high that it will be crap and you will not like it, but chances are also pretty good that you'll find something small and interesting in it. Something that will make you want to keep reading on the off chance that my work gets better. Then you can say you've been a fan from 'way back when she was writing really shitty, angsty things about fire, and love, and werewolves, and fanfiction like she actually knew anything about anything.' It'll be cool. Promise.

The reason I maintain this blog still, even knowing it could be damaging later in life when I'm super successful and respected (things like that, saying things like that could do damage), even knowing there's only a handful of people reading, is because at some point someone will stumble upon it, the way I stumbled onto so many unexpectedly fantastic things in my life, and it will make them feel like they're not completely alone. That's what I want to do. I want to make people feel like they belong somewhere, even if I never know I've done it.

Writing feels like the way for me to do that.