Sometimes I feel as if I am fairly normal (let’s face it, I will never be completely normal). But sometimes I look at myself and think there is no way I cannot be completely insane.
I am an erratic, impulsive, social butterfly-homebody who likes to plan blocks of time out in her day and is resistant to change.
That is as close as I can come to defining myself.
To a certain degree, I am unpredictable.
I had a conversation with a friend of mine about this recently and he asked if I liked that about myself. I’d never considered that before.
I think I do.
I like other people who I can’t predict, so why wouldn’t I like myself that way?
The problem is that I cannot tell you how I will feel about something from one day to the next, or worse, one week/month to the next. One day I will hate a piece of jewelry, the next it will be my favorite. One day I wear sweat pants to the mall, the next I wear super-heels to the grocery store.
One day I will love spending time with someone, the next they will bug the crap out of me. That doesn’t mean I like them less as a person. It just means I need a lot of variety. Too much of one thing bores me.
Therefore, I need to be with someone as diverse as I am. Someone who likes being involved in everything, someone erratic, impulsive, and a little bit offensive.
For some reason I like that. I like it when people are truly themselves and say what they think instead of hiding it and donning some sensitive persona.
I need someone who will play with my hair while watching The Hangover. Someone who will give me a back massage and try to cop a feel while doing it. Someone who knows I am sensitive, will tell me what to do, but knows it would be disastrous if they were to ever try to control me.
Is that so much to ask?
I don’t think so.
I feel the need to explain something else. Just for shits and giggles, I guess.
I started this blog because I like to write. Writing is the only way I can get my feelings and ideas out of my head so that I can more easily deal with them. When I stopped writing, I was a huge mess. Not that I’m not a mess now; I am. But in an “organized chaos” kind of way, as opposed to a “hiding in the closet while sobbing” kind of way.
Very frequently, I find that once I get all those feelings out, I am not so affected by them. Or they no longer bother me at all.
I considered deleting the post I did yesterday more than briefly as a result of this purging clarity. I still wonder if maybe I should, but I won’t for honesty’s sake. I got all my feelings out and on the table, and now it all seems so silly. I cleared my heart and mind, today is a new day, and I don’t feel this way anymore.
Maybe part of it was the rain. Or the lack of sleep I’ve been dealing with for weeks. Or the fact that I’m trying so hard not to catch the cold I feel coming on.
I would say I wish I had waited until today to post, instead of writing yesterday. But if I hadn’t written what I did yesterday, I wouldn’t feel so clear today. Which is a big part of the reason I write. And if I hadn’t posted it, I wouldn’t be true to myself or anyone who happens to read what I write. I don’t post things because I want pity or congratulations; I do it for myself and possibly to entertain others. I like the idea of letting people know they are not the only ones who feel a certain way. Human beings are all connected by the lives we touch and the feelings we have.
Guess I’m back to my hippie self.
Oh, and by the way, I’m still an attention whore. Just because I don’t feel that way specifically doesn’t mean I don’t still want everyone to pay attention to me.
That, my friends, will never change.