I’m going to go off on a nonsensical rant now. If you think you have some deep insight into what I am talking about, you are probably wrong. However, it makes me giggle when people try, so knock yourselves out!
I drive a lot at night. Sometimes I am stupid and drive too late at night because my phone turns off and I don’t hear my alarm or because I am just enjoying things too much to head home. The roads in Idaho are empty at night. Some people may find that offensive, I find it reassuring. There is still at least one place in the world where people sleep; life is like it was long ago. It isn’t like living in a big cit. For instance, there was always traffic in L.A. Maybe it wasn’t bad, bumper-to-bumper, maddening, stop-and-go traffic, but it was traffic nonetheless. I like that my city still slumbers. I like that I live in a state where the past still thrives. Mere hours from my house there are people living on ranches, there are hermits surviving in the wilderness, and there are people who would still rather catch their dinner from the river than buy it from a fast food joint. It’s different here. We have our own way of life. It is solid and good and I would not want it any other way.
Lately I’ve grown weary. I’ve noticed that the more anger I sense around me, the heavier my soul gets. It is still beyond my comprehension how people can be so hurtful to each other. It is even more beyond my comprehension how they can call each other on it without noticing that they are doing the exact same things back and forth. I don’t understand hate. I’ve had bad things happen around me. It isn’t that I live in a perfect bubble. Trust me, I wish I did. I feel pain, anger, frustration, but I don’t feel the need to take it out on people around me. I know my secret hurts. I know the pain that I feel that nobody else could even imagine existing. I also know that the person that is making me angry has their own secret weight-of-the-world type pain. I try so hard to be kind and to not be hateful. It is an uphill battle, but I do try my hardest. I don’t understand not trying.
Perspective is a bitch, hardcore. There is so much pain that is greater than the hurts I feel. My life is significantly more fair than that of a lot of people. Most of the stress and irritation I feel, I brought on myself. However, I still feel the need to vent it occasionally. The problem is that when perspective comes swinging at me with an iron fist, I have to pause and stop myself. It could be worse. It could always be worse. This nagging annoyance is nothing compared to the gigantic weight of grief felt by those around me.
For the last time, I am not fourteen. It has been nearly 11 years since I was. In fact, I don’t even remember anything specific about being that young. That’s how long ago it was. I realize that I look younger than my (almost) 25 years. I truly do not have a problem with people assuming I am in college or that I just graduated from highschool. I find nothing offensive about that at all. However, when someone looks at me and thinks “She can’t even drive!” I want do punch them. I’ve decided that I am going to wear a whorish amount of makeup from now on. I am going to wear 7 inch heals so that I am at a more “adult” height. I am also going to go have larger breasts surgically implanted. Why you may ask? Because these are the top three reasons I hear for people thinking I am young enough to have been born in the mid 90s. “Oh! But you are just so tiny!” “I just assumed you were younger since you aren’t wearing make up.” “Wow, I had bigger boobs than you when I was 12!” Dear world so bombarded with media images of what is average that you can’t even see my forming crows feet or the fact that my face is more mature than that of a barely pubescent child, you can bite me. I have friends with 14 year old daughters. I’ve seen them up close… yeah, I don’t look even close to that young.
Oh, and while I’m already annoyed: writing is a job for me. It may not make me any money yet, but it is my job. Call it a hobby, and I’ll probably cry. I would threaten loss of friendship, but we all know I’m not capable of carrying through on such things.
Kids are a test of patience. Patience has never been my strong suit. Every day I feel like I’m running a gauntlet. I think I need to buy a new pair of noise canceling earphones, put Eddy Izzard on loop on my iPod, and just tune out the incessant whining that I can’t seem to stop my kids from doing. I love them dearly, however, I wish they had more grown up manners.
If it is sunny tomorrow, I am going to do a jig on my patio.
I bought a green tank top for St. Paddy’s day, but then I realized I am probably just working in the nursery and nobody will see it because I’ll wear a sweatshirt over it so that it won’t matter if a kid pulls on my shirt. Oh well, at least I’ll know I’m wearing a super cute and festive something under my bulky sweatshirt! :)
(fingers crossed) I am going to check out a knitting group tomorrow for a half an hour or so. I’m so scared of strangers. Well, really, I’m scared of not strangers too. In fact, we’ll go ahead and say that I’m really scared of most people. Maybe meeting an entire group of knitting ladies that I know online in person isn’t really THAT much of a stretch after all.
(P.S. I don’t even want to know how many errors are in this post. Typing at 3 a.m. is not really that great for flawless writing…)