It's Four O'Clock In The Morning...

June 24, 2014 

So, have any of you ever heard that song by Lily Allen? The one that goes, "It's five o'clock in the morning... Conversation got boring..." And so on, and so forth. Well, it's technically 3:30 in the morning, not five o' clock, and there is no one in my house except two extremely fluffy, extremely adorable, and occasionally irritating felines (in comparison with the significant other that is the focal point  of that Lily Allen song), but I find those two lines from that song going through my head over and over and over again. And I am trying to decide whether this constitutes a serious problem in my life.

Perhaps I should explain.

So, for those of you who read the first couple of posts that I ever wrote on this blog, you probably know that I have been struggling with some form of depression/insomnia/I-don't-really-give-a-fuck for some time. For the past three semesters in fact (because I am still at a point in my life when I think of time passing in terms of school rather than an actual calendar). For those of you that are not aware of this, consider yourselves informed. 

When this phenomenon first started occurring, it took me awhile to figure out that it was actually happening. Like many things that happen in life, it crept up on me with all the abruptness of a morning fog. In the beginning, I simply attributed it to being tired, or having an "off day." And then the day stretched into a week and the weeks stretched into a month, and then I got close enough to the end of high school that I could safely term it "senioritis." And there was always the underlying assumption that if I could pinpoint exactly what was happening in my life that was causing me to feel this way I could magically fix everything and no longer inhabit this dank, muddy, dark pit that had become my life. So I tried changing my sleeping habits and buying new alarm clocks and fitting a "fun" class in my schedule and getting out and meeting new people and writing letters and starting a blog and going on dates and talking and talking and talking about it. And with every change, every conversation, I thought to myself, "This makes sense now, I can start fixing this." And I would feel rejuvenated and filled with purpose and for a week or two I would think to myself, "I'm back on track now, I'm doing something with my life." 

Productivity has become a very integral estimation of my self-worth these past couple of years. I can't decide whether this makes me sad or not...

And every time I thought that I had a handle on this and that I was over the hump, I found myself sliding back into the pit. And it became progressively worse and worse. 

But I don't want this post to be about what a horrible mess my life has been for the past two or three years. Because that's not what  my mind is dwelling on at 3:30 in the morning. (Really it is closer to 4:00 now, if I felt the need to be anal about it. Which I suppose I do...) No, what my mind keeps coming back to is beyond simple misery or depression (which I am still not totally convinced is the correct diagnosis of this problem). My mind is fixated on whether or not I actually want to fix this.

There. I said it. 

I don't know if this makes me a horrible person. Or at least a very screwed up one.

Because what it has come down to is that:

1. I have acknowledged there is indeed a problem.
2. I have established that this problem is not a transient phase that I will simply "get over."
3. I have taken a variety of different approaches to solve this problem.
4. I have talked to several different people about said problem.
5. I have found that the problem is not being adequately dealt with to resolve said problem.
6. The problem is beginning to have lasting effects on my life. 
7. I know what the next steps to solve the problem most likely should be.

And last, and worst, of all...

I don't want to take those steps because some sadistic part of me is apparently enjoying wallowing in the utter mess that is my life.

To say it in less dramatic terms, I should really go talk to a therapist or see a doctor (in case there is an underlying physiological reason behind this) or simply realize that I have to grow up and act like an adult and 

I DON'T WANT TO.

I want to wallow. To sleep in until 2:30 in the afternoon and stay up all night reading Fanfiction and watching Netflix. I want an entire week to go by and not leave my house. I don't want to be social. I don't want to do  my dishes or vacuum my house. I don't want to have to go out and sell myself to a vet clinic so I can gain clinical hours and apply to vet school and... I am just so sick of all the pressure and the responsibility and my infernal need to always make the correct decision. 

So yes. I should probably be doing something about this. I should have some self-discipline. I should make an effort to go out and be part of the world. And to eat regular meals. And go to sleep on time. And not constantly whine about how much my life sucks. 

But I don't want to.

And that's what I am struggling with at -- I guess it's now 4:00 in the morning (which is still not "five o'clock in the morning," but is close enough) and I am sitting on my bed writing an anonymous blog post in the dark (which I know is not good for my eyes) and I just want to say that there is major suckage going on at the moment. And that I found a video on Youtube that makes me feel better but fixes nothing. 

And here it is, because I am in a caring and sharing mood. For the record, John Green and his brother Hank are some of the only people I like to watch on Youtube that are not musicians. And when I read John Green's book, The Fault in Our Stars, I had to exert considerable effort not to cry.

For those of you out there who are feeling as depressed as I am, here is a video from the Vlogbrothers called "Perspective."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ooCeoh6608

Note: Just in case the video didn't work, I added the link as well.  

Lawn Chairs

June 5, 2014

Today, I acquired new lawn chairs. Well, I think they are technically pool chairs, but we are going to call them lawn chairs because-- and this is important folks-- we don't actually have a pool.

I got them when I was at work today and we were reorganizing and cleaning my employers garage. These chairs ($160 new!) were being discarded because of one fatal flaw. Wheels. Apparently, this is not a desired attribute of pool chairs. Because whenever the wind blew, my employers would wake up the next morning to find all eight of their pool chairs lounging at the bottom of the pool. And guess who got to fish them out?

Certainly not my employers.

Anyways, long story short, I am now the proud owner of two magnificent lawn chairs and they are currently parked right on my back patio. In fact, I am also parked on my back patio. I have decided to spend the afternoon basking in the sun, writing, and keeping a sharp eye on the burly construction workers working on the house across the street. Just in case they decide it's too hot for their T-shirts. Or that their water is unsatisfactory and that they need to come steal some of mine. 

Because as much as I can appreciate a half-naked man lifting heavy things right outside my window, all that wonderful, sun-kissed skin is forgotten as soon as they decide to trespass into my backyard and steal my water. Sometimes I really wish I owned a BB gun. Or just any gun. Okay, I'm done now. 

Because I Saw Another Freaking "How To Treat Your Guy" Article On Facebook And Am Refraining From Yanking My Hair Out

June 4, 2014

Okay, that's it. I am finished with all this crap. I want to state a disclaimer now, right from the start, that if you are a person who is offended by cynicism, dissatisfaction with societal expectations and social norms, or happens to currently be in a stable, loving, romantic relationship, you should probably exit from this page right now. Go watch Netflix or something. Because this post is going to be all about relationships. And my intense loathing of them. 

This is not to say that I look at everyone who is in a romantic relationship and think, Wow, what suckers. That's never going to last. Because that is not it at all. As I have mentioned previously, I happen to be an avid reader of romance novels, and one of the many things I strive not to be is a hypocrite. So it is not like I am against romantic relationships on principle. I am simply against the notion of romantic relationships as a necessity. And I feel like this is an important distinction. 

I'll admit, I'm as much of a sucker for a cute old couple as the next person. It is why I love reading about romances so much. I love exploring all the different possible dynamics of a relationship like that, the different shades and levels of interaction that are possible. Now, I am not claiming that romance novels are the best way to study romantic relationships, because that would be retarded. But I take them for what they are: an idealization of one person's view of romance. If you read enough of these things -- and trust me, I have read more than enough-- you realize that most of the romances written by the same author all have the same relationship written out over and over again, with different faces and backgrounds and challenges. But it is the same relationship. If you really want to see the different possibilities of romantic relationships, it is important to read a whole bunch of different romance authors, because that is where you find true variety. My theory is that each author bases the relationships of their characters upon their relationship with their own spouse. But again, this is simply a theory. 

So, as you can see, it is not the relationship itself that I find abhorrent. I actually find it quite fascinating. No, what really gets my goat is the theory of incompleteness. Of inadequacy in life without that kind of a relationship.

There are several different aspects that contribute to this, in my mind, erroneous expectation. The first, and most improbable, aspect would be the idea of soul mates.

The first reference that I can find to soul mates goes back to Plato's The Symposium, in which Plato has Aristophanes relate a story about the origin of soul mates. In it he claims that humans were originally beasts with four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces. Through a series of confrontations, which were of course brought about by a conflict between human pride and arrogance and the will of the gods, Zeus decided to split the humans in two as a punishment, leaving them forever burdened to walk the earth feeling incomplete. The idea of soul mates is that you have found the person who is, quite literally, your missing half. At least, according to Plato.

Can I even begin to tell you how many things are wrong with this picture?

First, this would imply that you are walking around with half a soul. That without another person you will never be of any value, that you will always be "lesser" than those who have found their "soul mate." And not only is this stupid, it is also plain dangerous. Not in a Bruce-Willis-jumping-through-a-window-with-a-Glock-36 kind of way; not even in a J. Lo-in-that-one-Oxygen-movie kind of way. (You know which J. Lo movie I'm talking about, right? The one where she marries the guy, he gets all abusive, she goes on the run with the kid... I will look this up and get back to you. This is gonna bug the crap out of me). No, this is dangerous because it sets up unrealistic expectations for both you and your partner in this romantic endeavor. And I am a bona fide expert on unrealistic expectations. 

Second, this implies that there is only one person out there for you, that you are responsible for recognizing them, and that you only get one chance at it in your lifetime. So if you convince yourself that Joe Smoe is your soul mate and he dies in a car crash (or marries what's-her-face from senior prom), well then your are S.O.L. Time to resign yourself to the fact that you missed the boat and are going to be lonely and alone for the rest of your life. 

Which brings me out of my soul mate spiel and into the second problem I have with how our society views romantic relationships. The idea that if you don't eventually find your way into a romantic relationship, then you will never be truly fulfilled. You will die old and alone in your bed with no one in the world who cares about you. Oh, and don't forget the kids that go along with this whole thing. Can't forget the kids. It's like there is some kind of societal checklist.

--I would like to enter a disclaimer stating 

that these items on this bogus checklist 

do not need to be completed in any particular order--

Society's List for Success

1. Move out of your parent's house (whether it be to college or simply to get your own space).
2. Get an education (whether this be high school, college, graduate school, or post-grad).
3. Establish yourself in a career.
4. Find a significant other and marry them.
5. Buy a house.
6. Have kids.
7. Retire with a boatload of money and spend your golden years traveling the globe with your significant other. (Please note that at this point you are not required to still be with your original significant other from #4. But you better have one! Heaven forbid you travel the globe alone).
8. Die happy surrounded by your progeny as they slaver like a pack of rabid dogs over the inheritance that you are leaving them.

Okay.... So maybe not the last one...

But you see my point, right? All around us, in our media and our social interactions, we are constantly being told that nothing we do is good enough if we don't have someone to share it with. That no matter how well we do in life, there is still going to be some sad little corner of our hearts that weeps silently at night because we are all alone and no one loves us enough to marry us. And I am sorry to those of you out there who agree with this, but that pisses me the fuck off.

I would rather never be married than get married to someone just because I feel like society expects it and then have to divorce them one or five or ten years later. And I would rather try to go out and do something productive with my life rather than sit around and worry why no one seems to think I am attractive enough or smart enough or sexy enough to date, and by extension, marry. 

We spend so much of our time and energy and resources out there looking for love. Just look at online dating services. And I would just like to stop here and take a moment to say, I TOTALLY DON'T GIVE A SHIT THAT OTHER PEOPLE MAKE THIS A PRIORITY IN THEIR LIFE. Have at it, folks! If it makes you happy, who am I to nay say?   

What I loathe, absolutely abhor, is having people look at me, my gender, and my age, find out that I am not in a serious relationship, and look at me like there is something wrong with me. To hear me say that maybe I would be okay with never being married, that I could find other things in my life that would fulfill me and make me happy, and having them say, "Oh honey, I'm sure you think that now." 

And don't forget the inflection on the word "now." Because it comes up, every time. Is it so hard to believe that maybe I am already complete the way I am? That I can have a wonderful, fun, fulfilling life without needing to have a man in it? That maybe that is best for me, as a person? Maybe the whole long-term commitment thing works for some people, but I don't think it necessarily needs work for me. 

Why can't that be okay?

Oh-- before I go. Just want you to know a couple of things. One, I found the J. Lo movie, it is called "Enough." Two, when my friends and I were watching it on a weekend away at a hotel, I totally called that the husband was a sleezeball in, like, the first five minutes of the movie. They were all, "No, he's such a good husband!" and "They look like such an adorable couple!" and I was like, "No, guys, seriously, that guy is psycho. She should have married the other guy, because that one is a douche." 

And I was totally right. 

Overhaul

June 2, 2014

So, what do you think? I decided that since summer is officially beginning and all the wonderful things that come with it (such as sunshine, lilac bushes, and raspberry lemonade) are making me believe that my life isn't as despondent as I had previously thought it to be, this called for a make-over of my blog page. (This might also have something to do with my complete lack of anything to write about, but we'll just pretend it doesn't for now). I've also been thinking that green is very much my color and have oriented the re-haul of the blog around it.

In other news, I found a humorous quote about contemplations in bathtubs, I have fallen victim to Etsy and Pinterest (which is just horrendous by the way-- I have never been tempted to spend so much money in my life), I'm thinking about putting another piercing in my cartilage (or two... or three...), and I have discovered the delicious treasure that is Cajun food. 

Happy summer everyone! 

Oh, and here is a picture of the lilacs, because they are currently in bloom and smell like my very own version of heaven.