My New M.O.
New M.O.: *sarcastically mumbles ‘oh what a beautiful morning’ as she rolls out of bed at 6 a.m. on a dark, rainy Monday morning*
Over the past few days (maybe it’s been hours, I’ve lost all concept of time) I’ve developed my new, gleeful M.O. As you can probably tell, I have a low key love for saying M.O. and a high key love for keeping love out of it. I’ve been a real ray of sunshine lately.
Last week, as you obviously know, I was not the peachiest of the bunch between my sickness, endless job interviews, and my predicted impending mental breakdown.
I am happy (sarcastically speaking, of course) to report that my mental breakdown came early and has yet to pack its bags and get the fuck out of my psyche. I’d say this breakdown began Friday morning, because my body likes to wake me up with heart palpitations and unsolicited anxiety about the future. I miss the good ol’ teenage years when I had to figure out a way to fall asleep with the feeling of doom. Now I get to start my day with it. Getting old is fun!
I can’t decide if I’m dead inside like everyone else or if I’ve just lost the ability to give a fuck temporarily. You’d think that when my mother gave me a literal 15 second warning (no exaggeration) before introducing me to her “friend” I would’ve been more outraged, but I think the insanity that is the people in my life is becoming less shocking. Also, I’m out of fucks to give. This man, to clarify, is just her “friend” in the same way you know who is just my friend. At least I know where I get it from.
Easter would’ve been more fun if I was drunk like everyone else there, but I guess my punishment for “choosing” to live with my father was having to drive. Nevertheless, I took the last swig of the bottle of wine everyone was drinking straight from the bottle in an effort to feel better about myself. It worked for about 3 minutes before I realized that I’m not in college anymore and became immediately depressed.
My sister so kindly has chosen to remind me about 3 times in a two-day span that I’m 21 and, according to her schedule for me, should be married in 5-7 years. If that isn’t anxiety-inducing I don’t know what is. Couple that with former comments from certain people and I might as well tie a rocket to my back because otherwise I’m going no where fast.
On the topic of my (apparently upcoming) wedding, I was talking to my sisters friend (I guess she’s my friend now too since you’re my only self-made friend) about said wedding and began to panic. This panic induced more panic about the more recent future/job prospects. Which led to an 18-year-old telling me I should see a psychic to help me figure out what to do. Although brilliant (sidebar: props to you for watching Long Island Medium) I can’t help but feel like having a teenager suggest that the only way you can get your shit together is by seeing a fucking psychic is my rock bottom. If it is, then it’s only up from here right?
I’d say that I remember a time where I had a handle on my decision-induced anxiety, but that’s just not true and I’m in the business of telling the truth (at least I wish I was).
As far as decisions go, I’ll be unemployed with the however many other unemployed recent grads by Friday at 5:30 p.m. I won’t bore you by listing out my potential life options (with my state of mind that would make this a 6,000 word blog post) but I will say that there are several perfectly viable options (no matter what my mother says) and the more options that get tacked on, the less I feel like I know what the actual fuck I am doing with myself. Yet as I mentioned in a previous post, I can’t help but seek more and more options. I want the best for myself, can you blame me?
The thing is, what I really want is to just be with the humans who make me happy. Why would I spend my childless year being far away from the people that get me all hyped up? Unfortunately for me (and very, very fortunately for everyone else) I can’t collect all my humans and force them to stay with me forever (I’m going to be a painfully clingy mother, apparently). Thankfully, though, I have options that let me try to at least partially compensate my slightly alarming desire to be with the people I like. This happiness, though, seems to come at the cost (or at least sometimes the delay) of a logical, well-thought out long-term plan. So the decision is this: do I make a decision to be happy now or do I make a decision to attempt to create happiness in 1-2 years. Seems simple when you say it like that, doesn’t it?
I will keep you posted on my decisions/anxiety/stress/life.
As far as punishments for missing your blog post goes, I’d say you have to post your blog to your Facebook, but that just seems too cruel. I’d say some sort of video-based embarrassment would be good, or maybe you have to upload a dreaded selfie with your next post? I also am concerned as to why you’re seeking punishment when you’re generally the one who misses posts, but hey you asked for it.
The Basic One