I Need to Get a Life
As you know from our earlier phone conversation, that’s been my motto for the day. Basically everything that’s happened, I’ve responded by saying, “ew.”
Now that I’m three glasses of wine deep, I’m feeling less “ew” and more…well, I’m not quite sure what.
I’m about to admit something really embarrassing, do you remember that song “Can’t Be Tamed” by Miley Cyrus? Well, when I was in high school (I think we were juniors or seniors when that came out, but I’m a little drunk so don’t hold me to that) I related very heavily to that song. Or at least, I desperately wanted to relate. The point I am trying to make by drunkenly confessing my embarrassing enjoyment of a 2010 Miley Cyrus song (I googled it, it’s 2010 for sure) is that I’m regaining the pressing feeling to get the hell out.
Back in my (painfully awkward) high school years, the feeling I remember most is feeling like I needed to get the fuck out — as quickly and as painlessly as possible (if that past 30 minutes didn’t just prove that enough, I don’t know what would, if you catch my drift). To be honest, ever since I left my small town for Elon, I haven’t really felt that feeling. But now, after 3.5 years, it’s finally starting to creep back into my life.
I never quite considered myself a restless soul, but apparently this feeling is trying to prove me wrong. Apparently, against my free will, my brain decides it’s time to pick up and leave. Oddly, I’ve always wanted to be that wild child without a care in the world who’s just out for a good time, but let’s be honest, that’s not me and it never will be. I was born an old soul and that is how I will stay.
So with that, this sort of restless spirit comes up every now and then to confuse the fuck out of me and to remind me that although home is great place to be, it isn’t my place to be. I love my family, I really do, but it seems like whenever I’m with them for more than a month or so I can’t help but feel like my inner independent streak is being smothered like Desdemona in Othello.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s certainly lovely to come home to dinner made every night and not have to pay rent, but I think those are some of the (admittedly tedious) things that I want to be doing.
As cheesy as it sounds, I want to build a life for myself. Holy shit, that sounds really fucking cheesy. But fuck it, it’s the truth.
I was at an interview on Saturday (pony related) and the owner asked me if I have a 5-year plan. I responded brutally honestly (as I am sometimes known to do) and told him I sure thought I had one before I graduated, but I kind of threw it out the window. As I said that, I realized it was the most honest I have been about my future since my future was a thing I had to pay close attention to.
I do not have a damn clue what I am doing with my life. I sure thought I did going into my last semester of college, but if that “plan” didn’t get royally fucked, I don’t know how else to describe it.
My overdrawn point is (sorry I’m kinda drunk it’s taking me a while here) that I want a life for myself. I love my family to pieces but I need to be on my own. I do really fucking well on my own, I like being on my own (I think I’m part hermit) and I enjoy picking up my own pieces when I fuck up.
I like eating cake for breakfast and pancakes for dinner. I like forgetting to go to the grocery store for 2 weeks because I can’t get my shit together enough to spend 20 minutes inside Harris Teeter. I like leaving my house at 10 p.m. to get Starbucks even though I don’t even drink coffee. I like being free.
And I’ll be damned if I don’t get my shit together enough to feel that freeness again.
The Basic One (obviously I’m the basic one, I’m drunk off 3 glasses of chardonnay for the third time in four days)