Tag Archives: I’m insufferable sometimes

Identity

I cannot be unique if people do not know i am unique.
As long as I can recall I have been colorful, out there, full of confidence. I always have wanted to define and improve myself and be the best version there is possible to be.
Adding a touch (an unhealthy splash) of competitiveness to me means that not only must I be creative, I have to be the MOST creative. I have to express and know myself to the highest degree.
Over the past few years I have been customizing my body. I love the concept of personalizing your body, making it truly unique in the world. I have 4 tattoos, 8 piercings, and have played with coloring and styling my hair and adding jewelry and fun clothing.
Listen, I know that there is a point where selfies become vanity but I love the fact that we can document everything in our lives. I am trying to log my life through pictures on my phone. I adopted a cat and have been trying to log weekly updates of her life. She is now 24 weeks old and i cannot believe 24 weeks has passed.
I am fascinated with the concept of logging myself. Recording my existence. Having the most accurate count of myself.
The point of this is that I have recently changed jobs. My job for the past year and a half has allowed me complete freedom in hair and piercings. I have started getting my nails done and its been amazing because I do not have good nails.
But now I cannot have these things. I’m not allowed unnatural hair colors, nail covering or color of any kind, and no facial piercings. Thus I dyed my hair again. I went from bright purple to black and brown, which is the color I’ve had my entire life. And it hurts. I feel like by dying my hair I sacrificed my individuality and lost my ‘real’ identity. The concept I’ve been mulling over these few days is whether I am less unique or self-expressive if others do not know I am unique. The phrase is ‘express yourself’ but the question is to whom?
This also makes me think that if I lose an obvious degree, I must make up for it in some less visible way but one that has the same weight to it. By this I mean that I feel I can measure how well my self is expressed.
Converse shoes worn ironically. Hair dyed bright purple. Clever outfit. Tasteful piercings, but be sure you do not get any worn out or cliche ones. Jewelry. Bold makeup.
Is it all worth it if I know I will be better in the end? That of course must be decided by you. The pain point comes where the discomfort of doing or not doing something outweighs the value. The temporary pain I feel from not having colored hair or a ring in my lip does not outweigh the fact that I am able to pursue an education, which should take me to a point where I regain the things of which I am deprived. It is not the worst option. By going through with it, I gain.
How do you feel you are unique? What do you hold close and value as a definition of yourself? What would hurt to lose? What facets of yourself would make you feel as though you were not yourself if they left?
What are you willing to sacrifice? What do you hope to gain by doing so?

Nice Costs Nothing

I’m the oldest of 10 children. I have five brothers and four sisters, and this is only slightly above average size in my family. Children are blessings, bundles of joy that are prayed for, begged for, rejoiced over.
So naturally, there’s a lot of them.

From the time I was 2, I have been an older sister. I’m now almost 20 and I still have tiny people as siblings. The youngest are four now, and even though they are definitively the last biological children my parents will have, there are 16 years between my birthday and theirs.
I have been in charge of small children, in control of their survival and health, for probably more years than I should have been. I have a remarkable ability to track wandering toddlers, and juggling wiggling babies is second nature.
The other second nature I have walked away with- slightly related to the first and unavoidable, in my opinion- is a terrifyingly fierce protective instinct. A friend once labelled it a hero complex.
I love an underdog with every fiber of my being. People who cannot protect themselves instantly earn my protection, and I will fight to the hyperbolic death for their cause.

I don’t qualify myself as a nice person to most people. If you’re going to harass me on the street or waste my time with inanities, I’m not a nice person.
If being nice involves lying about my feelings on a matter, then I’m not a nice person. I will not tolerate your nonsense or laziness, and ignorance or cruelties will gain you my harshest words. Continue reading

Perhaps.

Perhaps the world is a place in which we struggle.

Life is not a simple task. It’s something we try at every single day that we breathe, and something we die feeling like we never quite finished completely.
I have days where I feel like I graduated yesterday and I’m just starting on my real life, and there are days- weeks, more like- where I feel like I’ve wasted every productive point in my life.
Because obviously I’ll work fast food forever.
Who else would hire you?
What else is even the point in trying?
You just know you’ll get turned down.
No one wants you.

Perhaps the most difficult thing I do is to put on that pair of jeans that’s a bit darker wash than the others and looks slightly more professional, tug on some shoes that aren’t converse, and try and do my hair to make me look not-seventeen again.
Presenting the best I have over and over again, just to be told it isn’t good enough, is crushing.

And yet, I can honestly sit here and type that I am the happiest I’ve ever been.
Oh, there will always be bad days. Bad days are as inevitable as the last cookie in a package.

But maybe we should live for the days where you go to bed happy, or at least content.
For the days when the tea brews just right, and you can watch the milk swirl around the spoon.
For the breezes that come through your bedroom window and smell of lilacs, as you’re drifting off to sleep.
For the person in some unknowable house, playing a song called What A Wonderful World. Because it is.
For those days when you shake your hair out after stumbling out of bed, and it falls in supermodel waves around your face, clear for once.
For five pound bags of tater tots.
For that “Rocky” feeling after you sprint across the parking lot in the rain, and you’re not even out of breath.
For that weirdly satisfying moment when you finally get to the bathroom and you can finally pee.
For good-butt jeans.
For canned mandarin oranges, because why do they even taste so good?
For that overwhelming feeling of thank you when you look at someone, and you’re just grateful that they spend time with you.
For those people you meet for ten minutes, and they say something in those ten that you think about for years afterwords, and contemplate it while you zone out and fill your mind.
For standing by a window, and feeling the sun warm the backs of your thighs and the inside of your soul.
For standing back and admiring a freshly washed window.
For the two hours you can spend cleaning the house, and then it looks really good.

My life has been, by no means, perfect. I complain a lot, and very articulately. But it’s a good life.
I am happy. And I predict that I will only get happier in the months to come.

It’s Not A Neck Tattoo, It’s A Life Decision

Alternate titles for today’s post were as follows.

Neck Tattoos and Boyfriends
Please Don’t Flirt With Me (ft. I WILL Hurt You)

Dear the extremely creepy guys in the janky old car in drive through,
When you pull up to the drive through window and immediately lean forwards to stare at me, I see it. I know what you’re doing, and exactly where your eyes are lingering. (Here’s a hint, my face is up here. You know, with the eyes?)
Your cheekbone piercing is not attractive. You leering at me, looking me up and down before you hand me the money, or refusing to let go for just a split second too long, is not appreciated. Yelling at me as the window closes makes me want to ignore you.

When I open the window, before you grin, before asking if I have a boyfriend, I would like you to stop and think for just a moment, no matter how foreign this concept is to you.
I have been taking orders, making drinks, checking bags, paying out, and handing out food to customers like you for almost 2 hours now. As you speak to me, I have another order in my ear, and this person wants their order taken right exactly now and exactly right. I made at least four drinks while you stared at me, and have not stopped moving since I’ve been in your field of vision. And yet I have stopped all of my other tasks to focus on you. I hope you feel special.
Do I have a boyfriend, you ask?

The answer is no. But you don’t get to know that. If I answer you truthfully, you will take it as an invitation to press your advances on me. You will take it as a personal challenge to get me a boyfriend- probably you or your creepy friend. You will never leave my drive through, and I have times to make.
So yes. If you’re asking, I have a boyfriend.

I can see the frustration on your face.

“Are you just saying that?”

Now, isn’t that interesting. How many other girls have you interrogated?
How many have made the mistake of answering you truthfully?
Do you now expect women to lie to you as a default response?
I feel sorry for your previous interests. I wish you knew how to take ‘no’ for an answer.
Here’s your food! Have a great night, sir.

Blatant Arrogance.

It will probably surprise no one on this blog (if in fact, there is anyone) to learn that I am constantly on Tumblr.
For those unknowing, Tumblr is a fandom ‘blogging’ website, where millions of mainly nerds go to post about their interests. Pictures, gif-sets (don’t ask me how to pronounce it) and fan art are most prevalent, with the occasional essay on the subtext and imagery in tv shows or books. Usually, it’s brillian people writing these and picking up on the smallest of details I never saw before, and I have learned so much about the psychology and symbolism used in publicly consumed media.

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