Yesterday, a man from the Université Sainte-Anne in Nova Scotia came to my French II class to talk to us about their five-week French immersion program in the summer. It sounds like a good jolly scary blast that I can afford--yet don't need. What am I going to do with the French that I would learn there? I'm not sure. All I can say is that I do plan on visiting a cousin possibly the summer after this one in Paris.
This isn't really about my needs-to-be-hasty and figure out if I want to do the trip-blog. (Actually, I wrote all of this yesterday [it's a trap!] and sent in the registration & had my mother mail a registration check already.) The point is that one of the first things I do is tell my mom I'd like to go (and not in regards to money at all)...the moment after I sent that text, I thought to myself, why am I asking for permission? I'm an adult who's old enough to vote and smoke (and drink in Canada!), and I'll be spending my own money...so why do I feel like I always have to ask the one person who's likely to say no?
This isn't the only example, but I can also say it led into another conversation telling my mom how I plan on campin' out in the wilderness on my own at some point. (I'm dreadfully jealous that men can get away with such plans with such ease. Sure, it can be risky for anyone, but a young girl? Fuggedaboutit.)
I, along with many others, need to learn that I'm in college. This is the time of my life that I'm supposed to start making decisions all for myself. This is when I have to become an adult. This is my chance to "find" myself, to form my own opinions.
I realize that everywhere I go, I rely on people; to parties, I bring at least one of my closest friends (and the more the better so I have more options to talk to during said event, since I can't seem to talk to strangers); when trying some new program (take the Honors College, for example), I read up on it as much as I can, try and figure out exactly what it will be like.......
--PEOPLE. I try to fucking figure people out before they attempt to do so themselves. I creep on Facebook to learn as much as I can.
I guess I don't like surprises. I can deal with events of any kind...as long as I know about it. Just like when a guy is suddenly a dick: that's the shocker that I can't deal with. I've asked a guy in advance when he was being fishy, and he lied, and then pulled that sudden dick move, which I could have handled had he been truthful and warned me about it.
I guess I've found my problem. I don't like living. I don't like really living. Because I'm too scared to, perhaps something my mother engraved into my brain. Why don't I talk to an interesting stranger at a party? Because I'm scared to. Why am I scared? Because I don't know what to expect.
I need expectations to function.
Fuck that. Wow. I apologize, because I'm kind of having a moment...
I'm really getting somewhere tonight folks, you can't see it, you can't read it, but the neurons, they're poppin'. I always say I like my younger self better. I always say that I don't know where, but somewhere, someone broke me. But no, that isn't true. Someone wrapped me up in a cast before I had a chance to get broken. That's my problem.
I went to this girl's birthday party once. It was at the public pool that Texarkana had, before it shut down. I guess I'm "showing my age." I jumped right off that high board, barely having had access to a pool at all in the past. And I jumped again, and again, and again. All the other little girls? Hell no.
Moving back to my grandma's ottoman and the singing/shrieking that went on on top of it...And fast forward to now when I only sing loudly in my car, or goofily in the presence of friends. I wasn't scared what people thought back then. I just went for it.
Now, it takes a failed Facebook event to plan for my friends to go out and attempt some long exposure light photography...that we've yet to do. Back in the day, if I wanted to make a mudpie cooking show, I just did it. If I wanted to paint a damn painting, I wouldn't think of ten thousand excuses not to. There was none of this talking the talk and not walking the walk.
Where'd my balls go, because I'm pretty sure I heard those things were supposed to drop when you got older, not disappear.
I used to just do things, and now I'm just an observer.
Now I'm just too much of a scared little girl to jump into anything. I don't want to mess anything up, I don't want to be disappointed, I don't want to be embarrassed, I don't want to be judged, and Lord forbid if I feel like I've wasted any time (or money at that). Imagine if I didn't like it! The horror! If I wasn't going to like it, I could've just sat on my lethargic ass at home.
No more shoulda done's.
Remember those times you thought to yourself, "I could have done that"? (Take writing terribly well-selling vampire fiction. [Read that sentence any way you want to.]) Well, stuh-foo, because if you could have, you should have. Life's a race...it's not that you want it to be over as soon as possible, but it's a race, a competition with the ideas of others. You've just got to beat 'em to the punch. Otherwise, you're some sucker who is just recognized for standing on the shoulders of the giants before you and expanding upon their genius research.
So I'm tossing out the nervousness with the old bathwater. (I'm sure that'll have changed by next blog, but.) That's the reason I can't seem to have an opinion, or a passion at that, and why I can't find myself or some form of happiness...because I'm not living, so there's no life to be found.
Time to jump off the deep end again.
<3<3<3
I've been thinking about all the applications and interviews I've gone through for different processes. They always ask you about your strengths and weaknesses. I've finally realized that for my application in life: I have no strengths.
It's time for a quart-life revolution.
:) Oh, the balls are somewhere.
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