Why does spending money feel so good, but paying the bills feels almost crippling – like losing a limb? Paying the bills is spending money. It should feel like spending money. I WISH IT FELT GOOD TO PAY THE BILLS.
I’ve been MIA on the internet (not just here) for somewhere in the vicinity of two months now. I’ve been spending the majority of my time drawing and watching television (OMG season finales of Bones and Castle WTF) and playing PlayStation games. I’ve also been spending time with my siblings and my husband. I find these activities preferable to Facebook and The Internet and even LotRO these days.
Drawing. I’ve been drawing new things, silhouette type drawings, and posting them to my Instagram feed. I really like them, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find that other people like them as well. This summer I’m going to be setting up an Etsy shop to see if they will sell (if I can ever get it figured out), because some of my friends have expressed interest in my doing so. I love drawing and doodling. When I create something I like, I feel so proud of myself – even if others don’t like it. I haven’t given up on stick figures, I could never do that, but I’ve graduated to other kinds of things. It feels good to be proud of myself. It feels amazing to create. I just want to feel good and amazing and proud all of the time.
Games. I’ve basically just been playing two games. Star Ocean Second Story and Star Ocean The Last Hope. I could play these forever. I’ve never beaten either, and my goal this summer is to beat them both. I have this bad habit of not beating games, just getting to a certain point and starting over, because I’m afraid that if I beat them I won’t ever want to play them again. I’m going to test this theory out with the one game I have seriously avoided beating for years now: Star Ocean Second Story (basically the best console game ever). I’ve played it more than two dozen times, and just stopped when I was getting too close to the end. That sounds kind of crazy, I guess, if you’re not me. But it doesn’t sound crazy to me at all.
Reading. I’ve reread a lot of books so far this year. I’ve been going back and forth between all of the Sarah Dessen books I own, and the Sword of Truth series by Terry Goodkind. Earlier in the year I reread the Sevenwaters books by Juliet Marillier (my favorite stories in the whole world) and the Symphony of the Ages trilogy by Elizabeth Haydon. All great. Reading is the most fun thing in the whole world. It is more fun than eating, and eating is basically at the top of my list of favorites. I don’t know how many books I’ve read this year, but certainly more than one a week. I finish a book? I pick up another one the next day. Usually I have to let what I’ve read digest, and then try to get past the depressing feeling that it’s over before beginning a new journey (even if it’s one I’ve read before).
Other things. I’ve been watching Frozen. A lot. It is my new favorite Disney movie. My favorite Disney movies my whole life have been Sleeping Beauty and The Little Mermaid. My whole life, people. Frozen is amazing. It’s about sisters. WHAT COULD BE BETTER THAN SISTERS?! I think it’s the best animated movie Disney has come out with since Finding Nemo in 2003 Also I go to this little place downtown called Get Fired Up just about every week, where they have pottery you can paint. I paint all the things. Being creative is my new favorite thing to do all day long. And listen to the Frozen soundtrack while I’m doing it.
I turned 31 last weekend, and had a really great birthday. My dad and I went to the Mohegan Sun casino and I lost a bunch of money and ate really good food. I’m not one of those people who is upset about getting older. I never have been. My birthday is a great source of excitement for me every year. I look forward to it, count the days (357 days to go!), and just really enjoy my birthday. I feel better about myself as I get older. I’m less worried about what others think of me, and more focused on how I feel about who I am. I’m a good person. I even like myself the majority of the time. I don’t feel old. I’m not one of those people who says “I feel so old!” or “OMG I’m like so old!” Because I’m not. I’m 31, not 81. Honestly. I feel so much better than I did ten years ago in every aspect of my life. Sure, I can’t do some things as well as I used to be able to do, but there are other things that I can do now that I wasn’t able to do before. Like make good decisions, practice actual common sense, and basically just be happy. Those things are way more important than being able to jump over a fence or eat all the food (but let’s face it, eating all the food is still awesome). I’m a big girl now. I like it.
We can only be who we are in this, the only life we get. So we learn about ourselves. We hopefully learn to like and even love ourselves. I don’t think it’s true that no one can love you if you don’t love yourself. I have been loved even at my lowest, when I hated myself, when I didn’t understand myself, when I was bitter and depressed. I was loved.
Maybe this is the Xanax talking, but I’m feeling a bit nostalgic and even a wee bit sad. And anxious. But that goes without saying, right? -.-
With age comes understanding. I’m not going to say it brings wisdom, but rather experience. We don’t always learn from the mistakes and triumphs of others, but it is possible. My whole life I have learned from the mistakes of others, and I find it hard to accept that that is rare, because it is the very core of me. Maybe that only makes sense to me and no one else can understand it, but I grew up seeing all the things I didn’t want to be, and I didn’t have to run out and do those things to know I didn’t want to do them.
Something I’ve been noticing about myself this past year is that I’ve been more blunt, and more impatient with the people around me. When someone older than I am keeps making the same bad choices over and over, I lose all respect for them as a person. Especially when their poor choices are affecting me and the people I care about. I think a lot of the time I come across as uncaring, but the truth is that I feel too much. I feel so much for everybody. I have all the feelings, and it is hard seeing people you love in pain, and feeling that pain and knowing you can do nothing to help but just be there. And I wonder, is it even helping? Is just being there helping at all? It isn’t helping me, not when I feel so much of what everyone around me is feeling. I feel so responsible for everyone all of the time, like I should be doing more and helping more, only I can’t figure out how I’m supposed to do that.
I miss my mom. In so many ways we were two peas in a pod, and I didn’t see that until it was too late because I was bitter for a long time. It’s too late now. I can’t even apologize. I loved her so hard. I still do.
I should probably go to bed, because I’m over-thinking all the things right now. I don’t even know if I’ll wake up in the morning and understand any of this. I hope tomorrow is better, not just for me but for everyone. I wonder if I’ll even be able to sleep, because I’m so worried about stupid crap. But it doesn’t feel stupid right now. It will probably feel stupid in the morning, but right now it just feels bad.
To feeling bad. Cheers.
Have you ever had a really bad neighbor? Not a malicious neighbor who does anything in their power to bother you day after day, but the kind of neighbor who simply does not understand the etiquette of living one floor above or blow you?
I have one. My new upstairs neighbor is a real imbecile. Right now he is rapping so loudly that we can hear it over the television, and my husband is trying to sleep because he has drill in the morning. He has to be up at 0430. The guy must be wearing headphones or something, because I was literally just at his door for four minutes, and he didn’t hear me pounding on it. POUNDING, PEOPLE. Not gentle knocking. Slamming his door with the side of my fist. No response. We’ve had to go up there twice since he moved in last month to ask him to keep it down, and it seems to work for a while, but apparently he is too oblivious to everyone else around him to keep it up for long. At first I wondered if this was his first ever apartment, and I thought maybe he just didn’t know any better. After going up there a few times over different things, I have come to realize that he is simply just dense. He seems nice, but he is dense.
The rapping seems to have stopped for now, and hopefully he is done for the night. *fingers crossed*
The Destroyer and I are probably the best tenants any landlord or neighbor could ask for. We are quiet and considerate. We sweep and shovel the snow from all the walkways, stairs, porch, and driveway. We lay salt, not only on our porch, but on the porch above ours where the ignorant one lives, and also on my downstairs neighbors front stoop and all over the driveway. We shovel the sidewalk, too. We don’t cause trouble. We don’t listen to anything loud after 9PM, we don’t host parties and blast music, and we don’t stomp around as if we lived on a concrete slab. It isn’t hard for us to live relatively quietly. We don’t have to go out of our way to be considerate. It’s just a combination of common courtesy and common sense, which is apparently not too common.
The Destroyer and I both of our downstairs neighbors all put together don’t make half the noise this guy upstairs makes. Alone. He lives alone! He’s got no kids up there and he rarely even has any visitors It is just baffling to me how anyone can be so incredibly dense.
I’m afraid I’m going to end up writing a rather aggressive neighbor note and taping it to his door one of these days, but at this point I seriously wonder if he would even see it. O.O