Don’t laugh.
I have an incredibly difficult time being as honest as I want to be on this blog. Perhaps it is because, despite my often “loud” (charming?) personality, I am intensely private and TERRIFIED of being judged. I wish I could discuss sex lives (see…I hesitant to be specific as to whose,) or smoking or how certain people make me feel. But my momma knocked “the pause” into me and I am scared. I scared you will read something I write and think I am silly or unworthy of your time or lacking in intelligence. My life is not a “big life” by conventional standards. I work a job I do not enjoy. I have a cat and a one bedroom apartment. For most people and many of the people I love, this would not be enough. I argue (too often for my own tastes) that if you look deeper, you will see something lovely. I am loved and respected by a man that kisses and cooks VERY well. I bake my own bread with a delightfully fancy KitchenAid mixer that I obsess over. I have my looks (insert emoticon here.) We are in love and its a damn good story as to how we got there. We have goals that we are working toward. I’ve made some tough decisions about what is important to me, about who I am and where I see myself. There is power in these decisions but my life, as a result, is not always terribly exciting. I am asleep before midnight and I trudge to work. Rinse and repeat. I am saving because I don’t want THIS to be my forever. And yet, in quiet moments, I long to be the girl in the fabulous outfit, dancing on tables, drinking too much, smoking until my voice is raspy, being carefree and silly and feeling invincible. I want to be in Korea. Or Chicago. Or Geneva. Or fucking Gainesville. But I’m not. I’m here. Maybe what I cannot be honest about is how lonely it feels to here, in adulthood where bedtime is early and the goals are modest.
