zHOMG

my life and times. the impressionable parts. the parts that just say shit. the part that wants to break free and be someone new. the part that squees over david tennant, martin freeman, robert downey jr or misha collins. and not to forgot my lady favourites: scarlett johansson, billie piper, jennifer lawrence and holland roden. the food eater. the romantic heart. all the parts that make me a person. that make you a person, too.

i am twenty-six years old - how the hell can i make a life decision? when i was eighteen (why doesn’t eighteen have two ‘t’s? i will now pronounce it “eight - een”) i made a choice to move from pa to texas. then, when i was twenty-four i moved out of my parent’s house.

and now, i’m twenty-six and i have to move again and i am in a new job for the first time in almost eight years and i have no idea what the fuck is going on. how the hell can i make a life decision? i’ve never left america, never had a great romance, never wrote a novel, never voted, never volunteered, don’t exercise, can’t sing, still get a little confused on right and left and i cannot spell miscellaneous without looking it up. plus, i like to call eucalyptus oil “koala bear food oil”.

i play magic the gathering, i bake desserts all the time, i talk to my cats (one of them is deaf), i still collect trinkets and stuffed animals, i dress like no one’s business, wear ton of makeup, i love soda and can barely balance a checkbook.

… people are kidding themselves if they think that anyone is ever ready to make a life decision.

maybe the joke is on me - maybe i am just thinking about this too much and everyone else can feel this in the back of their mind but they ignore it. none of us are ready.

and maybe, that’s the best part.

Sometimes I wonder how I got to this point in my life. Sometimes I am so afraid to breathe, like I will just wake from this dream and be in fourth grade again; the teacher telling mom that I am not like all the other kids. That I am more than “myself”, I am completely different. Strange. I don’t make friends, I antagonize.

Sometimes I try to remember my childhood and it’s only bits and pieces, like it’s too scary to remember. I can think back to a birthday, a picture I’ve seen of myself when I was turning four and then, I wake up and I’m in third grade. I go to bed that night, wondering what happened before all of that, and only a bit comes. When I awake the next day, I’m in eighth grade, waiting to check out books and thinking, was it only yesterday that I was in third grade?

So, I look around my home and wonder, how did I get here? Is this better or worse? Am I happier or sadder? What am I missing that I don’t remember in my life?

Do I even miss the things I don’t remember?