Help me out, will ya?

My last blog felt nice.  It felt real nice.

I got a lot of really great feedback and you don’t know how much I appreciate anyone taking the time to read anything I write, let alone respond with their own experience or words of encouragement.  It is equal parts spectacular and humbling. I love the rush I feel when I hit “publish” and I know that someone, even just one person, is reading what I wrote.  It’s special.

Writing is not easy.  Not the kind of writing that I want to do, anyway.  It’s not easy to always get in touch with that honest side of yourself and not care what other people think when they read it.  It’s not easy to write anything and make it sound good enough to post publicly.   My honesty toes the line of going too far when I write about personal experiences, and I know that.  I’m not trying to be the Taylor Swift of blogging or anything, I’m just writing what comes to me because it makes me feel better and helps me gain much-needed perspective.

Writing is scary.  Much like what happened with my last blog, that perspective leads to examining feelings and parts of myself that I typically keep under lock and key.  It doesn’t always have to be that serious, though.

So many people said to me, “You need to blog more often” and I would love to.  Consistency is great!  However, I’m never sure what to write about.  I hit and miss on dating, lack of dating, and all of the ins and outs that come with that, but I don’t always know what to write about beyond that.  I don’t want to write about sports, because that’s not what this is about.  Here’s where you come in…

Brainstorm!  Throw any and all topics at me.  Privately, in comments on Facebook, in @replies on twitter, or in the comments section here on the blog.  If you build it, I can write it.  I’m just kidding, I just need a little push to help me along.



I can’t imagine a scenario where I don’t regret posting this.

There’s already so much about this year that I wish I could change.  That’s an interesting place to be in May.  People always say, “Don’t regret anything because it taught you something.” or some flowery garbage like that, but I don’t know if that’s true.  Some things, some situations, I’m not sure they teach you anything other than the fact that you probably should’ve been smarter.  So, I guess that’s something?  However, I don’t know that I’d consider it ‘being taught’ when I already knew it in the first place.  I should’ve been smarter, I should’ve been more guarded, I should’ve done a lot of things differently.  Hindsight, you know.

I’m not good at feelings.  I’m good at sports (I mean, not literally…), I’m good at laughing, I’m good at embarrassing myself, I’m good at being sarcastic, I’m good at being angry, I’m good at being silly, but I’m not good at serious anything, especially feelings.  For all the things I can do with words, expressing myself seriously is not often one of those things.  I’m not even talking about romantic crap, because God knows that doesn’t exist in my life, I’m just saying in general.  There are so few people that get those serious admissions, and even then, I know I’m a mess. I guess that has everything to do with not knowing how to let people in, getting worn down, and then getting burnt.

But, everyone gets burnt.  Everyone.  There’s not one person in friendships, in relationships, in life that hasn’t been hurt at the hands of another human being.  We use that as an excuse to not get close to someone, to not let others in.  One of the points I always make is that I hardly ever let people in, and when I do, it always comes back to bite me.  But, is that good enough?  Is that enough to make a person stop seeking friendships, stop trusting people, and to stop trying?  Do those poor experiences outweigh the positive experiences? Do they outweigh the people who have been the exception and not the rule?  I don’t want to feel that way about it anymore.  I’m not saying to trust people blindly because that’s just silly, but if someone gives you reason to believe they’re legitimate, maybe you should.  Maybe I should.

Maybe I should’ve been smarter, but maybe it’s okay that I wasn’t.  And maybe I’m better at serious feelings than I thought.

This is awful and I’m okay with that.

I haven’t written anything of value in almost two months.  The most annoying part of my writing drought is the fact that I’ve opened blank documents and stared aimlessly, the cursor blinking and mocking me without a shred of mercy, more times than I even care to admit.  My preferred medium is words, and I just can’t produce.  It’s not because I don’t have anything to say, in fact, it’s probably the exact opposite.

2013 is already hilarious.  And a roller coaster.  And fun.  And interesting.  You get the point.  The last 27 days have translated into what feels like 3 months to me.  At the same time, I can’t believe the first month of the year is basically over.  I realize how contradictory all of that was, but you just have no idea.  Wonderful things have happened, heartbreaking things have happened, unexpected things have happened.  I’ve felt the most intense and insane rush of emotions and I’ve felt the lowest, most painful rush of emotions, all in 27 days.  I am equal parts nervous and excited for the next 338 days.  I’m also a little thankful that January didn’t force me to seek professional help, no matter how hard it tried.

With all of that said, I’m sitting here on this Sunday night and I feel oddly grounded and inexplicably stable (again, 2013, you are hilarious. Me? Stable? Ha!).  I honestly can’t surmise why, other than the fact that I’ve accepted all of the things that have happened this month and I’ve stopped asking questions.  I’m trying to stop asking questions.  That’s always, always been my problem.  I always want answers, I always want a resolution, and sometimes things just aren’t black and white.  Sometimes there isn’t an answer.  I have actively worked against myself my entire life and ultimately eliminated the most beautiful shades of gray, and I’m not doing that this time.  I’m finally okay with whatever happens with pretty much everything across the board. Whatever it is, I’ll learn from it and be better for it.

What’s really ironic is the fact that I just wrote a paragraph about feeling stable on a blog with “I’m a mess” in the title.  I can’t even touch that, nor do I want to.  I’m just glad my cursor isn’t violently blinking at me from a blank page.  Breaking the drought isn’t easy and the first product may not be that good, but at least it’s something.  Something is always better than nothing.  Even so, I really don’t want to click “create post” on this — but I’m gonna. Because who cares?  That’s why.


I hate the entire “Futures” album by Jimmy Eat World (and by hate, I clearly mean love and am obsessed with).  It’s ridiculous how a song can trigger every single memory and emotion you’ve ever had in your entire life.  It’s also ridiculous how you can love a song (Hello, “Work”) and then it ultimately becomes your life.  If you haven’t heard of this band, shame on you.  If you haven’t heard this album, shame on you twice.  If you don’t like it after listening to it, shame on me for being friends with you.

Yesterday, I updated my Facebook status with something like, “Sometimes there’s not enough Wellbutrin in the entire universe.” and you just have no idea how true that is. Do you ever just inexplicably feel depression pressing down so hard that it makes your chest ache?  Just out of no where, you know?  I think there’s plenty of merit to the idea of Seasonal Affective Disorder and the winter blues.  All I want to do is go home, put on comfortable clothes, and sleep.  And eat.  I always want to eat.  But, I’m trying to make myself do better, make myself work out, make myself visit friends, as opposed to going home and tapping out.

December always brings those reflective posts about the months before and the promise of a new year, with new goals that will ultimately be thrown away by January 17th.  Oh, and a million people posting the lyric, “A long December and there’s reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last…” which is a great song, but if you’re posting it every single year, then you’re probably doing life wrong.  Not that I’m not doing life wrong, but I’ll point at you before I point at myself.  The human condition obsesses with the promise and hope of something new, something different, and nothing marks that like the start of a new year.  All of the shortcomings of 2012 wont chase you into 2013, right?  Probably not right.

With 31 days left, I can tell you that 2012 was good.  I love even numbered years because I’m weird like that, but 2012 really was pretty sweet.  Not that anything spectacular happened in my personal life, because God knows that might call for a parade, but lots of cool things happened.  One of my best friends got married to a great man, then fought breast cancer and won, a sweet baby boy made it through heart surgery like a champ, my Daddy is beating prostate cancer, my family is still intact, my friends and their families are doing great, I’ve met and become close with some really great new people, and… well, Kentucky won the National Championship and I got to see it with my own eyes and cry like a baby in the Superdome.  There are definitely more things, but I’m just naming the first things that cross my mind.

That being said, I think I’m ready for 2013.  I don’t know if it will really make a difference, I don’t know if anything will change (I don’t know if I want anything to change?), but I’m ready for whatever happens.  I don’t have any specific goals set, I just want to continue to better myself.  I’d like to be kinder, talk less, listen more, be more in control of my emotions, be more generous, and stop worrying about things that I have absolutely no control over.  Well, maybe I do have some specific goals?  Regardless, I know that I’ve surrounded myself with all the right people, that I have the right job, and that although sometimes I feel incredibly lost and a little bit broken, I’m doing a lot of things right.

At least that’s how I feel today.


I don’t know anything about what I could really love or be passionate about.  Sometimes I think that I’ve already ruined my life, or accepted my life, or maybe I had too many grand ideas to begin with, I can’t even be sure.  Maybe I’ve made all the wrong decisions.  Maybe I’ve saddled myself with responsibility and debt that could’ve waited.  The last four years have circled the same premise relentlessly. 1,460 days.  Get out of school debt, figure out what you want to do.  What do I want to do?  With my life, with my career, with everything. Is it so asinine to think that I really do enjoy my customer service job in my hometown, but I still constantly wonder about what else is out there?

But, I don’t know.  I don’t know what I like, I know that I’m not good at anything, I know that I’m not passionate about anything.  Okay, I’m passionate about Kentucky Basketball, but I don’t know what it means where to start to make that my job.  How do I get paid to love Kentucky Basketball?  Beyond that, am I good anything that involves working with Kentucky Basketball?  This is exactly my point; I have no skills, no trade, nothing to offer anyone outside of saying my name and greeting people 500 times a day.

God, and better than that?  I don’t have the drive to really do anything.  I am a routine oriented person.  Once I get into a routine, I like that routine, and to veer away from that routine, well that makes me sweat.  I always get these grand ideas, but I never commit myself to anything.  Ever.  I lose interest so quickly, and when it requires real work?  Well, forget about it.  I’ve never been about applying myself to anything, but rather BSing my way through everything.  It always worked out pretty well, but to what end?

Who really states their one passion in life is Kentucky Basketball?  I mean, that’s psychotic and I really don’t mean it in such all encompassing way.  I promise, I love and revere Jesus Christ far beyond Kentucky Basketball, but I was really just saying in the realm of careers and Earthly interests, I like Kentucky Basketball.  I like boring things.  I like television shows, I like to read, I love quiet time alone, I love Taylor Swift songs and I don’t care who knows it, I love to eat and if I could do so recreationally I definitely would, but I don’t really have hobbies.  I mean, do I even have interests?  I like politics, but it’s such a divisive subject that I don’t find it fun to discuss anymore.  Sports, I’m interested in sports.  How do people just decide, “I think I’m going to do this.” and then stick with it?  I don’t know how to do that.

I thought I wanted to be a Social Studies teacher, and then I saw all of the work that goes into it and the guidelines and material you are told to teach, and I said no.  So, I thought I would be a History Professor and got my BA in History.  When I worked for Senator Bunning I thought I would never come back from Washington DC.  I thought I would work behind the scenes in politics, because I didn’t ever want to be a politician.  I never went back to school.  I know it’s not too late, but now I don’t want to.  My point is, I’ve never loved anything enough to commit to it and follow through.  And that?  Well, that’s a recurring theme.  I never love anything enough.  I never want anything bad enough.  It’s a joke, but I really am aggressively apathetic.

And all of this stemmed from a video I watched of President Obama thanking his campaign staff in Chicago and telling them how he thought they would change peoples lives.  I sat there and thought… no one would ever say that to me.  They wouldn’t have a reason to do so.  That room was full of people my age.  They chose to commit to something, a cause, a career, whatever.  I realize there’s no time stamp on when a person can do things, it’s not like I am too old, because you are never too old.  I know all of that.  But, what I really want to know is; Is this it?  Is it all?

I don’t know.

The window has officially closed.

I think it’s human nature – perhaps female nature? – to flat out romanticize situations.  You get caught up in the what-if’s and the possibilities and forget the facts and all the billion reasons why it’s not a good idea.  Everything is so much better with the blinders and the rose colored glasses, you only see what is good, and not what is really there.  It’s hard to break out of that, it’s hard to keep yourself logical.  I hate not being logical.

Things don’t always work out the way you wish they would.  100% of the time, that is for the best.  Yes, I mean that.  100% of the time.   Because there is always something better.  A better job, a better car, a better home, a better person.  At least that’s what I have to tell myself when things don’t pan out in the ridiculous, outlandish, crazily perfect way that I always envision.  Not getting what you want builds character, helps you accept life for what it is.  Or something like that.  Honestly though?  I’m really a brat that gets pretty upset when I don’t get what I want.  Or who I want.  I eventually get to the point that I am okay with it, though.  Eventually.

Here’s the real issue; I am a perpetual ‘grass is greener’ person.  It’s horrible.  I always think, “Things would be better if…” and that just isn’t the case.  Being happy in the moment, in who you are, in the life that God has given (which is more than I have ever deserved), that’s a really difficult place to get to and ultimately live.  Things are really, really good.  When I back up and stop counting all of the things I don’t have and start counting all of the things I do have, it’s not even close in comparison.  Not even in the ballpark.  I am so blessed and fortunate and should be embarrassed to ever consider myself otherwise.

Getting back to the point of things not working out the way you think they should; Is there a better feeling than the feeling of knowing you’re finally over a situation?  You’ve thought about it, harped on it, thought it was a great idea, whined about it, cried about it, prayed about it, gotten angry about it, and finally gotten to the point that it just doesn’t matter anymore.  You’re just over it.  This happened to me recently, and I can clearly look back on the situation and know why it happened the way it did (and the way it didn’t) and realize it was all for the best. The entire situation, just like everything, God worked together for my good.  You can’t beat that.

Here’s the thing.

I’ve attempted this first ‘entry’ (update, blog, whatever) about a million times and I can’t seem to find the right words to say.  I think too much about what I will say next, which is a total problem, so here are my efforts at free thoughts flowing on paper (print?).  I’d like to be as honest as I can be, leave this public, and let everyone I know read it.  I’ve never done that before.  Typically, everything I write is under strict lock and key, but this is a new approach.  We’ll see how long it lasts.

In 22 days I will be 26 years old.  Four years from 30, closer to 30 than 20, fudging it when I say ‘mid-twenties’ — and that’s fine.  I always thought things would be different by this age, that I would have everything all figured out, because it always seemed like that’s what people do.  Well, I don’t.  Not even close.  Nothing has worked out how I assumed it would (assuming really does make an a…, you know) and coming to terms with that, with what felt/feels like the misdirection of my life, has been unbelievably hard.

The pressure for young women to marry (especially in a rural area), is smothering.  I think about what my life would be like and how normal I would feel if I lived anywhere else, anywhere other than Eastern Kentucky.  But, I don’t.  I live here, and I love it, I love everything about our small towns, the hills, and how absolutely beautiful everything is this time of year (my favorite time of year).  People tell me all the time, “Well, you could move.” and yeah, I could, but it wouldn’t be home.  As much as I love it, it doesn’t stop me from feeling like a unicorn (on good days, because unicorns are pretty) or a three legged dog with mange (on most days, because I wonder if I have the plague).

Comparison is the root of all things evil, truly.  But, it’s hard to not compare yourself to those closest to you.  Of all of my closest friends, I’m the only unmarried, and not just unmarried, but so single.  So incredibly single.  Like, third wheel in every situation single.  Perpetually single.  Look in all the wrong places and think you’ve found something decent single.  Cat lady single.  Eating Doritos in bed at 1am single.  Can’t even find a guy to go to UK games with you single.  You get the picture.  It’s hard to not feel like something is fundamentally wrong with you and to not think something about you keeps people away (I mean, other than the fact that I eat Doritos in bed at 1am. Whatever.).

But, there’s nothing wrong with me.  That doesn’t negate that I am a total mess, but there is nothing wrong with me.  So what, things haven’t turned out exactly like I thought they would, or anything like I thought they would, there’s nothing I can do about any of it.  So what, I’m 26 and live with my Mama.  So what, who cares?  The hardest part of not being like everyone else is accepting the fact that you aren’t like everyone else and just not caring anymore.  I’m working on that.

I always worked under the assumption that by 26, something would make sense.  I never assumed (again, it really does make a butt of everyone involved, but probably just me in this instance) that I would be like a hamster running in circles on that 22 year old fresh out of college wheel, struggling to move forward with growing up, with moving out of my parents house, and with life in general.  But, here I am, figuring things out on my own, moving at a snails pace.  For whatever reason, the idea of documenting my crazy seems kind of fun.  And scary.  And probably regretful sometime in the future.  We’ll see.