There’s a ton of great ideas out there.
Ideas to better yourself as a human being, to make you healthier, more motivated, more creative, more beautiful.
All these ideas sound great, until it comes time to do them.
April 23rd was my big brother’s 22nd birthday.
So let’s talk about him!
What stories shall I tell? Bwahaha.
My big brother is a Merchant Marine. He’s the reason we drove across country and back, you may remember it. If you don’t, I wrote every day of that trip for a month, and it was exhausting, and crazy, and a life experience that I shared the whole way.
All I gotta say is we must really like him to go through all that we went through.
I wonder what comes to people’s minds when they hear the word “boxes.” Take out box? Moving box? Jack in the box? A refrigerator?
A lot of different things come to my mind, but there’s one in particular that’s been bugging me lately.
It doesn’t really have a name. I suppose we should give it one (although it’s such an annoying box, I want to be mean and not name it).
It’s the box of [Hey Little Kid What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?] and [What’s Your Favorite Subject In School Because That Will Determine Your Future].
The box of [Expectations]? Let’s call it the box of [Future].
I don’t know when it truly hit me. But I feel like I was staring at a wall somewhere when the thought finally occurred.
I never considered myself as busy. Whenever I heard people say, “I’m too busy” or “I never have the time,” I always thought it was the lamest excuse, and the most transparent one that simply meant, “Netflix takes higher priority.”
I still think it’s a lame excuse. I think if you truly put effort, you will find the time. You just don’t want to.
I’ve always thought, “there are enough hours in the day. Just sleep less.” Easier said than done.
Suddenly, all my thoughts and skeptical sayings have caught up with me, and I am now living it. The good thing is caffeine replaces sleep, right?
So I’ve fallen off the face of the world in my blog universe (I’m not sure that metaphor truly makes sense, but we’ll move on).
And boy. Do I have some really good excuses for you. But we’ll skip that.
Taking that week off was full of torture and guilt and felt like an eternity of not blogging. However, during my time of solitary and laptop fasting (which is a great way to get closer to the Lord, I might add), I had the opportunity to meditate on things.
I’m sure you don’t care to read for hours on my thoughts about my poor eating schedule that relies solely on goldfish crackers and applesauce, my nonexistent workout routine, or the fact that it’s finally dawned on me that I can’t possibly do ALL my favorite hobbies in the same day, so I’ll skip ahead to the thoughts on this blog.
I believe it’s a saying. “You can’t run away from your troubles, they just follow you.”
That’s how I feel about being home again. Not that I had trouble troubles.
My room, for example. I leave and come back, and it still desperately needs a spring cleaning. So far I’ve filled a whole trash bag of clothes to give away. I view that as real progress! Baby steps.
Thursday night, I jumped right back in to leading worship for a young ladies’ bible study. My little brother and I were also immediately recruited to house cleaning that same day, after we got back. I was assigned to clean bathrooms and showers. He was assigned to go pick up the left over branches of what used to be a beautiful oleander that my dad had hacked to a stump while we were away. I still don’t know why. My mom also said we’d be vacuuming every day in order to catch up on what cleaning my dad didn’t do, to which my little brother replied.
“Man, we’re only here a day and already. . ” He mimed cracking a whip. It made me laugh.
All this being said, my point is: things will stay the way you leave them. So when you come back, you still have to deal with it.
I haven’t written in a few weeks because I’ve been trying to make a decision about something, and then deal with the decision I made.
After a lot of thought, asking my parents’ advice, and venting on the phone to best friends, I’ve decided.
I’ll probably be losing my job.
I’ve realized something about myself. I worry. As in, a lot.
I don’t know where this came from. I think of myself to be a rather calm, collected, easy going human being. I go with the flow. How is it I became a worrier?
It’s getting to be ridiculous. I worry about not getting a job. I’m worried that if I don’t get a job soon, I’ll turn into one of those stay-at-home losers who leech money from their parents and are useless all their life. Then when I start to get close to what seems like a job, I worry that the hours will be horrible and I won’t have a social life anymore – no wise cracks, please. I worry that my novel is junk. The plot is cliche. Or my voice is boring.