Magical Time

I've definitely been duped.

Someone has duped me and I don't like it.

Aren't I supposed to be living my dream life right now? I am in my twenties now, for crying out loud! Aren't I supposed to be living in New York City, writing a blog post a week, making enough to support my living in my studio apartment in Manhattan, right off of Times Square (I'm pretty sure my geography is wrong, but this is supposed to happen for me dangit!), walking around and seeing my name on every Barnes and Noble Bestseller List for writing my memoir on growing up on the west coast and feeling as though my soul was destined for something a little more eastern and foreign and how I ultimately overcame my insecurities and the parents and teachers and siblings and mooching friends who told me I couldn't make it anywhere because I just didn't have what "it" takes and that with just a little perseverance and an attitude of superiority I did; my face on every billboard and jumbotron (which sounds like a transformer) advertising my amazing product that cures every single ailment in the world while simultaneously distributing kittens and butterflies to all unhappy children in existence ever; my voice in all the concert halls and Broadway and the street corners with a guitar or cymbal or a record scratching kit getting just enough money in tips to dye my hair an overwhelming shade of red and buy a soft ironic beanie and plaid scarf (or is it plaid beanie and soft ironic scarf?) from American Apparel to show my complete disgust in the world and appreciation for all things alternative and supporting things like Occupy Facebook because I am completely justified; my eyes gazing up at my on-screen romance (who would obviously be Ryan Gosling because he's all about feminism) with just enough distrust in my features to show the audience that this is an intriguing movie because I've just starred in a Martin Scorsese/ J.J. Abrams/Peter Jackson flick that made over 200 million dollars in the first week and has been at number one since who can even remember but it deserves it because clearly I am the greatest actress in the entire universe.

Is it really that hard for my life to go this way? It's really not that complicated to just want summer vacations, fringe benefits, work from home, no work at all, a vacation home in Paris and Normandy and London and Thailand and Australia and the moon, a loving partner who kills the spiders and fixes me breakfast and repairs the cars and changes the air filter in our home and takes me out every week for a dinner just the two of us and a bathtub with jets and a swimming pool on the roof and an invite to all the exclusive parties and fashion shows and being accepted to Stanford Law School with a full ride scholarship and milk never getting spoiled and my favorite foods all on sale all the time and a personal chef and a dog walker and children who trust everything I say and never get into trouble and neighbors that never complain about the noise level when I have wine tasting parties in my uptown loft and girls nights to Las Vegas and no calorie Twinkies and love and appreciation no matter how I treat you, along with things and houses and cars and people and places and time and days and months and years and years and years to do everything, everything I ever want to do without any sort of consequences or learning and lots of fun all the time, nothing ever terrible happens, ever, and my life is just wonderful and everyone loves me and hates me at the same time because I am just so wonderful and beautiful and brilliant and amazing and cooks well and everything that has every happened.

Why can't this happen?

I'm actually really disappointed that I'm not getting this stuff right now. Along with cats. Lots of cats.

Unrelated, I'm really into long sentences as of late. And trying out new writing styles. It's rather fun.

Honesty

I feel as though I've been lied to. That all the old adages of "Opposites attract" and "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" are actually false, created to explain something that no one else could come up with scientific evidence to prove or disprove. I mean, really, opposites don't attract; if that were the case, I would be in a relationship with a no good, lying dirtbag who would probably spend way too much money on things and care too little about people around him. The only good thing about that saying is that boys and girls are opposites, which is considerably important to me. And while, yes, if I'm not dead, I must be getting stronger, I feel this only applies to workouts (which can actually kill you... a rarity, but still possible). Everything else just drains you until it's too late to realize that you've actually learned something from it and you're back to that uphill battle.

But if there's one maxim that really drives me bonkers is that "Honesty is the best policy."

It's just not true.

On the surface, it seems like a really great idea. Yeah, telling people the truth is always good. If you're lying to someone else then where does that leave you? With a story to remember and a secret to cover. Plus, if you're being truthful with someone, you have a very specific reason to have told that person your thoughts. They may want to know if that cookie is a good idea or if this outfit is acceptable for a date or if their bald cat really is adorable and so smooth to pet. All things that, when asked about, usually require a fairly honest answer.

I've learned otherwise.

Like, when you need to talk to a professor about how this class is going to be challenging, don't tell him that you're feeling really unmotivated for this class and would like a suggestion about how to really get into the material, expecting a helpful answer but being met with "You should consider a different major."
Or, if you are really frustrated with someone and have been for a while and want them out of your life and you start telling them all the little irks and pet peeves you have with them, from being attached or being too aloof, and then being met with extreme guilt afterward when you think about your actions and how maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't have said that because you're just justifying their actions and allowing for explanation and excuses and they really won't change.
Or, being sort of honest through a witty joke (which is a mistake to begin with) and having them react in a not so savory way and being surprised at their reaction because you always joke with them about these things but have been walking around on eggshells for a while because you were afraid of their explosive temper and thinking it was safe to go back in the water only to be met with contempt and an acrid face and one syllabic answers.
Or telling someone that you aren't doing so well in a class, hoping that they will relate, but instead going off on how they understand everything they're learning, solved a problem for NASA, and won Miss America and it's not even Thursday yet.
Or showing someone your true feelings about a subject or a person and then letting them walk all over you because they have something to combat your sarcastic remarks with something not so sarcastic and more realistic and painful, all because you trusted them to take your honesty to heart and not to betray you and possibly try to show that they are someone who you would like to be friends with because you share these things now but only end up being kicked whilst down.

I'm glad I can be so honest; some people even have trouble saying 'yes' when they mean 'no.' But it's really difficult when you are so honest and you do lay your heart out on the table and others just take a sledgehammer and pound it a couple of times as you watch your words and blood and compassion and thoughts get splattered on the wall, dripping slowly down as you sink deeper and deeper into self-doubt and guilt and depreciation. Morbid? Yes. But being honest? Even more so.

Things I Think About In The Shower

Today, like most Wednesdays, I took a shower. It was a nice shower, pretty typical of any other day, but I was sure to rinse the shampoo out of my hair really well since I usually forget and end up with greasy bits later on that I despise and wish I could wash out but then that would just be another shower so I live with it until I shower again which is usually every other day since showering a lot is supposedly damaging to your hair after all.

But I digress.

Today, as I recall, I was thinking about a lot of things during this little jaunt with the faucet. Here is my list of things I was thinking about:

1.

Prolific, yes? I could write a novel about it! Watch out Melville and Chopin, I am taking your books down!
But really, I can't remember a thing about that which I was thinking.

Maybe there's something about the feeling of water, running through your hair (greasy or not), caressing your brain, stimulating it to make it so that all the right areas are shooting off action potentials at the same time and leading to complete and utter understanding of the universe and how to solve illiteracy and how to make that boy in the grocery really fall in love with you and how to train a cat to fetch the paper while riding a skateboard. All of these incredible, life-changing thoughts that are just swimming through your head (pun partially intended) and you just know that you're going to remember them all and then you finish ridding yourself of all the soap residue and then... nothing.

I'm not entirely sure why this happens. It may be, as you step out of the little basin to fetch your towel, your brain telling you "hey, it's kind of cold out here," as if prioritizing how it's feeling. Doesn't it know that you just solved the impossible sudoku in the paper today that you hadn't even seen yet?! If my body can manage being exposed to the dreadful air for a few moments before snuggling up in a robe then it follows that my brain should take heed and do the same. Selfish. That's what I have to say about you, dearest brain.

So I propose to you, a theory of sorts. There is a possibility that showers in the winter cause more brain damage than those during the winter. I wonder these things (not while in the tub) and consider the idea that the air temperature is quite a bit colder in your presumably tiled bathroom (especially if your housemate/mother/dog likes to keep it at a colder temperature than it is outside), so I make the claim that winter showering is hazardous to your brain functioning because of the cold air. So my obvious solution is to shower only in the summer when you can step out into a watmer, more pleasant atmosphere.

I will test this theory out in six months. Hopefully I don't think of anything conclusive and mind-boggling when I'm showering.