Diary lines

Funny how I keep revolving around the same things when I'm writing. It's the last day of summer (again) and I'm planning (again) to start writing more about what I do than what I feel. Like recipes. And movies, books, concerts. Travel. Whatever. Thing is when these things happen I'm too busy to write about it. When I sit in front of the posting screen I'm usually trying to pull out of me stuff I don't wanna annoy my friends on the phone about. The internet is my confessional. But maybe I will. Maybe I'll learn to share opinions without trying to keep it on safe grounds, maybe I'll be the queen of my castle and just not give a damn.
I'm pretty bored right now, although there's plenty of work waiting for me. I've got articles and letters to write and things to plan out. I might be applying for a social worker job in a mental hospital. I may not make it to PhD, as none of the details for the exam have been announced yet. I spent my day doing field work and housework and in between I watched a couple Sailor Moon episodes. I meditated over how now I'm a highly functioning adult. I submitted an application for the youth housing program of the local administration. I a few years, I might get to buy a place of my own at a really low price. And I even have my eyes on a housing project they just came up with. Granted it gets to be done.
A highly functioning adult, all right. I'm dieting (one thing I once promised myself I would never do) and keeping myself away from booze this autumn. However, friends keep calling to plan out a bar hopping session for this weekend. The safe bet would be to go to the mountains with my folks. Cheaper, healthier and tailored for the peace of my mind. I got some Steinbeck novels from the flea market, I'd love myself a lazy afternoon in the hammock with those. What to do?
I miss school. I've been attending education institutions since I was three. Back to school is the synonym of fresh starts for me, it's a do over, it's my brain's equivalent to what spring is to my body. I know it's a bit dull that my rhythms have been dictated by such conventional schedules. I've never seen school like a brainwashing machine because I've been changing schools every few years. This way I met so many kids and so many teachers, so many ways of seeing the world. Having the best of those share their personal wonders with me was worth sitting in a bench and keeping quiet. Being a non-conformist didn't have that much weight for me, since I've been an outsider all along. I didn't do things just to piss people off or to make them notice me. I did things because I wanted to. So I was a nice girl when I wanted to and I was a blabbermouth drunk just as well. But I've always been a good student. And that was maybe one of the things I partially did to stand out and not just because I liked it. I value education and knowledge and I'd rather like these to be the criteria people judge me on than appearance or the stupid things I do at times.

I never learn

Feeling good was good enough for me once. But lately I find myself in a damn weird place. The only thing that gets my blood running is worrying. Not excitement. And I want to be excited. I want to be excited about my love and I want to be excited about my work. But all I do is get angry and worry. I don't even miss anyone anymore. I just worry the fragile equilibrium I'm relying on for now won't last. I worry I made bad choices. I worry I settled for less. I worry I betrayed myself. No excitement whatsoever.
Is this how it's supposed to be? Yesterday a guy dropped by our office to tell me more about his expedition in the Himalayas and as I listened to him I kept wondering if I was ever that passionate about anything. And then. And then I met this girl I knew and she asked me about my plans and I started talking about wanting to apply to PhD and the kind of research I want to be involved in. And as I walked away I had the grin on my face. That was it. That was my thing. It was what made me sound just like that guy. It wasn't love and it wasn't home design. It was my academic interest that spurred my excitement. It was the only thing that got my blood rushing in a long time. It's what I've always wanted. And I'm not going to dumb myself down for anyone. I'm going on on that path. If they don't want me, I'll go elsewhere. For me study and research were not just steps in my career. They were it, what I wanted to do, what made me tick.
And still, what do I worry about all day? Is that shirt going to match those jeans? Why hasn't he called yet? Am I going to be done with that article by the end of the day? When all this is supposed to be just background noise. I gave up on myself. But I just pray to goddess this fall I'll get the nerve to pick myself up and go where I belong. In an environment where I can grow. Learn. And be me.

Forever stumbling

This morning, when I was walking to work, I thought to myself "I have it all". I have a job I like most days, a place of my own, a good education, great friends, and now a boyfriend who makes me happy. But then, along the way, I got inexplicably sad. And I've been trying to shake that sadness all day. I think it's again because I somehow feel I should be doing more for the things I have. Preferably, I should be perfect. But being a more committed journalist would do. And finally getting to decorate my place and maybe clean more often. And really be there for my friends, no matter what I'm doing at the moment. And write my damn project proposal for PhD. And not suck at being a girlfriend. And as much as I regret being too lazy to work on these things, there's still people who think I'm wasting myself away with them.

My mother thinks I should be looking for some sort of husband material. And my peers think I should continue my studies abroad. And some of my friends think I should do better for myself than a low-paying newspaper job. And so on and so forth. But what do "I" want? I pretty much like what I've got.
I love plans, but I don't have a five year plan and I don't even have a one year plan. I don't know where all this is going and I wish I knew, but so far I know I've done my best. I didn't do the best job I could do and I wasn't perfect at any of these. But given the context and everything coming together, considering the things I've been through and the ways I chose to handle them, I think I did good. All right, I didn't do my best. But I did good. And I'm still tired and I still need a break and I can't do my best for all of these things, cause that would mean not doing my best for myself. Not giving myself a break. Not telling myself it's not a tragedy if I screw up sometimes. Not allowing myself to have fun once in a while. So I may not have direction and I may not have a constant pace. I may forever stumble, but I get places and I get shit done. I know I'll do better for myself. But Rome wasn't built in a day.

The good old hypocrite syndrome

Here it is, back to haunt me. Maybe I have this House thing going on. I just can't perform the way I used to when I fall for someone. I become the insecure child I used to be, the one who had to earn everything but no matter how hard I tried, it was never good enough for me to believe I deserve the good things that were happening to me. So I adapted. I changed skin according to whom I had to impress or accommodate. I turned into who I thought my teachers, my friends, by boyfriends wanted me to be. And at some point I got tired and I said to myself, hey, what if the only one I had to make proud was me? And now I'm betraying that girl that I grew to be in these last couple of years. It used to be peace and quiet in my head and sometimes, yes, I'd wanna fall in love. But it tears me apart that I'm this vulnerable and easy to put down.
Instead of writing about how happy and excited I am, I'm already looking for trouble all on my own. And it's not the others that try to change me, it's this desperate need I have to fit perfectly, like a puzzle piece. And I could never. Not anywhere. I've built such a distinct personality, around so many stories and with so many details, that it can no longer be turned around. All I can do is enjoy the ride and know I'll fall right back on my feet no matter what happens. It's true I'm having wine all alone with my cat two weeks after I met him. That I'm lonely and I was actually wishing I would be. That I need my time alone and I need my I love yous to the same extent. It's all true. If I'm gonna keep being friends with my boring ass, I should at least be honest to it.

A year off

This is like the most fun time for me to write posts. Because I'm so damaged. Doubting myself, hating myself, trying to put myself down with another dose of whatever it takes to get numb. I'm out of any inspiration, though. Still, I can tell you one thing. I wish sometimes I wasn't the overachiever I was raised to be. I dream of that year off. When I'll hit the road with a backpack. And wash my other change of clothes in hostels and take tons of pictures and post them for my friends to see in an African internet cafe. And just sweep books with people on the train. Sleep in the grass in Italy and get sunburned in Spain and have a drink under a bridge with the weirdos or walk amazing museums in dirty sandals. I want my year off so that I can learn to sky once again. To fall in the snow and laugh it off, to feel my cheeks burning and my legs itching. To pick grapes in the autumn and flowers in spring. To make my cat not miss me everyday. To have every single aunt ask me what am I going to do with my life and not be referring to a man. To get my hair dirty in the rain and sit at the bar until 2 pm driving people crazy and making them laugh at the same time. To have cheesy puffs for lunch and beer for dinner and never worry anyone's concerned about my weight. To meet a tall dark stranger and spend days in bed. To have him cook me breakfast and quietly walk out the door. To see Rome and Paris and especially Lima. To be a monk and a slut and to dance in the streets. I want it all. All of it. I want my damn year off. No PhD, no mommy, no house to clean. Just me and a backpack under the sky.

Lessons I've learned

* The cat is always going to be there and greet you when you get home. Not because she is crazy about you, but because she wants fresh food and can't get away from your pathetic ass.
* Friends come first. If it takes crying yourself to sleep because of depression by association, it's going to be worth it every day.
* New love is always exciting. But the extent to which you can always be exciting to you new crush is too limited. Nobody likes a needy loser.
* Do not take love for granted. It can go away even faster than it walked into your life. And by the time that happens the damn bastard might have gotten under your skin.
* Don't make phone calls when you're drunk or tired. You're bound to give away more than you ever thought you would. And it never helps. Nobody cares about your damn drama.
* Sleepless nights always end up in lonely mornings. Whether you're kicking people out of your home or doing the walk of shame, it's a shitty morning.
* If you meet someone who makes you smile just by thinking of them don't go ruining it by doubting yourself. It's not going to do anyone no good. And it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.
* You're perfect just the way you are. There's a bunch of people out there who will agree on that any single day. And those are the ones who matter.

Fffuuuuuu

Today I was supposed to submit my thesis for my teacher's review. The final submission to the faculty starts in a couple of days and ends in a week. I have squat. I mean, I have the structure all laid out, I have most of the gibberish I want to talk about, but I have to polish it over and over and I have to write my analysis, which is supposed to be the most important part. I work very slow and I know it's because I'm lazy and would do anything not to go through this kind of work anymore. And still, I'm doing it in order to do this kind of work again for the next at least three years. But I've come to realize a PhD is just the natural next step in my pursuit of academic achievement. And it's not so much about the title, but about wanting to be close to an environment where I can grow and eventually work in bad-ass social research.
I know I can do this, but I also know I'm doing it in the worst possible way, indulging myself to a few of the things I would do if it wasn't for the thesis and pushing pushing pushing the damn deadline. It's all my fault. I started reading for it in January, but was too busy watching stuff all day and sleeping to actually put some words down too. Anyway, it's gonna get done. But I fear it's gonna get done CEU style. Like writing a full chapter hours before submission. As long as it gets done and I get away with it, it's fine by me.
Of course I'm in that painful maze again where I can see the sky and the birdies and I can even see through the fence and what's waiting for me out there is an awesome summer. Even if I only do the simple things, like hang out at the cabin with my parents and go away for a weekend to some festival with my friends. Now I have a different mindset and better means to have all the fun I want. But for now I'm stuck walking around this paper, counting words and pages, references running through my head like movie credits, oh, and if it only was towards the end.
There's huge writing I have to do these next couple of days. And huge cleaning around the house. And not so much work at the newspaper, but still time-consuming. And all I actually wanna do is walk around and read in the park, invite people out for ice cream or beer, cook and well, just enjoy myself. Today I'm only gonna work till noon, because I have some appointments and then I'm going shopping with my mom. Who is not at all concerned about my thesis. She's seen me pull this twice and has no sympathy for my slothfulness. So why not? It's not like I ever really work after 5 pm. Maybe slowly taking the edge off will eventually help. If not the deadline will do the trick.