Weird things have been brewing this fine week. My classes aren’t kicking my butt, I’ve been bus stalking a random soul, a man-ish person called me honey-buns on the way home (note to future husband: don’t, just don’t.) , and *drum-roll please* it’s been 40 degrees in Logan. As they would say in Smallville, “land of the weird”.
This isn’t going to make sense exactly, but it’s been jogging through my head all day.
I was born with a lack of…
charisma. People almost never love me right away. Sometimes they never do.
the part of the brain that understands consequences
silver spoonage in my mouth
eyesight. I hear I’m legally blind
sense of direction
I was born with…
too much curiosity for my own good
no luck, but a good heaping of determination
a need for a fair amount of alone time
interview the 5 Browns
finish Les Mis
be a true aggie
be able to afford a backpack with a working zipper
write for a magazine
not have a room that smells like sweat covered with body spray
I’m far from perfect. Of late, I’ve been thinking about all the little parts of me that need to be improved. In this pondering, I realized they all stem back to one thing.
I can’t wait.
I’m too anxious. My life is nearly perfect, but I catch myself so busy with the future, I don’t notice the things all around me. This past week, looking at internships, job fairs, editor positions…..I realized I’m sprinting, looking for a finish line that will never exist. There are many things I need to improve about myself, but I can’t do anything until I learn to be a patient person. I question whether I can overhaul that piece of a puzzle I call my personality. Maybe I can’t, but there’s certainly room for improvement. Miles and miles of improvement. Everything trails back to that.
I must now make an emergency exit out of my cranberry-sweat-twilight woods-stale water room.