“Jenny’s got a job, a cat named Jake,
31 candles on her birthday cake.”— LeeAnn Rimes, “Something’s Gotta Give”
Call it senioritis, spring fever or just plain attention-defecit hyperactivity disorder — I am so ready for the weekend. I swear somebody snuck a few extra days into this week already, because it cannot possibly only be Wednesday!
I was kind of sitting here just now, ruminating over how I’m feeling like Goldilocks trying to find the right speed of life. It’s always either too slow or it’s too fast, never “just right.” Half the time, it feels like I’m just floating along and trying not to shift into reverse; other times, I wish I could be burning calories in tandem with how quickly my mind is moving.
I have about eight billion things to do, but I’m having a hard time concentrating because it’s like I am afflicted with mental constipation, better known as writer’s block. The only reason I’m blogging is because I don’t want the word Monday (from Reader Poll Monday) being the top entry as we’re rolling into Thursday. 🙂
“She’s drawn a line that she won’t cross
Her and time are facing off
She says something’s gotta give.”
I hate when I neglect the blog because it’s the one “mandatory fun” part of my life. I insist on doing the daily thoughtdump here. I don’t care if it gets read — I just care that I’ve forced myself to do something that makes me happy every single day. Because, yes, I have to remind myself sometimes. And it’s a measurable output, so I have to hold myself accountable when I break a promise to, well, myself.
I don’t have a lot to say. I have a house to pack and time is ticking away more quickly than I’d care to acknowledge. More and more tourons are in D.C. and even though I drive to/from work during odd hours, I still have to deal with tour buses and just dumbasses who don’t know that the 55 mph speed limit signs are just suggestions and are to be exceeded as much as possible until you hit the Maryland state line, at which point you’d be wise to ride your brake on the interstates. And I found out my security deposit is, in fact, refundable — a little too late because I’ve been pretty much trashing the damn place since the walls are gonna be knocked out anyway. *sigh*
“Something’s gotta give me butterflies
Something’s gotta make me feel alive
Something’s gotta give me dreams at night
Something’s gotta make me feel alright
I don’t know where it is
But something’s gotta give.”
I found myself thinking about my move today and not dreading it. For once. I know it’ll be awesome to not play vehicular Tetris for 30 miles each way every day, but on the flipside, I’m having such a hard time getting excited. I am one of those people who never gets my hopes up. Ever. That’s why I didn’t start packing until I had approval from the new apartment complex — I didn’t want to jinx the process. Now, I’m left with a million last-minute details. Hooray.
I found some paperwork from two jobs ago, how my boss really just wanted me to prepare better for deadlines. (It’s a moot point where I am now, where the last minute is our friend and 10 minutes past the last minute is certainly no stranger. I’ve finally found my fit in the world! yay!) I’m in my element at deadline-time. I may whine and whimper and cuss, but I’d undoubtedly pass if someone actually did pull out a tranquilizer gun to calm me down.
Anyway, the point (which I’ve lost, I know) is that I thrive on/under pressure. Unless it’s my own pressure, because I will usually always negotitate with myself or ignore the little voices because I can. But what I do in saving things till they can’t be ignored is that I in effect give myself some sort of challenge.
I don’t like to do things the easy way, nor do I really like to do easy things. By saving them till the 11th hour, that’s what makes them something to overcome. Like in your 20s, you really don’t worry about how your life is going to turn out because you’re too busy living it. But enter your 30s and beyond and suddenly you’re painfully aware of all the milestones you haven’t achieved. Even those you still aren’t sure you WANT to.
“She thought by now she’d have a man
Two car seats and a minivan
But it still ain’t here.”
I don’t know. I guess while others are looking to believe in me, I’m looking for someone or something other than myself to believe in. Even though I doubt myself all the time and wonder why I feel certain ways and don’t feel other ways in different situations (versus what I think I might be “supposed” to feel), in the end I know that I was made this way for a reason and that the world needs contrarians even though you’ve got to nod along sometimes when all you want to do is be remembered for doing anything but.