I wish I had the energy to write you guys every night but I don't. You don't know how long it took for someone (who's freewriting, intoxicated and truly very cold but too lazy to get up and put on a sweater.) to draft this blog post. I'm writing and woozy, writing after people just left my house from a party that moved a bit, ended up at my place.
Forgot parties happened like that. Forgot that sometimes you're waiting for someone to show up and then they don't--people are people. Honestly, it was a good night but a weird one. I want to write about a specific person (people) and I will, but I have to come up with convincing alternate names for them. I suck at that. Bear with me while I take a quick break to feed Susan, kennel her, deal with the burn on my arm or fall asleep. Give me fifteen minutes.
Not even-- I am going to power through this because I will drink the exact amount of water I need to not die tomorrow.
Ok. I am really bad at being alone. Within the last two weeks, at least two friends have directly asked me, "Elysia, do realize that you're always trying to get married?" And truly, you've all thought it dear readers, I mean I'm obviously thirsty to display that wedding powerpoint I made when I was fifteen.
The point is I want to marry you, probably all of you for at least two weeks. A recent timeline legitimated by my roommate, Michelle, Friday night at Seth Fest. So complicated, all of it. I'm still into last week's person but also new one(s). and negotiating. IDK what to end this with and what pic to publish so until tomorrow. G'night.
I'm back. God. Last night was a tornado of good time and weird time but most of my time is like that lately. This morning, Michelle and I have already gone to the grocery store; we were pretty proud of ourselves. I’m double-fisting water and coffee. When I lived in Muncie, I used to say life felt like a revolving door. That feeling’s coming back. As I lay on the floor, surrounded by the trash of last night, writing this to you, I’m seeing something very clearly.
I’m so impatient, but I don’t even know what I’m impatient for. And realizing that doesn’t mean I’ll slow down, stop ferociously planning the next big thing, or climbing the walls. I don’t have to adult the way you or anyone else does. But, I do have to get my shit done. And that requires waiting better, and a little more often. P.S. Thanks for reading, friends, fb creeps, random people in NZ, this blog is an experience in transparency for me. I’m writing it all down.
Yesterday, I talked to one of my bffs Molly (look out for a new side project from us coming soon.) and I admitted something to her, and then to myself. I’ll justify this by saying, first and foremost, I am a story teller and I always have been. That means that everything I tell you is probably storied. My nearests and dearests know this. Heather will tell you I get a little maniacal glint in my eye when I start in a “story” aka LIE.
The point is, I’m not lying here. And I’m writing it all down. It’s working out pretty well for me too as a place to actually process my thoughts. Never really been that good at journaling consistently because I don’t understand the point of just writing something for yourself (but I know you weirdos exist who write poems just for yourselves or whatever ❤). For me, this is a conversation and as much as I chatter at myself, it’s hard to have a dialogue of one. And I learn best from talking it out. ANYWAYZ, I need to start helping clean up from last night’s party.