huffy muppets, makeovers, and a reminder of how wonderful you are

Personality is a terrifying thing. Too little, and you'll disappear into the porous woodwork of people who laugh at exactly the right volume or have the perfect haircuts or can walk around without looking like a huffy muppet. Too much, and you're the vulgar one. The outspoken one. The one who maybe drinks a little too much or makes that one joke that toes a line.

I have, and never will be, a balanced person. I go through phases of obsession, with foods, (CLEMENTIIIIIIIIIIINES!) clothes, (a magenta blazer I recently bought) and TV shows (I'm looking at you, Doctor Who). When something becomes my favorite, I think it's my favorite thing of all time...until I find my next favorite. I'm not very graceful, but as the boyf says, I'm built for durability. I like to think this means I'm like a super-industrial, stylish piece of Ikea furniture, but also I just want to have bedhead and wear the huge t-shirts with dogs faces on them forever and ever.

I'm not the best at meeting new people. I'm perpetually worried that I'll cross a political line, offend someone with my many words for vagina, (that's what happens when you write erotica), or be the annoying one.  After awhile, I stopped being myself not only in public, but in private, too.

That internalization of worry and insecurity literally manifested on the outside. My hair grew out to a length that made it fall flat and faded to a weird mousy brown. I wouldn't wear eyeliner because it made my eyes look too big. I kept my shoulders slumped and I struggled to make eye contact.

But then it sort of dawned on me that the only thing worse than being all of yourself is being absolutely none of yourself. Because at the end of the day, I'm a force to be reckoned with. We all are.

I've yet to meet someone who doesn't say something off-color that's both wildly hilarious and strangely moving. We are all so powerfully flawed and gorgeously messy, and those little divots and splotches on our personalities (and bodies) are what makes grabbing drinks around a piano bar, or reading blogs, or talking to the woman behind you at Target so incredibly fulfilling.

So often, I find myself censoring a comment/tweet/blog post/text/joke because it's TOO me, and I know I'm not alone in this. WHAT ARE WE SO SCARED OF? Forging connections? Going from anonymous to noticed? After all, noticed means people will talk, and not everything they say will always be nice.

But ultimately, all we can do, each and every one of us who are TOO [insert adjective], is to live in the way that sets our eyes alight with excitement, and love, and hilarity.

Wedging myself into the little gray boxes of anonymity was so fucking exhausting, you guys, and it's nice to be out and breathing. All I can say is I'm ready to adventure.

Come with me?

life lessons, melodramatic introspection, and a let's-be-honest pep talk

Right now, I'm sitting in a purple brick building drinking caramel apple cider and waiting for a friend to find out if she's won a bid on a house. A gorgeous house. Do people win bids? I don't know much about housing. But I digress.

Last night, as I drank cinnamon whiskey, watching lame movies via instant streaming on my tiny TV, and getting so caught up in crafting that I finally crawled into bed exhausted and exhilarated as the sun rose, I can't help but think that I am finally becoming the person I was meant to be. I try not to be too floofy (totally a word), about The Uuuuuuuniverse taking care of me, blah blah, but I can say with startling clarity that the last few months of fucking shit up has been leading to this glorious, abnormally-warm November day where I'm genuinely and furiously happy.

As most of you probably know, the last year (AN ENTIRE MOTHERLOVING YEAR HAS PASSED) has been an adventure for me of ginormous proportions. That's hyperbole, and makes it sound like I've been on a hobbit-like journey, when in reality I've just cried a lot, binge drank, and bought an obscene amount of ZzzQuil to cope with the little asshole known as insomnia. Mostly, I've just been overwhelmingly underwhelmed by cubicles, asshats, and the way my shoulders knot up beneath my ears in the way that makes me feel like if I don't GET OUT RIGHT FUCKING NOW I WILL DIE. I think they call that anxiety, but I call it getting so upset I dry heave out my car window on the way to terrible jobs.

The answer to this problem was that I did get out. I got out over and over again, leaving behind jobs that were more welcome-to-the-dark-side-you-douchecanoe than you're-doing-something-good-for-society. And I felt guilty. Every single time, my anxiety seamlessly became this amorphous blob, fluctuating rapidly and unexpectedly between crippling fear, uncertainty, and a dirty conscience.

But something has changed. Me, mostly. I've learned that I'm the most important thing in my life. I've learned that if I need to wander around Hobby Lobby for three hours until I can calm my racing pulse, (and impulsively decide that I need to learn the fine art of wood burning), that's okay. Leaving meaningless jobs where I was nothing more than an anonymous zit on the ass of corporate business is okay. Eating apples and Nutella for four days straight is okay. I'm okay.

Is my depression magically cured? Absolutely not, but I'm on new meds, (oh, HAI, I take meds), and found a therapist I like. Do I have my dream job? No, my dream job is being a professional chocolate tester and also napper where the uniform is a flying squirrel onesie. But I do have a fulfilling position at a local school district where I matter. Did I wake up today and shit glitter in regards to the sheer wonderment of such a bright and shiny and magical day?! Unfortunately not, but that's probably okay since I've hypothesized the tiny glass shards within the glitter would probably make a messy exit. BLOODY BUTT MASSACRE 2012.

But I did wake up and brush my teeth, put on a cute sweater and leave the house. Progress.

I don't want to be all, seize the day because every day we're moving one day closer to death, but YOU GUYS. SEIZE THE DAY BECAUSE EVERY DAY WE'VE MOVING ONE DAY CLOSER TO DEATH.

If this last year has taught me anything, it's to make time for what you love, to make time to live, whether that be knitting mittens, collecting coins, painting abstracts, or alphabetizing movies. Isolate what makes your eyes bright and your shoulders relax and go do it.

DO MORE SHIT THAT MAKES YOU AWESOME.

Also, don't eat a lot of glitter. Just in case.