Me Being Thankful for Things

This post is partly cliched because I’m 100% going to make a list of things I am thankful for (on Thanksgiving, yes). But don’t worry, I’m going to try to make this as original as possible. (It won’t work because it’s Thanksgiving and also a list of things I’m thankful for, but it’s ok I’m going to do it anyway.)

I’m thankful for a mom who reminds me to get a life but also makes me slippers every winter because my feet get cold. Who makes dinner basically every night but also complains about making dinner every night because it’s a pain and also my sisters and I work a lot and are each very particular in what we eat and when we eat it. Thankful for a mom who hung up the phone on me when I was upset in Texas. (You’ll all take this out of context but literally I was the worst that day and it was icing and I couldn’t leave my terrible apartment.) A mom who drove in a little car half way across the country to help me move into an apartment that I ended up moving out of. Thankful for a mom who plays Super Mario Bros with me when we’re bored at night because Super Mario Bros.

I’m thankful for a dad that will literally only text me the letter ‘k.’ Who gives me funny looks from across the table when I say something dumb. A dad who secretly loves my dogs no matter how many times he tells us he hates them. Thankful for a dad who wears suspenders. (Thankful for that because it’s hilarious because you don’t know my dad.) A dad who got really into soccer just because I decided to get really into soccer. A dad who watches videos on his iPad and laughs hysterically about them. (We don’t ever know what he’s doing on that iPad but he told me once that the two videos he was watching were “elephants taking baths” and “puppy dance party.”) But most of all, thankful for a dad who still does the “Do you like seafood” joke at the dinner table and then proceeds to open his mouth to show his very chewed food.

I’m thankful for a twenty-one year strong relationship with my grandfather. Thankful for the (incorrect) knowledge that the capital of Bulgaria was named after him (Sofia. Charles Sofia). Thankful for the constant reminder that somewhere he’s pretending to pat my head and whispering “you’re my favorite grandchild” with a weirdly fantastic smile on his face.

I’m thankful for my siblings. My brother who basically crushes me alive when he gives me a “hug.” Thankful for sisters who tell everyone how bossy I am and then yell at me over the television. An older sister who supports my new soccer life and also does not support my really terrible reading habits. A younger sister who supports all my terrible habits and also stays up till all hours of the night watching weird TV and drinking too much soda.

Thankful for my dogs, because dogs.

Thankful for a boyfriend that cooked an entire Thanksgiving dinner for me when I was living in Texas because I was homesick and wanted turkey. A boyfriend that texts me every day to tell me how much he loves me, but also crushes me in Words with Friends way too often and it’s not cool but I’ll still be thankful. Thankful for a boyfriend that likes video games, pajamas, junk food, and laying around doing absolutely nothing as much as I do.

Thankful for my two best friends even though they abandoned me and went to a new mall to work at PacSun.

And finally I’m thankful to be able to pen this post that you will all probably not read.


A Shorter Post of Me Complaining About Doing More With My Life

After a long, accidental/unintentional hiatus, I have returned with the same old whining and revelations I have once a month, basically. Lately, I’ve been feeling really down in the dumps about pretty much everything you can feel down in the dumps about: my job, my friends, my future, my life, my passions, myself. And that’s not a cool thing. I complain about it all the time and I’m here to complain about it again.

I know I posted something similar to this not long ago, but then I got a text from one of my closest friends from Texas the other night saying that she had read my post and was worried about me. Worried. About me. While I appreciate the concern and unwavering support (and also the fact that people are reading my blog), I hate the fact that people are worried about me. That people feel the need to text me to make sure I’m doing ok with life. (Yes, Mindy, I’m talking to you. I love you a lot, but ugh.) I know a lot of my posts are of me whining about how not ok I am with my life, but I guess I didn’t realize they were cause for worry? Doesn’t everyone get into ruts? Isn’t it hard for everyone to pull themselves out of a slump because if there’s someone who can easily get themselves out of a slump please have them contact me because I would like to have a chat with him/her, thank you. I actually didn’t give any thought to this text until today aka right now and I’ve decided to make a change.

Yes, I know what you’re all thinking: She’s making another list of changes that she will not be able to keep and then a month later she’ll post about how terrible she is at keeping lists and that she needs to make changes and then she won’t make those changes and then she’ll be back etc etc etc. I get it, I’m SO bad at this, but I guess I’m never going to pull myself out of anything if I just don’t go into it full force. Maybe I’ve been hoping that something will happen in my life and it’ll give me a lil push to get my going–to start the journey to redemption from the depths that I’ve buried myself in. But, ok, I was wrong. Nothing is going to come around and kick me in the butt because I’m pretty sure nothing cares if I’m writing or reading or if I’m neglecting these things by laying around in my bed eating really gross store bought brownies. Ok? The only person that cares that I’m doing these things is myself so unless I start kicking myself in the butt no one and nothing else will. So here I am with the proclamation that I will start kicking myself in the butt immediately following this post. (Or tomorrow, BUT THAT’S ONLY BECAUSE I’M SICK TODAY AND I NEED TO REST SO I DON’T DIE ON BLACK FRIDAY AKA NEXT WEEKEND.)

A few nights ago, my friend texted me and asked me to send her one of my short stories so she could show her boyfriend and, of course, before sending it her way, I reread it and felt my heart hurt because it was good. It was like reading something by someone that you really liked and thinking ‘wow, I wish I would’ve thought to write it.’ Except I did write it. I wrote something and read it back and wanted to write it. And whether or not anyone else understands that or whether or not anyone else thinks it’s good enough for that feeling, I felt it. It was good and it was me and I just gave up on both those things. I gave up on my writing and I gave up on myself and I am my own worst enemy and I need to fix it. Only me. No one else.