It's a Monster Sort of Night

            I’m awake. And it feels late, even though it’s not even 1:30 am, which, I guess, is actually pretty late. I want to sleep, but can’t. Not because I can’t actually fall asleep, but because I have about a million other things to do. And, being so overwhelmed, what is the thing I turn to? Wandering aimlessly through the World Wide Web in search for some sort of distraction. Pandora is playing in the background, and I’m finding myself getting frustrated because I’m not finding anything to pique my interest. I feel silly, looking for something distracting to avoid the real issues I’ll need to take care of sooner or later. Everyone likes distractions. It’s a very human feeling, I think. Just think about it for a second…we humans distract ourselves all the time. Escapism to counter the realism of life is really the only thing we can do to make ourselves feel better. We could just deal with our problems, of course, but sometimes that seems too hard or too scary. Sometimes I feel like a little, tiny girl, and when I get scared of anything, I cover my eyes. It’s easier to not see anything then to see the hard things I suppose.
          I think about monsters a lot. It’s very childish of me, I suppose, but I often think of monsters I have and monsters others have. I imagine them, being all fuzzy and cute and alluring, but with sharp little fangs. Sex Monster, Alcohol Monster, and Loneliness Monster…these are just a few monsters that I think about. Now, it’s easy for me to try to turn away from the monsters in my life, to shove them aside and do my best to ignore their sharp little bites. But sometimes, when I am weakened or tired, these little monsters come creeping into my mind. And that’s just the thing. None of these monsters are inherently bad. Not at all, actually. Being alone is good sometimes, sex is a lovely good time, and alcohol is pleasant spice to add to life. I think it may just be excess of these good, acceptable, normal things that start causing these little monsters to come out and play. In these cases, distractions are good, or at least they seem good. It’s still avoidance, but maybe the avoidance is a helpful, useful tool. Or maybe it’s just running away, or hiding, or covering your eyes.
        At a certain point, though, you just need to face your issues head on. Get off Facebook, turn the television off, and open your textbook. Pull on some shorts, throw your hair in a ponytail, and hit the gym. Grab some chocolate, some tissues, and go talk to your friend about why she’s so upset with you. You get the idea. And right now, I’m going to take some of my own advice. I’m closing down the word document, posting this online, then finish taking notes in preparation for an exam tomorrow. Tonight, I’m facing the Distraction Monster.

An Introduction, or, In Essence, A Non-Introduction

I can’t categorize myself. I have tried, trust me. We as human’s like things to be put into nice, tidy boxes. That girl looks like a cheerleader; the boy looks like a punk. Because they look a certain way, I will place the girl in the box titled “cheerleader” and the boy in the box titled “punk”. Despite it being right or wrong, that's just what naturally happens. But I can’t do that to myself. I have been told several times that I am just one big contradiction, a big mix of things that that don’t make a whole bunch of sense. Nothing is congruent about me. I’m the girl who will pull on the pair of years-old jeans that are worn in all the right places, and wear them with the black v-neck and tousled hair.  The next day I’ll be in breezy layers and delicate flats, and the next day I’ll be wearing a blazer over shorts over black opaque tights, with black boots. I know just how high a high-waisted skirt should be, and when it’s impractical to wear heels, I’ll wear them anyway. I may pull them off after an hour, or sometimes I’ll refuse to take them off at all, just because I can be unreasonably stubborn (For example, once I decided to wear sky high heels before going out for a night of parties. We got lost, and I ended up doing tons of walking, tons of intoxicated walking. I almost broke my ankles about a million times, but I wore those heels with pride that night!) I am quiet sometimes, but I always have a reckless playfulness that is in me, regardless of how many words I speak. I love adventures. And adventures can be anything from jumping off a cliff to sitting on a bridge with a good friend, devouring a whole pizza. I love being around people, but I need time to be by myself too. I need nights were I can just plug in a movie and curl up with a good book; those nights recharge me, and without them, I am fairly certain I would go insane. I can’t ever decide if I like cats or dogs more, my music tastes range from folk to metal to classic rock, and I think I was once in love. My favorite color is yellow, but only because every time I see it makes me sort of a miss of the melancholy and enthralled, and it’s a secret why it inspires that reaction in me. I like secrets.  I can keep a secret like no other person I know; loyalty is one of the most important factors to me, regarding anything.  I like clouds.

            The thing I have been most called in my life is happy. People say I seem like a down to earth, happy person, and that’s the best title I think I could ever have. I don’t need to be called sexy or beautiful, I have nothing to prove. I love pictures, but not of myself. It’s not that I don’t think I’m attractive or somehow not “worthy” of pictures, but I know what I look like. I would prefer to look at new things, or familiar faces that I miss. I love new things, and when I say new, I don’t mean bought- from-Wal-Mart new. I mean new to me. Friend’s clothing castoff’s usually end up being my favorites, my grandma’s jewelry from when she was eighteen thrills me, and even broken things have a certain appeal to me. I constantly live in a state of being that is perpetually inspired.  Take right now, for example. I’m just sitting in my dorm room at my desk, and all around me are pictures I’ve printed off and quotes and sketches I’ve done. And I still notice and appreciate how the wall next to me is all bumpy and rough except this little patch of smooth that is almost hidden behind the bed. That’s beautiful to me. I can’t explain it; it’s just how it is.

            The real reason I’m starting this blog is to just tell a story. A sort of journal, if you will. I’m not sure what I’ll be posting, be it pictures or recipes or stories or just my random thoughts that I'll do my best to convert to writing. I was going to wait until I made my big move to the city (that’s a story for another time) but I decided there is no time like the present. I’ll leave you all today with my personal motto that  states “Whatever you want to do, do it now. For life is time, and time is all there is”.  Just get out there and do it.