The Taming of the Anxious Psyche

“He was poor. Poor and perfect. With eyes like the sea after a storm.” That line is stuck in my head. Poor and perfect. Hm.

I can hear the birds outside. They always seem happy. I have to go to the orthodontist today. Yippeee. They do have free coffee, so that’s cool. Maybe I should be happy about going to the orthodontist, like the birds are about life. Would the birds be happy to go? I mean, can you imagine a bird with braces? Preposterous. They don’t make braces that small.

I’m filled with a lot of feelings. I’m happy sad confused scared nostalgic hungry. Lately I haven’t been able to put myself into words, or speak in general really. It could be the lack of sleep or the lack of confidence or both. Or maybe I need to just slow down and think. Examine one piece at a time instead of the whole pie. Oh geez. I’m making food metaphors.

So that’s what I’m doing right now. Examining pieces. We’re always in such a rush and it’s not super conducive to deep thought. Then again Deep Thought thought a really long time and all she came up with was that answer to life was 42. Oh well. Maybe I’ll come up with something better than that. Like 43.

You ever try too hard to make conversation or think of something interesting or funny to say? And you think that if you don’t you’ll be labeled as a boring simpleton who tends to eat too much? I think I do that. I try too hard. I need to just be. And when you’re just being it takes a lot of pressure off your brain to try and be witty and pithy and funny. And then you just might find you’re that way naturally. Maybe.

So I’m going to be 20 in 24 days. Apparently, I’m as old as the Starbucks Frappuccino, Ebay, Java Script, Windows 95, and Vanilla Ice’s relevancy. I’ve repeated that last one a couple times because I make myself laugh. Haaa. But like I posted on Twitter a couple days ago, I don’t feel mature enough to be 20, and plus most days I barely look sixteen. Like just barely. But ya know what? It’s okay. Twenty will be a good year. I will own that year.

Oh also if you want to get me something, I accept puppies, cars, pots of gold, dragon teeth, small fixer-upper countries, personal islands, and Jimmy Johns.

Birthdays are weird. It’s like hey you did absolutely nothing except cry while your mom went through excruciating pain and pushed you into the world, but you did an awesome job with that so you’re gonna get presents for the rest of your life. So well done. Here’s some new socks and a spaghetti strainer.

I feel a good deal more relaxed now that I rambled for about 500 words or so, so thanks for listening, and have a fantastic day.

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