Saturday, July 30, 2011
Improving
I think I'm getting smarter. I'm not running around saying whatever I think without thinking about the results. I call it maturing but it could just be that I've stuck my hand in the fire enough to realize the flames are bad. But a rose by any other name is still a rose :)
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Anderson
There are still days that I miss my old town. It's when an occasional siren sounds near work or I hear a train chugging by that I wish I could still fall asleep to that sound. I miss all the extra time I had. I miss a lot of things about that town. Now that I look back, I realize that it really wasn't that bad there. I had a good life and it was my home for a number of years. Being away doesn't really feel like I'm actually away for good. It just feels like a very long vacation and, to be totally frank, I want that vacation to end.
Oh, how I miss Anderson.
Oh, how I miss Anderson.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
A Woman Should Be....
So I'm taking a shower this morning and while shaving my legs I thought to myself how much I love having really slick legs (as opposed to never shaving). As soon as I had that thought I froze and reprimanded myself, demanding, "Why should a woman only feel good about her legs when she shaves them?"
I should like my legs whether shaved or not. I don't know if it's society telling me I should like my legs only when shaved or just something natural I enjoy. I love things in a set order. My hair should be flat and straight, my makeup equal on my face, my clothes matching and pressed, and my legs without hair. I'm OCD like that.
But then I realized that it isn't just my obsessive ticks that make me shave my legs. It's the same thing that tells me I must be perfect in order to be beautiful. I don't like having hair on my legs just like I don't like being fat. I don't like my chubby legs, big butt, my color of hair, my big forehead, small(ish) breasts, my big belly, my pimply face, the clothes I wear since they aren't trendy, and the car I drive because it's wrecked and old. A woman should be perfect and she can't without all those flaws.
But those flaws are what make me the perfect woman. I may be a tiny bit chubby but I've come to terms with that. I wouldn't have been chubby if it wasn't perfect in God's eyes. My hair is bright and shiny and though it's color isn't perfect I would rather walk into a grocery store with this frizz head than curls and perms. It's perfect for my big forehead, and my forehead is the perfect size for people to see that badass scar on it. I'd rather have all these scars on my body than a flawless body because they show how perfectly I've lived my life to the fullest extent and taken a few blows while I'm at it. Even though my tattoo isn't a typical woman's accessory, it is for me. It shows what I've been through and how confident I am in the future and all I have yet to experience. My clothes and car aren't perfect but while I pay bills and get on my feet they work.
Being a woman is not about flawless appearance and shiny belongings. It's about being perfect as who you are with what you have been given and that's good enough for me.
I should like my legs whether shaved or not. I don't know if it's society telling me I should like my legs only when shaved or just something natural I enjoy. I love things in a set order. My hair should be flat and straight, my makeup equal on my face, my clothes matching and pressed, and my legs without hair. I'm OCD like that.
But then I realized that it isn't just my obsessive ticks that make me shave my legs. It's the same thing that tells me I must be perfect in order to be beautiful. I don't like having hair on my legs just like I don't like being fat. I don't like my chubby legs, big butt, my color of hair, my big forehead, small(ish) breasts, my big belly, my pimply face, the clothes I wear since they aren't trendy, and the car I drive because it's wrecked and old. A woman should be perfect and she can't without all those flaws.
But those flaws are what make me the perfect woman. I may be a tiny bit chubby but I've come to terms with that. I wouldn't have been chubby if it wasn't perfect in God's eyes. My hair is bright and shiny and though it's color isn't perfect I would rather walk into a grocery store with this frizz head than curls and perms. It's perfect for my big forehead, and my forehead is the perfect size for people to see that badass scar on it. I'd rather have all these scars on my body than a flawless body because they show how perfectly I've lived my life to the fullest extent and taken a few blows while I'm at it. Even though my tattoo isn't a typical woman's accessory, it is for me. It shows what I've been through and how confident I am in the future and all I have yet to experience. My clothes and car aren't perfect but while I pay bills and get on my feet they work.
Being a woman is not about flawless appearance and shiny belongings. It's about being perfect as who you are with what you have been given and that's good enough for me.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Moving's Inevitable Result
On Day 5 of living in a new town I realized that I was actually away from all my friends back home. I live among rich(er) folk, in the country, and far, far from where I used to be. Today I had my first regret about moving. I thought to myself, "I miss Anderson".
In Anderson, there was a routine to life. I got up at a certain time each day, walked my dog, went to class, came home, did homework, went to work, came home, walked my dog, and read or wrote for a couple hours before bed. Here, there is no such routine. It's all off-the-wall sort of stuff. Today it's going out randomly, tomorrow it's pop-up events, yesterday it was the same. I miss knowing what was coming in the next few hours. I miss the street lights in my window, the cars driving by, the bell tower going off every hour, the sirens screeching in the distance, the trains rumbling across town. Sometimes I still hear those trains. I wish it was real. I miss my old haunt.
In Anderson, there was a routine to life. I got up at a certain time each day, walked my dog, went to class, came home, did homework, went to work, came home, walked my dog, and read or wrote for a couple hours before bed. Here, there is no such routine. It's all off-the-wall sort of stuff. Today it's going out randomly, tomorrow it's pop-up events, yesterday it was the same. I miss knowing what was coming in the next few hours. I miss the street lights in my window, the cars driving by, the bell tower going off every hour, the sirens screeching in the distance, the trains rumbling across town. Sometimes I still hear those trains. I wish it was real. I miss my old haunt.
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