I said that there would be two more vacation posts coming. Well, guess what? I lied. I'm not inspired at all to finish posting them, and by them I mean more frivolous commentary on some snapshots that take ten minutes each to upload on our internet speed, which I approximate to "dead snail". I feel constrained by this blog, oddly enough, like because it's my search for perfection I can't reveal any of the imperfections of my life, or, really, any of my personality. I'm not a perfect person. I'm not one of those polished, coiffed, graceful, every-minute-in-control people. I'm just not. And maybe I'll never be, and maybe, just maybe, I'm okay with that. So this is my brain dump. It doesn't have a subject. It may contain updates from my life, perhaps pictures, rants, sobfests, anger, and rancid dog vomit. Really. That's what I had to clean up yesterday. After I spent all this time vacuuming my carpet, dusting, washing bedding ... my dog walks up to me, looks me in the face, and throws up right on my carpet, two full cups of pasta salad, hardly chewed. I cleaned it up with paper towel and soap and water with no swearing and only simmering anger, but apparently it wasn't enough because the rancid smell is still in my room, and let me tell you, there is no worse smell. My life is not glamorous, people. Baking soda is my friend now. When I get off my butt and my computer and get out of my pyjamas and shower {maybe} and all those other things that I don't want to do but seem to always need doing.
Why does it seem like we can never enjoy the doing, but only the result? Never enjoy cleaning, just get through it by thinking about the reward of a clean space. Don't enjoy cleaning up dog vomit, but enjoy {or, rather, tolerate} a {mostly} dog-vomit free space.
I'm stressed, too. I've decided to stay in dorm at my school in September, for at least one whole semester. On my own. Away from home. For four nights. Responsible for everything. It kind of excites me but scares me too. I don't know if I'm ready, and all my inadequacies seem to multiply when I think about it.
I just don't know, and my head seems to be swimming with all these possibilities, responsibilities, personalities, flaws, and sometimes I think the best life would be to be a hermit in the hills, answering to no-one and discovering who you truly are. That sounds like heaven.
Thanks for reading, whoever, wherever you are. I'm going to leave this on a slightly happier note with this picture I took from our cabin deck on holiday.
