Why Not You?

Every once in a full moon, I like to go on FaceBook and see if I can remember the names of all the people I graduated high school with. Sadly, I can't remember like a fourth of them. So, when someone I had totally forgotten existed pops up on my feed or in the search results unexpectedly, I instantly have to know what happened to them since I apparently forgot they were a person that I even knew or just really a person at all because my mind is special. Yeah, so some investigation happens. It's kind of very entertaining to find out who got fat, who is still a narrow-minded buttface (no, seriously, his face looks like a butt), who dropped out of college, and who got really freaking hot once they abandoned that awkward high school charm that I swear is sewn into private school uniforms. (Or maybe my tastes just changed).

My question is, for those that look like they've got it all together, why not you? Why didn't I fall in love with you when you were in my second hour chemistry class sophomore year? Why weren't we closer than you just copying my algebra 1 homework 5 minutes before class? Why didn't we hangout more when we had the chance instead of just passing each other in the halls everyday like "whatever"? Why did it take me 2 years of being away from you to realize how awesome you are? 

I can't say exactly why I would even want to consider anyone I went to high school with as a regret, but some nights I'm just left to wonder why things weren't different.

I mean, I have theories about why things were the way they were back then, but I'd rather not get into that stuff in this particular post.

The honesty behind this post is that I wouldn't want anything to be any different from the way it was because the people that are on the computer screen or under a name in my phone didn't exist in 2007 or even in 2011 when we all graduated together on a sticky May evening. There were reasons I didn't
want to be closer to them, and they didn't want anything to do with me.

Also, these people that I'm talking about, they really don't have it all together. Instagram posts and tweets don't mean anything. The Facebook statuses about whatever might be happening in the lives of these people don't mean anything. Trust me, I've faked my way through my own fair share of social networking sites (I'm kind of a pro, no big deal).

John Green once wrote, "Just remember that sometimes, the way you think about a person isn’t the way they actually are…People are different when you can smell them and see them up close, you know?"

So, as to not crush my dreams that the people I went to high school with are actually good people deep down passed their rotting livers, I think I'll just avoid being in the same room with any of them until our 10 year reunion (when hopefully I will have a classy, tall-dark-and-handsome kind of husband and a great body) so that the realities of these people don't have to be a thing.

Wait, I bet you're thinking that that's not the way to live. You're right. Thankfully, I don't know any of these people anymore, so it's not like I'm making up stories and lives for people I actually see on a daily basis.

But I'm still going to wonder and ask myself "what if..." and "why not?" and "how come?" because I'll never truly be satisfied with my life choices. But I have what I have and I had what I had. The people that I call my friends today are way better than anything I could have every imagined, and that should be enough.

 It is enough. 

Dream A Little Dream of Me

When I dream, I feel half awake. It kind of feels like I can control what's happening inside my head, but, at the same time, feel the warmth of my sheets or detect that the pillow definitely needs to be flipped to the cooler side. I'm not sure if this can be considered lucid dreaming. My dreams are always a little weirdly realistic. I used to not be able to remember my dreams at all, but then, over time, I suppose, I began to remember more and more.

There is something weird about my dreams, though. If there is a man in the dream that seems to be the one I am "with," I can't see his face. I can hear his voice... It's always a familiar voice. And I know who he is. Sometimes he's someone that I know or have known in the past. Sometimes he's a celebrity figure. Other times, he's just a figment of my imagination.  It's just that when I look up at him, I am blinded. It's like someone somewhere turned the lights right into my eyes. I have to shield myself or look down. It's kind of like when you wake up from a deep sleep, and you reach over to check the time on your phone, and you're just blinded by the illumination of the screen. What does this mean? What does it mean to not be able to look into the eyes of someone in a dream? It's frustrating at times.

I can feel myself yearning to be able to look at this figure in the dream. I know what he looks like. Why can't I just see him with my eyes?

I decided to look into this repetitive element in my dreams. Here's what I found:

According to a bunch of google searches on the subject, I found that being blind in a dream means you are refusing to see the truth about a situation. You are just rejecting something about yourself that you have denied for so long. This makes a lot of sense to me. If I can't see this man's face, maybe I just haven't come to terms with feelings for him... or I'd just rather pretend that they don't exist. To look at him would be to acknowledge that there is a spark or a true desire for him. Then, light, apparently, means clarity or discovering the truth. So, it kind of goes hand-in-hand, right? 

I think it will be interesting when I can finally look him in the face in my dreams... If that ever happens, I'll have to let everyone know.

I think it's fascinating that dreams can just be dreams... and other times, they can act as goggles to see all the weird inner-workings of the mind. It's like your mind wants to reveal secrets and stuff to you while you're asleep. The mind is really cool like that.

The Harsh Truth About College

In high school, everyone and their long lost cousin tells you that college is worth the brutal torture that is high school, that your college years will be some of the best years of your life. I'm still waiting to see what all the fuss about college is to these people. Like, maybe their high school years were the trots, so, naturally, college sucked way less for them? Maybe they were one of the lucky ones who didn't completely lose their sanity (or maybe they did.... and that's why they think college is the bomb dot com) in the hectic mess of college courses, drunken nights, and the horrid freshman 15. Now, I don't think that college necessarily is the worst thing ever (trust me, it isn't), but I feel like there are a lot of things that get overlooked once you're out of the system.

Welcome to the real world. 

Everyone wants to know about what you've got planned for your future or what you're going to do with your useless writing degree. No matter what your major is or if you're still in that awkward "undecided" rut, you probably have some kind of idea of what you might want to do once you've got your degree and are finally free to make all kinds of batshit crazy mistakes with your life. I think people have this idea that whatever you study in college must be something that is going to get you a job that will put you in a higher tax bracket and allow you to send your kids to a snooty private school that might resemble Hogwarts. Why is that? So, naturally, when I tell people I'm a writing major, they automatically tell me that I'm probably not going to make it and should consider a major in business or decide to go pre-law or whatever. It sucks to be unsure of your own life choices, but when other people start poking around, trying to keep you from living.... Well, that takes all the fun out of majoring in something you love. It's like everyone tells you to do what you love but then, when you've decided to take that pretty piece of advice, tell you you're throwing your future away by doing so.  Thus, we all have majors we hate with classes that screw us over every single day and Mom and Dad's reserved nod of approval. 

You're a broke-ass pathetic zombie all the time.  It doesn't matter if you promptly go to bed at a time before midnight and sleep until noon, you're constantly tired. It's the kind of tired that never ends. I think it's called growing up.   Say goodbye to your stain-free pearly whites and hello to a large energy drink that could possibly kill you since you doubled your dose of Adderall a few seconds before guzzling it.  Oh? What's that? You just spent your last five bucks on that energy drink? No one cares! Get a job... oh wait... you can't get a job because your schedule is packed and, let's face it, you're way too damn tired to hold any kind of position anywhere. College is so much fun, ain't it? 

Greek pressure exists. So, maybe you decided not to follow the herd of goats headed to the Greek factory to be slaughtered, and maybe you did... I don't care. I can't tell you how many sorority or fraternity members I have talked to who have let slip that they actually kind of hate the Greek life. There is a limit on the partying, and, when that goes away and the beer goggles come off, you see how much of a mess you've gotten yourself into. Am I really paying this much money to share one bathroom with all of these people? Now, I totally understand why people go Greek, and, for the most part, it's all really beneficial to your future, but when you feel pressured into rushing or pledging Greek because it's "what all the cool kids are doing" and then learn you absolutely hate it, well, you can pretty much say farewell to having a happy college life. And then, of course, there is the disapproving gaze from the campus Plastics towards those who decided they like wearing pants that aren't leggings (because some people don't want to look like they are headed to the gym all day long, thank you very much). Now, tell me that doesn't make you feel like a total recalled Barbie doll. It totally sucks.

Let me know when you figure it out, Belle.

It sucks major Tootsie Pop when you realize you're just a speck of dust on a giant dust bunny under someone's bed. In a lecture hall thats filled with over 400 people just like you, you start to feel like you don't even matter. This professor will never notice me or learn my name because he just doesn't care. It's easy to get caught-up in the system of robotically taking notes and writing papers and barely getting by on exams (because we're not all lucky to have photographic memories or natural test-taking abilities). And, yes, you're lucky if you stand out to a professor or to really anyone who you don't already call a friend or a significant other. Some people wonder why college students get depressed or self-harm or worse.... and, you know, it's because college can make you feel like you're alone and voiceless because everyone is talking at once. There is no order or rule or talking stick to pass around while you sit criss-cross-applesauce on the floor. You either speak boldly or get washed away in the sound.

If you're in college, you may agree or disagree on these things, and, if you're in high school still, don't worry. You're safe for now.

Yes, WebMD, I Must Be Dying!

Credit: http://peezhoun.deviantart.com/art/Sexy-Grim-Reaper-348651992

Having had health complications in the past, I know I'm guilty of scratching that itch to go to Google and self-diagnose numerous amounts of ailments and terminal illnesses. Just yesterday, in fact, I had this uncomfortable stiff, bloated feeling right below my damn bra wire, and I kind of flipped my shit for a moment thinking I was going to probably die any day in the near future. Yeah, I didn't even jump to a specific disease or even cancer first. I went straight for Mr.Reaper  Mr.Dead Sexy himself.

I've used pretty much every health and disease diagnostic website out there. WebMD is pretty reliable for most ailments. It's probably the most legit out of all the sketchy websites out there. For some reason, though, it always thinks I have cancer. I don't know whether to take that as a good or bad sign. There's also DiagnosisPro, which I've only used once or twice. It's not as pretty looking as WebMD, though, so I'd only make this like a Plan C if you're in desperate need of a third opinion. Again, it always tells me I have cancer. Hmm, am I just missing the point here? Another handy resource for all your jank medical needs is Mayo Clinic . It's so easy to use, my not-so-tech-savvy father could probably use it. (Sorry, Daddy!) I'm going to tell you straight out that if you're looking for a serious diagnosis from a computer, you should probably hit up Mayo Clinic. They always know that my IBS isn't colon cancer. If only they'd understand the same thing about my phantom gallbladder attacks (Yup, I'm missing my G-Bizzle. Ain't no thang but a chicken wang, guys!) not being terminal cancer.

Poe: Deep as a pit 

But seriously. Let's just talk about how every diagnostic website wishes cancer upon it's visitors. I have a pain in a place on my body where I may or may not know what is actually there, and I go to my trusted online symptom checkers because I believe deep (like way deep... like Edgar Allan Poe deep) down inside that they will tell me the truth about my body. I'm stressed out because I've got this damn pain in my ass and no hardcore over-the-counter drugs to ease my suffering AND I probably need to start writing a will because I don't trust any of my sisters with my possessions. I'm thinking the absolute worst! I am in a very vulnerable place, and I just want to see the silver lining of a good bill of health. But no, I'm not that lucky.

So, I've pretty much had cancer everywhere, according to the Internet. I guess that'll be a great story to tell to my grandkids one day.

Me: Did I ever tell you about the time I survived both breast AND testicular cancer all in the same week?
Grandkid: Grandma, that's not even possible.
Me: I know. I'm a living miracle, John Denver Lennon Mayer. I'm so lucky to be alive! L'chaim! To life!
Grandkid: We're not Jewish, though.
Me: Don't sass me, boy! Ain't nobody got time for that!

Okay, so maybe it won't go like that (Because I'll slap the white off my son/daughter if one of my grandchildren is named John Denver Lennon Mayer).

The lesson here is this: the Internet lies.   It means well, but it lies like no other.

So, next time you have an unexplainable headache or rash in an embarrassing place, don't necessarily jump to conclusions based on an Internet search. You just need to make friends with doctors so you can text them whenever you want without having to make an appointment or pay ridiculous bills.

Or, ya know, if you're too lazy to do that, the Internet is always there. Just remember to put me in your will when you find out you're dying! :D