I'll Take My Data Plan in an I.V. Please

If you want to be somewhere else, be somewhere else. If not, put down your phone, and be where you are. You don't need to check Facebook at dinner. "Nobody's talking to you." you say? Well, maybe they would be if they thought that you were at all interested in what they had to say. Maybe you should actually engage in the conversation, and jump right in there when you actually have something to contribute.

Unless someone close to you has just been admitted to the hospital in critical condition, there is no need for you to be checking your phone for updates while you are spending time with another person. And if that's the case, why are you not at the hospital right now? Get your priorities straight.

Whatever you are texting about, there is a very good chance that it is not nearly as important as you think it is, and that it can wait the twenty minutes it will take you to eat dinner and show the people around you that you actually give a shit about them. If it really can't wait-if you need to solidify plans RIGHT THIS INSTANT OR THE WORLD WILL IMPLODE-then at least try to be discreet. Keep your phone in your lap, type fast, and make up for it afterwards by not gazing around like an aloof asshole, just waiting for your phone to ring or buzz or beep again and distract you from the obviously inferior company surrounding you.

It's called a watch. Checking it when you have somewhere to be is much less obnoxious than staring at the digital clock on your phone.

Too much or not enough

I have this story that I really want to write.

I think that it's a good idea, and that it could be wonderful and unique with the proper touch of a pen. But I don't know how to write it. I don't know how to progress plot in a way that is compelling and I don't know how to think things through and I don't know how to focus on one thing long enough to grow with it and improve it and make it perfect.

I'm afraid that I'll never be able to. I'm afraid, so I don't try. I'm lazy. I'm scared and I can't and I won't.

It's the "I won't" that upsets me the most. Fear can be conquered. Inability can be overcome through education and effort. But unwillingness to try? That cannot be fixed. Wait, typo. What I meant to say was "That cannot be fixed by anyone but me". No person can instill in me the will to try. My parents can pay for my education. A teacher can show me a plethora of ways to approach what I am doing, introduce me every skill they possess. A friend can encourage me and support me and tell me to get over myself and just write the damn thing. But only I am able to want to try. And that scares me.

Maybe once I've gone to school for a while, I'll feel more capable, more worthy of writing something. Maybe I'll stop giving up whenever what I'm writing feels more like a self-indulgent diary entry, and instead know how to start over from a different angle. Maybe I'll be able to differentiate cheesy and pretentious and trite from poetic and deep and true. Maybe I'll write to impress myself, and not anybody else.

Maybe I'll get over myself and write the damn thing.

Seconds turn into years, and then you're all like "Whaaa? Where am I? Why do my fingers smell like soup?"

It is distinctly unsettling to wish your life would go by faster.

It's one thing to have goals for the future for you to work toward in order to make yourself as happy as possible. It's another to wish away what you have right now by continuously thinking that the future will be bring you divine satisfaction, and therefore the present is somehow inferior.

Your life is every second you are alive, not just the memorable moments.

 If you are at work, that is your life right then. Regardless of how mind-numbingly mundane life feels for the duration of that shift, the only way it will be a waste is if you allow yourself to adopt the mindset that you should just "wait for it to be over". That is literally saying that you do not wish to be present for every moment of the oh-so-limited time in which you are bestowed with the privilege of consciousness. You could not possibly be so audacious. You are most likely there to make money so that you can be a functional member of first-world society. You have to be there, for all intents and purposes. That job may not be the first thing you would wish to do with your time. It may not even be on the list. But you are there. And wherever you are, it is important to be present. Smile at people. Tell somebody what you like about them, for no reason other than giving them permission to do the same thing for somebody else. Compliments from people who don't owe you anything are usually the most genuine. Be aware of the thoughts inside of your own head. If there aren't any, think some. Sing songs to yourself. Feel yourself breathe. Whatever you do, don't wish for that time to be over. All of those tiny bits of time that you bide away being dissatisfied add up, and if you're not careful the compost under the sink will get clogged with all of the seconds you mistook for rotton carrots. And then the sink will explode, and your kitchen will flood, and there will be a mess everywhere. And you wouldn't want that, would you?  

Irrationality

I have this fear that, one day, I'll turn my back to my parents, only to find that while I wasn't watching, they transformed into their true selves, two monsters staring back at me, faces identical to those I love but with eyes reflecting gleeful malice like shattering glass in a hurricane. I fear that I have placed my trust in two time bomb spiders, biding their time for years, nearly two decades, crouched in position, rubbing hairy pincers together in hungry anticipation, drooling through their fangs, weaving my infallable reliance on them until they have enough fabric to smother me, capture me, throw a dinner party. Make sure to use the good china. Forks on the left. Use red wine glasses for blood. Charming.

I can't look at mirrors when it's dark out. An irrational brain has convinced unreliable eyes that my face will melt off its bones, that who I see will gesture and blink of her own accord, that she will be the one with dagger cheekbones and hook eyes that pierce with barbs; that she will walk out of her frame, have her own reflection in that mirror. I'm torn between removing my eyes from their sockets as I run out of the bathroom, and forcing them to prove me wrong.

Flicker

The world can be truly beautiful if you catch it at the right moments, like the tiny hint of a smile caught in the reflection of a mirror, the twinkle in her eyes so quick you have to wish on it.

Street lights will go out precisely when you need to see the stars.

When the moment comes, take it, without urgency. Allow it to dissipate at will. It will come back.

You're not dating? Ooooh, I understand. Is it contagious?

For Chrissakes, I'm not diseased. I'm also sick of being called a "single", as if my not being in a relationship automatically means that I'm free to be snatched up by the first horny guy to notice I exist.

"Like, oh my god, you aren't in a relationship?"
"Nope".
"But aren't you looking forward to finding somebody to share your life with?"

Why do I have to share my life with somebody? Whenever I express the desire to remain single, the general reaction is "Oh sweetie, you'll find someone who will change all that". And maybe I will. But why is that the goal here? In case you have failed to notice, I am perfectly whole on my own. I'm not missing pieces. I don't need another person to make me feel complete, or to make my life better. In every "relationship" I've ever been in, I've actually felt like pieces of me were falling off; either I was shedding them, or the boy in question was trying to pick which pieces he liked and discard the rest. They're my pieces, and I'll do what I wish with them, thank you very much. Why do people keep insisting that I'll find someone who I'll fall head over heels for into a drooling puddle of looooove. Who on earth would believe that kind of emotion to be healthy or permanant? What I want to know is why they think I'll be happier with someone. Are they so unobservant that they never realized I was miserable every time I tried to have a relationship? I'm not going to pretend to be all cynical. "It" could very well happen for me. But I am currently unable to imagine myself being fulfilled while in a relationship. And that is okay.

Do people have this obsession with curing single people of our obvious disease because they pity us? Like, they just want us to feel the pure bliss of finding true love? Guess what, darlings: pure bliss can be found in many places. I defy you to tell me that I can't find it in other ways. I sing. I write. I have friendships. I have places. Tell me I'm not blissfully happy while experiencing those things. Tell me. I dare you. You're pity means nothing to me. I'm happier alone than I've ever been while linked to another person, and many people who are currently linked seemed to me to be much happier whilst unattached.

Or, does this desire to "couple" everybody happen because we live in a culture where you haven't matured until you've had sex, which is something often associated with relationships?

"You're still a virgin? Haha, you must be a prude/immature/scared".
"You're still a virgin? Good girl, keep your innocence for as long as possible".

Why does it matter if I've had sex or not? Whether I'm "immature" or "innocent", why am I considered different just because some guy hasn't shoved his penis inside of me? If you're different after having sex, I'm pretty sure that means you're doing it wrong. If a person hasn't had sex in our culture, then they get two choices: be asexual, or claim that they're "waiting". The former aside, why must people be seen in relation to whether or not they've fucked somebody else? She's "waiting". She's not, you know, a fabulous artist, or an aspiring travel journalist, or an avid collector of obscure socks. Nope. She's a virgin. Because a person hasn't lived until they've had sex. They need that other person in their life, however briefly, in order to validate their existence. They can't possibly be content with their life if it does not contain romance.

I'm not saying I think legitimate love doesn't exist, or that there aren't people in relationships who are so happy they feel like there are rockets in their feet that could shoot them to the moon. I'm saying stop defining people by whether or not they are currently "single" or "in a relationship". Stop telling me that eventually I'll change my mind and get married. You don't get to tell me that. I'm 17; there are many other much more important things I should be concerning myself with right now.  

Every single person is not a set-up waiting to happen, Yenta. This is not Fiddler on the Roof.

Flee Until Nobody Speaks Your Language

I recently started running. Well, running is a loose term here, because I run marginally faster than I walk. But pride is still present. I'm getting better, building up stamina. I can run four kilometres without stopping, and without feeling like the inside of my stomach is home to ancient tribal dancers who are over-zealous with their spears. I feel strong when I run, and that's weird for me. Feeling strong, I mean.

I'm a relatively weak person. I can't do a push up. I can't stand the idea of somebody thinking anything negative about me. I can't stand it because I have little conviction. I don't think about anything long enough to form a strong opinion about it, and so I have no passion to back up what I say. That passion would make negative opinions bounce off me, because I would know what I believe and be able to articulate it. Instead, I form half-baked opinions and then go about shouting like a fool. I don't like it. Whenever I say something stupid, or rude, or tactless, my first and strongest desire is to simply run away. To Europe. Where nobody knows me and I can live alone and never have to associate with anybody ever again and be mysterious and read lots and lots of books. I could be he biggest coward with the least pride; the fastest runner you've ever seen.