Archive for the ‘resolution’ Category
i think i may have overshot it at the library.
April 15, 2009a letter to will.
March 3, 2009Dear Brother,
You were right when you said Sunday night that it seemed like I’d been falling apart lately. I think I am. There’s been a lot of stuff going on in my head and I just don’t really get it. Or know how to handle it. Or have the ability to. You were right also when you said that I need to focus on me more and less on what others think of me. And I’m trying. Really, I am.
But there’s stuff going on I can’t talk to you about. Like that thickening? Yea, that thickening really bothers me. Still. And I know I went to my doctor and he said some mumbo jumbo I didn’t get but what I did understand is that he thinks it’s a result of my surgery. So I stepped it up and I got an appointment with my regular doctor in a week. Hopefully she can check it out. Because the doctor saying that if it still bothers me in 3 months we’ll schedule a mammogram? Yea, that’s not all that comforting. I’m 24 years old.
And then there’s the fact that while this is going on, that while I’ve been visibly showing signs of being upset, I feel like I’ve begun realizing the people that are there for me. And while the roommate can pretty often drive me up the mother freaking wall, and while half of the time (or more than half) I don’t listen to what she says, I’m well aware she cares enough to say it. It all takes me back to that time in college when college bff Lauren and I got in a big fight and we were still trying to be “friends” one night without having “the talk” while we were drinking. And we went into our favorite Saturday night stays open til after midnight bar and proceeded to argue. Leading me to leave and get Other Brother to pick me up. And nobody called to find out where I’d gone. Or how I’d gotten home. Or if I even had. Do you see where I’m going with that? That I apparently need people to check on me. It makes me feel loved. And yea, I get that. I get that I’m needy.
Let’s talk about your fiance’s bachelorette weekend. Brother, I LOVE your fiance. I do. She is wonderful. She is everything I ever wanted you to marry. But her friends? Her friends are brats. Her friends that for years left the two of you out. Her roommate that has been consistently rude to her. Her non-bridesmaid who I actually heard saying that she disliked me. I have to go spend hundreds of dollars and a weekend with them? I know you understand this. How do I know? Because you don’t like them either. And I know you keep saying that Fiance wants me there and she’d be upset if I didn’t come. But really, would she? Because they’re her friends. So I don’t think it would faze her in the least.
And the fact that Mom’s response to this is that if I don’t like these people at all something is obviously wrong with me? And that if these people that have affected me over the past few months don’t like me, again, something is wrong with me? That doesn’t help. Focus more on me, you say? This is a part of me. These are the things I deal with. This is my life.
LA Emily told me last night over and over again that you cannot be the supporting actress in your own life. Something clicked when she said it because I feel like I am. I have been out of college for 3 years. I have been working (basically) the same job. And I am making nothing and going nowhere and today I felt it. Today I had to take vacation days for going home to meet the cable guy. Am I kidding? No, no I am not. AND I AM SO OVER IT. So over it. Other Brother called as I walked out of the office tonight and guess what? Don’t think you can guess? Well, try. Oh yes. Yes I fucking started crying AGAIN. Worried about the drought conditions in South Carolina and Georgia? Have no fear, Kristin’s Floodworks are here.
Focus on me. Focus on me. Focus on me. Here’s what I think. I am so full of hope. Hope that this guy’s gonna be a nice guy, be everything he says he is. Hope that this friend is gonna be a good friend through thick and thin. Hope that this job is gonna get me somewhere, someday. Hope that this day is gonna be a good day.
I am over hope. Hope gets me nowhere but hurt. And disappointed. And I’m sick. And tired. I am so over it. So over.
I will not be the supporting actress in my own life, Brother. I don’t want to be passive. (I don’t care what my New Year’s resolution was.) Nor will I be quiet. I will not allow myself to have my ass kicked over and over and over again.
Now let’s talk about the good stuff. My love life. I know, it makes me laugh even saying it. About as much as it made me laugh when you jokingly asked if you needed to include “And Guest” on mine and Other Brother’s invites. Here’s what I’m thinking. I know, I know, I don’t have a lot of dating experience. I mean, I’ve been on dates, yea. But experience? Pssh. It’s funny, though, because I remember when I started college, you were a big senior there and I was about to go into my freshman year and Mom told me that you had expressed to her how you really wished I’d had a boyfriend in high school so that I knew what I was getting myself into in college. I think you were scared maybe I’d do something stupid. I don’t think you ever realized that that lack of a boyfriend compounded by you and Other Brother being everywhere I was on campus made me terrified of guys. Absolutely terrified. I didn’t want to date them. I didn’t want to hurt them. I didn’t want to hurt myself.
The funny thing? This kind of goes hand in hand with something the roommate and I were talking about tonight. I’d run into a guy in the lobby today that I knew. We were standing there talking and apparently he took something I said and interpreted into that I was hitting on him. Um, he so does not know me. That is obvious. Because do I hit on people? I think not. Aside from McHottie. Sometimes. Shhh. And have I mentioned this guy was old? And bald? And married? (And apparently full of himself?) Um, so not hitting on him. Not even close. But the point is, I am not a go-getter. I am, here, the supporting actress. I don’t float around. Or sleep around. Or sleep at all, if we’re being really honest. Brother and sister here, you know. So I don’t get it. I don’t “get” people.
Last night I helped fill Lake Hartwell with a little more water as LA Emily told that I should procure the book “Why Men Love Bitches.” I didn’t quite tell her I’m having a hard enough time getting through “Be Honest – You’re Not That Into Him Either” but, I digress. Is it that much to ask that I want a nice, normal guy who loves his family and his friends and God and his work and me? Um, really? That much? Because I know he exists. How do I know? Because there’s you.
At lunch today a coworker told me that I am looking too hard for the “normal” guy. The outdoorsy, good time boy. I mean I don’t think it’s really as simple as that. But it scares me to think that He is not going to be anything like what I think, right now, I want. But then again she also told me I totally go for the wrong guys. And that is why I am where I am now. How crazy is it that as careful as I am with guys, as infrequently as I have true crushes, that statement is as true as it is? That I can go so wrong?
So yea, I’m falling apart. All around me anvils are dropping and that’s upsetting. (And painful, as you can imagine.) But I’m getting it together. Because tonight? Tonight I was driving home from a meeting listening to Britney (shut it and don’t judge) and this one song came on and I was stuck due to a train and I just started jiving. Arms waving, legs kicking. When my guy best friend in Asheville called and I told him this he may or may not have called me crazy but, damn. It felt good. And if I have to do that every day for the rest of this year, I will. I will dance at every stop light if I have to and sometimes in between. And I will smile at the woman next to me that’s looking over at me like I’m crazy. Because I will get out of this. And I will learn from it. And I will shine. And I believe that because I know you believe it too.
And Brother? I love you. Thanks for listening.
Love,
me
hanging up the hang ups.
February 26, 2009I was sitting there one night, talking to a friend of a guy I was smitten with as we watched said guy carousing with a group of female friends of his. “He doesn’t respect you,” the one I stood beside said to me. It had followed his asking what was going on between us. And my response that it was nothing. That we were friends. Minutes later he had seen us, up against a counter in the kitchen, lips pressed together.
“Why do you say that?” I had asked, my own curiosity budding.
“Slapping you on the ass, Kristin? Really?”
“That doesn’t bother me,” I told him. As though I needed to find some way to justify these actions. And my own for staying around. But slapping me was touching me. And touching me? Didn’t that mean he wanted to be around me? To have his hands on me?
***
I don’t know much about people. My closest relationships can sometimes be with the likes of Sophie Kinsella and Jane Austen. The last guy I dated was Edward Cullen. (Pssh.) And every now and then I think Charlie Sheen and I are doing a dance. He just has that ability to make me laugh that I am desperately searching for. I don’t know that much about friendships because often I find that my closest friends are the ones that don’t expect the unexpected out of me, that sometimes live at great distances, that love me and love my flaws. And with which, at least at one point in time in our friendship, there has been a moment of silence. Followed by a long talk. Followed by endless love from that point on.
Early this week as I sat on the phone with my mother, crying about bachelorette weekend plans for my brother’s fiance, and how much I didn’t want to be there, and how these girls I was going to have to spend the weekend with were just mean, cutthroat girls I’d gone to college with, Mom said to me, “I really do believe you learn with age. And what I know now is that when people are mean to you, when people dislike you, you do what you can to make them. You make them like you. Kill them with kindness.”
I found myself telling her it doesn’t work that way. When you’re the kind of person that admittedly likes everyone until you find out they decidedly dislike you, it just doesn’t work that way. You can’t force someone to be your friend, to talk to you. You can’t change things after you’ve heard someone telling another, from their very own lips, that they don’t like you. Or after you’ve watched as the correspondence from someone close to you has slowly slipped away. Or once you’ve seen that when that person said that your friendship would change because of something, that trust was now an issue, even though they never bothered to hear the whole story, that they meant it. And that they didn’t care.
It just isn’t as easy as making someone like you.
***
To summarize The Gospel according to Whitney Port which I was privy to on Monday evening, the more you feel the need to verbally justify or excuse something, the more guilty you appear. I am a good person and a good friend, I hear myself saying. I really do mean well, I repeat. I am not malicious, I recite.
Whitney would say that my having to say these things over and over again should cause you to question the truth of them. And that, in itself, bothers me to a great extreme.
I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
In one of the books I am reading (and yes, I am reading many) a woman is subjecting herself to a 21 day overhaul. It’s purpose is to redefine her life. To set her on the right track. To make her mind and her heart happy.
Right now, I am working on an overhaul of myself.
And that’s a little more important than the impending 40 days of no fried goodness.
tossing it out to the universe.
February 21, 2009I write things down frequently. In a small notebook I keep in my purse. On word documents I save with random titles in a folder labeled “Personal.” On scraps of paper in my room and on my desk at home. In the margins of my staff meeting notes.
Most nights, either in my head or on paper, I write a note to someone. I draft an email. An email to any number of people. An email I never end up sending.
Sometimes I think the reason for this is that I’m looking for something. Or that I’m trying to get to a conclusion. I’m trying to understand.
My biggest fear, this very moment, is not having that clarity. I don’t know when sometimes it’s just too much. Or when it’s not enough. Or when I’m supposed to get a hint with a friend or when I should reach out. One more time. Try again.
Most days I go back and forth.
Two days ago I would have told you my biggest fear was cancer. Two weeks ago I would have told you cancer didn’t scare me. How can it scare you when it’s seemingly inevitable, when both your parents have it? Two days from now I will find out if I can go on not being scared anymore.
Monday I decided for the umpteenth time that I don’t like the direction I’ve chosen to pursue professionally. I haven’t made any changes to fix this. But I feel like recognizing it (albeit again) is a step in the right direction.
I sat in my room the other night, floating on oyster shots and beer, and thought of the things I want. Like really want. The things that I would like to accomplish for me. What I want out of 2009. What I want before I’m 30. The simple things. The measurable ones.
I want to learn how to sew. With that brand new sewing machine I’ve never used that I got, ahem, two years ago. I want to know how to use it. Well.
I want to play a couple of rounds of golf. Because last year? In 2008? I didn’t pick up my golf clubs once. Except, well, to move them from one apartment to another.
I want to play some good tennis. And I want to watch some good tennis.
I want to go to as many college baseball games as I can. And I want hot dogs.
I want to run. Far. Just because I think I can’t.
I want all of the half finished canvases I have piled up to be finished. Done. And I don’t care that that requires me to use oil paint for one and that that takes a day or two or way more than that out of my life. I want them finito.
I want to be published. Somewhere other than my company’s quarterly magazine and the newspaper I freelance for. And I want to be published for something that is not boring. Because what I write for each of those? Bo-ring.
I want to figure out my laptop. I will finish MacBook for Dummies. And yes I purchased that for myself.
I want one person – just one – to tell me that I’m wonderful and that they love me. And that they can’t imagine their life without me. And won’t.
That’s what I want for 2009.
progress report.
February 2, 2009The roommate and I decided last night that we were going to start 2009 over again. You know, because it hasn’t been going exactly the way either of us really wanted it to.
Talk less, listen more. I do find myself listening. A lot. To the roommate. To my mom and my dad. To my brothers. To my friends. I find myself listening and making trips to visit with the people that want me around and tell me so. And I have found that in the first month of the year, I have made a really good effort to spend time with the people that seem to care about me. But I’m still talking. Damn it. I’m still frustrated with things and sharing that frustration in what sometimes comes off as my hopes to get closer to the people I open up to. (Some warped idea I came up with in my college days. Be open and honest and people will love you, I had thought. Bullshit, I now know.) Thursday night around midnight I received a text message from a [gossip mongrel] friend I’d seen earlier in the evening. I was asleep at the time. “So what’s going on in your love life, Special K?” he asked. I woke up the next morning to it and all I could think was, “Whatever it is it’s none of your bidness dude.” And so I didn’t respond. And I wished I’d never answered that question from anyone in the past month at all. None of your beeswax, people. And I don’t care if that response is r-u-d-e.
Run, run, run. Um. Let it be known that every time I do get in a running groove I inflict injury on myself. This is an ongoing thing since high school. And it is really freaking awesome, let me tell you. I then have to wait a week and see if it heals, and then sometimes I have to wait another week, and then I have to start all over again. And then, you know, there are weeks like last week when I NEVER EVEN LEFT THE OFFICE. “Kristin, have you been running?” Dad asked me yesterday. “WHEN!?” was my response.
Be a happier person. Yea, dude, I am not a happy person. And that, in itself, makes me sad. Which is kind of ironic, methinks. At lunch on Saturday one of my best friends from college looked at me across the table as we caught up on the past 6 months since we’d last seen one another and she said to me, “You don’t look happy, Kristin.” Yea, sad. Because I feel like I’m doing everything I can and I don’t know what else to do. I’m on the go, I’m keeping busy, I’m learning the ropes of work and responsibility and maintaining friendships to the best of my ability and yet I can’t find happiness. I WANT TO KNOW WHY, damn it. I am honestly asking all of you. Why?
Save more money. Shut your trap with the emails, J.Crew. I am only human. I am no Bella Swan with self control.
Read 100 books. To the best of my calculations, in order to catch up I will need to read approximately 11.5 books in the month of February alone. One book every 2 days? Psshit.
So I’m starting 2009 over again. Bear with me.
dear abs, where did you go?
January 13, 2009It is January. Freaking JANUARY. And all I can think about is June. And July. And heat. I actually want the humidity back right about now. Gasp. (I realize 40 degrees to some people is really not all that frigid.)
One of my albeit many resolutions this year (or more so a necessity) is to actually get back in shape. Not to be able to run again without death closing in. And not to lose some pounds. Been there, done some of that. But to actually achieve that I know I can’t be a freshman in high school again but I’m a version of that. With hips. (Well, some.) Duh. And I think even slightly bigger boobs. Maybe. That makes me laugh.
Last night I went to Publix (and was somewhat disappointed by their limited Kashi collection) and gathered up some oatmeal to replenish my work stash and some lettuce to use for salads for lunch.
When I came home, the roommate had returned from work and was ready to launch into a discussion about how I go on a kick and then I exhaust myself and then I’m over it for a couple of weeks. And then I start anew. And how she’s lived with me through these and so “all things in moderation, Kristin.” She also routinely calls my mom “crazy” and reminds me that I have “food issues.” But I digress.
Her point was what again? I don’t think it’s that detrimental to my overall wellbeing if I feel like getting up and being at the gym at 5:30 am right now, and not, say, next week. I mean, that’s between me and my resolution contract. (Oprah once said to sign a diet and fitness contract with yourself. Tried that. Broke it. Didn’t feel guilty. Not signing my resolution contract.)
Moving on, last night I sat on my bed, totally enraptured by Bromance, and went through my collection of Self magazine. For what, you might ask? Perhaps an elixir to make either my thighs disappear or my abs reappear. That I sadly did not find.
But I’m sure I can find some new magazines to go through tomorrow.
hello goodbye.
January 7, 20092008 was a difficult year for me. And it was for a lot of reasons.
I was given a coworker’s job (and she mine) without any salary changes. And was left to spend the remaining months being hated on by her.
I learned the entertaining way that a lot of guys out there? Well they suck. And it’s not in a wow, you’re so great (Note: sarcasm), thanks for breaking my heart sort of way. Um, more so in an I really like you oh wait I just got to know you now I can hardly look at you ew ew ew quit calling me sort of fashion. (I’m so mature.)
I recommitted myself to J.Crew. Not that that was really even in question.
I started grad school classes. Hated grad school classes. Cried a ridiculous lot over grad school classes. Did not enroll further in grad school classes. Sighed heavily at the conclusion of grad school classes.
And then I wondered if I should continue taking grad school classes. (Side note: WTF?)
I had a surgery that changed my life.
I stupidly and irrevocably screwed up a friendship that I can’t seem to better. No matter my efforts. And despite that I understand this completely, it has led to many a sleepless night, countless tears, and a whole hell of a lot of frustration. If I’m being honest.
I had a lot of hateful shit said to me. Notably that I have my own set of rules that are difficult to live by. That I’ve changed in a laughable sort of way. That I don’t make time for people. (Just repeat that last sentence about 10,000 times and you’ve about covered the number of times it has been said to me. Maybe. Almost.) That I do not make enough effort. That I don’t pursue.
I’ve even been told – point blank – that a guy I really really liked was just not that into me. And it was JUST THAT SIMPLE.
I quit being able to sleep through the night without fail and I picked up dreams – er, nightmares – that I never wished to have.
I learned that I apparently wear “sensitive pants”. And, well, that I hate that expression.
I got asked to be my brother’s fiance’s Maid of Honor. One of my best friends had a baby girl and named her Blakely, after me. My mom’s pet scan, just before Christmas, came back clear.
Oh! I had a boy talk dirty to me. Via text message. And it was GROSS. (Totally not for me, sorry.)
I vowed to start off 2009 differently.
I renewed my hope.
to tomorrow.
December 31, 2008Watching Oprah right now as I clean up in my room before showering I heard her say, “You can do unto others all that you want to. It’s already gonna be done unto you.”
I began listing my resolutions last night, in the car with my mom, as I drove the way back from Charleston, from seeing my best friend’s baby girl, from great luck in J.Crew, from the long day we’d had.
No drama, I said. Mom concurred. Drama. I HATE drama. I always AVOID drama. But somehow? It seems to find me. To magnetize to me. To AFFECT me. No no no more.
Less stress, I added. Oh yes, Mom agreed. I stress a lot. Always have. You can see it in the writing on my face and probably, honestly, nowhere else. Because, amazingly, I remain pretty calm. (I blog it all out.) But I dislike it. Quite a lot.
Talk less to others, I thought to make a change on my increased verbosity in recent years as today I sat, mostly in silence. For 3 hours in silence as my car got fixed and I turned the pages in my book. At the Ford dealership as the recall I’ve known about for over a year got taken care of. At the car wash. Talking less is good. Talking less is helpful. Talking less, while it means I’ll have a whole lot of more mess going on in my head than I (already) do, might be good for me. Might be exactly what I need. So people, please start expecting a little silence out of me face to face, email to email, phone to phone. If you want me? You want to amend anything with me? In 2009? You’re going to have to want me. And maybe the truth will hurt [me]. But the truth it will be.
In 2009? I’m hoping for a lot.
Cheers.
am i debbie downer?
December 30, 2008I kind of make a lot of mistakes. You know, like I don’t realize when I’m doing it that it’s gonna happen that way. Or the vodka and the saki prevents me from recalling what exactly occurred. Yea, that happens. Often. To me.
I say a lot of stupid things. Stress over things unsaid. Worry, constantly, why people don’t like me, won’t talk it out with me (when I used to be the #1 abuser of non-confrontation), or just don’t care enough about me altogether. And I let a lot of it happen, let people be rude to me and keep, just, trying.
I bear the weight of a lot of things. Of my best friend from LA, who Friday night flew back to the West coast, Saturday learned her father had had a stroke, and Sunday had to book a flight back to South Carolina. Of my childhood best best friend whose grandfather, Papa, passed away yesterday. Of the understandings of those who profess – or act out – their utter dislike for me and for whom I just can’t seem to right my wrongs with. But yet I keep trying, it seems.
I think as this year is coming to a close, these thoughts, these well, frustrations, are surfacing for me. And maybe I am coming across as Debbie Downer. Maybe I did go out Saturday night in search of a good spackling to erase my mind. Maybe I have been searching for the right book to read so that I can escape.
Maybe I am really looking forward to 2009. And maybe I’m hoping, in earnest, that even though Thursday will be just another day, I’ll use it to change my ways. Or to try. At least. To right all those wrongs I keep failing with.
Until then, I’m off to have a cold beer.
bottle it up.
February 4, 2008There’ll be girls across the nation that will eat this up
Babe I know that it’s your soul but could you bottle it up
So I was really stirring Saturday night, wasn’t I? The thing is that while I know that this is the internet and that it’s my fault for writing things and then regretting them, I write them, oftentimes, when I feel like I can’t say them. And the thing is that when that happens, when somebody I know does read something and feel for me, it would make it so much better, so much cooler, if they’d come talk to me. If they’d worry about me. Because, yes, I have friends I know in person that read my blog. And it does mean a lot when they care enough to ask. And given that circumstance I would know if they were to have the urge to have their curiosity get back to my mom. But it would first have gone through me. And you should respect me.
That being said I am, in fact, bothered by the possibility that there are some out there that might, I tend to believe, read my blog out of a mere curiosity to know all and laugh at my life rather than a concern or care or genuine interest in me. And this is an idea that has just arisen out of recent events.
Yea, that sucks.
And get down to the heart of it,
No it’s my heart you’re shit out of your luck
Don’t make me tell you again..
What’s new with Cute Boy?
I guess I should start with where I left off.
This weekend he was set to be at a conference at the beach that my office hosted. Now, had we had extra rooms in our room block that we were having to pay for, I would have been all set to go. But being that we didn’t, and I had begun to make plans for the weekend – and get excited about them – I kind of let the whole idea pass me by. On the phone with Cute Boy Tuesday night, he asked about the weekend. He offered up his bed, then his room. He was very gracious. And kind. And tried, very hard, to convince me to come down there saying it wouldn’t be as much fun without me. But I knew, truthfully, that I wouldn’t be encouraged. Even so, I played along. In an email Wednesday he suggested that I run for the touchdown (ie. come to the beach with everyone) or kick a field goal (play it safe and stay home). I sent him something along the lines of it not really being a good idea being that the president of my office and our executive committee would all be down there and for me to “shack up” (no matter the circumstances) with a member would, quite honestly, just not look good. It would have been an amateur move professionally.
Did he not like that answer? If he didn’t and that’s why I haven’t spoken to him since, that’s his fault. He should respect that and if he doesn’t? His problem.
See how great my attitude is?
I am aiming to be somebody this somebody trusts
With her delicate soul I don’t claim to know much
“You know he loves and respects you, right?” she said to me as she got out of my car last night, speaking of Mr. Perfect.
“You can have him if you want him,” she added with a giggle, as though playing dibs was the name of the game.
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” I said back to her.
Why? Because it is.
Except soon as you start to make room for the parts
That aren’t you it gets harder
To bloom in a garden of love..
I think it’s best said in One Fine Day when Melanie tells Jack, “I’ve got all these balls up in the air. If somebody else caught one for me, I’d drop them all.”
I don’t really know who I am or what my purpose is.
When you start letting things change, letting other people in, it starts to affect you. I don’t really want to be affected right now. I was too far there a year ago.
We can understand the sentiment you’re saying to us
Oh, but sensible sells so could you kindly shut up..
Do you ever feel like the reason you’re dissatisfied with your pace of life and where you are is personality-based? Like maybe I need an adjustment of some sort?
That thought graces me daily. Like I’m not quite adequate. I’m only somewhat liked. That feeling that people are talking about me behind my back at every turn.
That feeling aches.
Get started at keeping your part of the bargain
Aw please little darlin’
You’re killing me sweetly with love..
Just a question – are there unspoken bargains in relationships?
Started as a flicker meant to be a flame
Skin has gotten thicker but it burns the same
I’m taking this all very well, I think. The fact that some friends never were true. Some guys never were meant to keep you smiling. Some folks just really don’t care at all.
So why should I then?
I guess I care about the people that matter to me. Heck. I do care. I care about people that don’t matter. But, starting senior year in college, I learned I shouldn’t care so much about those that forget I matter at all. Like Mr. Beat, interestingly enough.
But, you know, this is still a work in progress type thing.
Still a baby in a cradle got to take my first fall
Baby’s getting next to nowhere
With a back against the wall.
Ouch. That hurts.
But you get back on the horse and keep riding. Nevertheless.
Keep writing. Yes. I’ll let you know if that changes. Password protected.
You meant to make me happy make me sad.
Want to make it better better so bad.
All I’m asking for is happiness. Really. Someway or another.
But save your resolutions for your never new year
There is only one solution I can see here.
This is where these feelings take me.. to figuring out what my own personal resolution needs to be.
In the meantime, though, is delving into my February resolution.
To be honest, I like all the choices I gave y’all. Oh to have the upper hand! Quite frankly, I will look into the Boho Revolution in more depth regardless. I have kind of had a craving for that for quite some time now. In fact, I’ve been hugely debating the purchase of Bohemian Manifesto: A Field Guide to Living on the Edge. Any suggestions for reads? I know, that’s just shop talk. Here, here.
Beyond that, I’m greatly curious about Walt Whitman. And Buddha. Yes, Buddha. I have the book The Kennedy Curse. And that is what I will use for much of my research of the JFK Assassination. And on that note, I will, separately, one day need to learn more about skeptism relating to Marilyn Monroe’s own death. Yea, I’m hugely curious about that one, too. You could imagine what missing Heath Ledger has done to me.
But to be completely honest? My goal is to conquer each of these 10 suggestions. If not in February, then one by one this year. Learning is never over, you know.
Love you’re all I ever could need
Only one good thing worth trying to be
And it’s love. I do it for love..
Only gonna get get what you give away,
So give love..
sarah bareilles.
