One and a Half Naps, and Then a Revelation

A warning before I begin: This will probably be a very personal post. And not that people who don't know me really read this blog anyway, but if you don't know me, maybe you should stop now. That's not an order, as this is the internet, (and therefore anything I post here is pretty much fair game) but it is a suggestion.

I was about to take a nap just now. I finished reading Paper Towns (magnificent) on the couch in the sun room, and then I started to doze off. The thing is, my left earring was pressing into my skull, and I was still wearing my Target red and khaki, and I was worried about the dog sneaking over while I slept and eating the pear core I had laying on the rug beside me and getting sick and dying or something while I slept on like a masochistic infant. So I abandoned the couch, locked the dog in the kitchen, threw away the core, changed into sweats, and got into bed.

I was so tired that I didn't even bother to set my cell phone alarm (I usually do when I take naps or else I will pretty much sleep for the next 2 days). I was so tired that when my knee nudged against paper under the covers, and when I remembered that the paper was the Sunday crossword that I had hidden from my sister this morning (Sunday crosswords are sacred to me, and she has bad handwriting. Don't tell her I said that.), I didn't even bother to set the paper on my nightstand. I decided to sleep with it nudged against my knee.

The thing was, as I was drifting off to sleep for the second time, I started to think about the guy I like (Don't be scared; I'm not going to go middle school on you. Promise). I was thinking about how cute he is, and how smart, and how funny, and I was imagining us hanging out together. And then I started to worry, the way I often do when I think about a guy that I like (and I don't think I'm alone in this). I started to wonder why he would ever like me. I'm not a supermodel, I'm not outgoing, I'm not bubbly, I'm not chill or calm or neutral, I have a big nose, sometimes I can be a major space cadet, I can't dance, I'm not graceful in any way, and I make mistakes constantly. Why would he ever, ever like me back, I thought.

And then, suddenly, like someone was shouting it in my ear, I heard this:

You're perfect.

I'm perfect.

The more I thought about this, the more of a revelation it became. I actually started crying, and as I stared at my turquoise bedroom wall, black mascara tears on my cheeks, I realized that I am perfect. That someone (namely, God) took the time to make me the way I am. He didn't make one mistake with me. He didn't make one mistake with anyone. Every bit of me, inside and out, is deliberate. Everything I am has a purpose, and everything I strive to be will only add clarity to that purpose.

And while I generally view myself as a pretty confidant person, I don't know if I really am. I think in the past, when I've embraced myself, I've done it one-handedly; I've left the flaws out. I haven't liked to think about them much because they're flaws. They're bad. But now I don't know if I believe in the flaws at all. They're really only bits of sin and lint and doubt that I've created for myself, that I've let hang around me because, well, this is Earth and I am human. And I wanted that crossword for myself, darn it!

Do you see yet? As a being I am perfect because, lucky me, I was made in God's image (that's right, I'm one of those). As a human, things get a little shady. But these things shouldn't stop me. If I create the shade, then surely I can be the one to wave it away. I know that I can't save myself completely without help, but I also know that I can save myself a little bit just by realizing how lovely the essence of me really is. (P.S. Your essence is quite beautiful as well).

I think I went around in a circle, you guys. I don't know if I ended up where I intended to, or if you were able to follow my tracks, or if I even left clear enough tracks to follow. I hope I did. I also hope that I didn't come off as some sort of motivational speaker. (There's that self-doubt again. Hello.) I didn't mean to. I just tried to take a nap about a half hour ago, and ended up not wanting to sleep after all. I hope you understand why.

Free Write

Free Write

The fan is swishing
against my hair,
blowing the shadows on the wall
as well.
I hear a click as it turns
and recall that Mom got it at Pamida
two days ago
because I needed a fan
and because I needed more time
before she drove away
back home
and left me.
Sophomore year hasn't changed
that feeling when the van pulls away.
Sinking, stumbling,
turning away into an empty dorm.
No students yet but me.

Now the white fan makes
my tie-dye shirt wave
from the drying rack.
Downstairs, there is
three inches of water sitting in the
washing machine that I broke.
Three inches of blue tie-dyed water
that will sit there and sit there
until someone comes with a hose
and a toolbox and flushes it away.

Now the shiny white fan wrinkles
the empty mattress
on the empty side of the room.
I sit on my striped blanket
and watch that mattress
blue and vinyl
and wonder how the room will feel
when there is a blanket covering it
and a different pillow plump
at its foot.

Now the humming, shiny white fan
turns its face once more towards my hair
to toss it out of place
once more
and I sit alone in my dorm room
on my bed
and I wait for something to happen.

Like Jack

Stream of consciousness=prepare yourself:

So I'm writing a blog right now. Someone's making a CD for me. I hope it's cool. I had a great idea for mixed CD's-one for every time of day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. Some enchanted evening! Love that song. I wish I could sing better. The lady in that movie wears really short shorts. Especially for the 40's. I thought they were more conservative back then. Did my grandma wear short shorts? Probably not. I don't think so. I just paused for a few seconds. Don't think you're supposed to do that. Just flow. Like Christine's speech. That speech made me sad. I don't like suicide. I wish the teacher had turned the notebook in. Reminds me of Freedom Writers the movie. Great movie. Hilary Swank in pearls and power suits. Love Hilary Swank. She's great in Million Dollar Baby. Like that movie, but very tense. Tense movies are fun, but tense. Duh. Wow, this is getting kind of stupid. Pretty sure I normally think a little more intelligently than this. At least, I hope so. How would I really know. It's kind of neat how our minds can make connections that no one else's can. Like different smells and colors mean something different to everyone. I just think that's amazing. You can only know another person so well, you know. Unless you can get inside their head, which you can't. Unless you're Edward Cullen. Which you're not. Why did I bring Edward Cullen into this? I'm not one of those super obsessed Twilight fans, I swear. But I just thought of him, so I typed. This is seriously really fun. My wpm is probably off the charts right now. I'm flowing. Just like Christine's speech. I said that already. Something funny-I have headphones in but my music is off. Sometimes in the car if the radio is too quiet, I automatically reach to my ears to adjust my headphones. But of course I'm not wearing any. It's the radio. That's how much I listen to my ipod. I didn't used to listen to music that much. It grew on me. I wasn't supposed to be the musical one in the family, but I guess I kind of am. I'm not that great, really. I just like it. I think I'm meant to be more of an avid audience member than a musician. And that's fine with me. I like to listen. However, with speeches, I'd rather perform. Speaking is one of the best things in the world. You're so nervous, and all of the sudden you're up there and it's FUN. You enjoy it. You're persuasive, you're passionate, you're compelling. It's the best feeling in the world.

I officially had to force myself to stop. That was really fun. Dear readers, you should try that some time.