You see, I've been realizing that my theory on the benefits of online socializing, being yourself and not worrying about appearances, has more flaws then I'd expected. Because the thing is, I'm not 100% myself on this blog. Nor am I 100% myself on other websites; although I am certainly more myself on online social/writing websites, I am very different facets of my personality for different sites.
On here, for instance, I'm the begrudging teenager, who uses big words on a decidedly "emo" blog that I started about 2 years ago. And although the "moody scholar" or whatever, is most certainly a piece of my personality and who I am, it is, of course, not my full personality. I like lots of things, experience lots of things that I never touch upon in this blog. And part of that, I think, is because I've only ever really written on this blog when there's too much going on, or I'm depressed, or something. And that is, hands down, the worst possible basis for a blog ever.
On here, for instance, I'm the begrudging teenager, who uses big words on a decidedly "emo" blog that I started about 2 years ago. And although the "moody scholar" or whatever, is most certainly a piece of my personality and who I am, it is, of course, not my full personality. I like lots of things, experience lots of things that I never touch upon in this blog. And part of that, I think, is because I've only ever really written on this blog when there's too much going on, or I'm depressed, or something. And that is, hands down, the worst possible basis for a blog ever.
Probably even worse then a blog solely devoted to pictures of Chinese plumbing.
Because seriously. Who wants to read the sad thoughts of a decidedly angsty teenage girl? Life can be depressing enough; who would ever want to deal with someone else's problems on top of their own? Unless, of course, they're a special brand of masochists called a therapist. But I'm getting off topic; the point, if ever there was one, is that I'm not always like this. I don't read melancholic poems and curl up in dark corners of rooms.
(Only sometimes.)
Seriously; I'm a pretty happy girl, all things considered. Just trying to figure out this whole "teenager" thing, I suppose. I've got the ansgt thing down pat, as is obvious to everyone who's ever read so much as single sentence of this blog, (I sincerely apologize to those who did.) but it's just. . . So hard. So much. Too much.
You start understanding things that baffled you as a child, and sometimes you can't help but miss that sugar coated fantasy you'd thought to be true. The "real world" is a convoluted, tangled mess of things, that I find to be increasingly more difficult to keep straight with every passing day. Things are too confusing, and sometimes all I can do is just try and keep my eyes from glazing over.
Wow: Now I'm getting really off-topic. Sorry 'bout that.
My original intent for this post, was merely to inform my future self (undoubtedly the only person who will ever have the ill fortune to read these words) that I am currently sitting alone at a table for 4 in a Panera. Directly across from my table, a little Asian boy is sitting with his parents, brother and baby sibling, and keeps glancing over at me and wriggling in his seat. There's a couple in the booth to the left of the Asian family; old, maybe 60's, and when I shifted in my seat I could see the man on the other left of the booth. He winked at me I think, and I offered the woman help when she made her way through the tables, keeping a careful hold on two nearly overflowing coffee mugs. There's an elderly man sitting at the table to my right, and he's wearing a bike shirt underneath a wind breaker, along with a life is good baseball cap. He's been here for a good while, and I wonder why?
I'm wearing my Midnight Sail Owl City shirt, with my typewriter key initial necklace and, of course, my ever present Claddagh ring. My leather jacket is draped over the chair next to me, housing the almost disgustingly floral purse I got for Christmas, and the laptop bag. My new copy of Paper Towns sits across the table from me, the giant red thumbtack blaring from the cover. My orange note book is, of course, opened to the list I made last night of things I needed to do online (of couse, I just procrastinated on Tumblr.) The word's "Update 'Shorts' (?)" written in the blue ink of most recent purchase of a pen begs to be checked. If anyone other then my future self is reading this, I apologze for the colossal waste of time. I suppose I'm trying to "preserve the moment", so to speak, and I believe no one will get anything out of this writing other then myself, later in time when I've forgotten about this entire morning.
Memory is a fickle thing.
There's blue ink on the side of my finger tip of the finger housing the Claddagh ring. I never bothered to learn the proper names for each finger, because honestly, it also seemed like a colossal waste of time. I mean seriously. When will you ever need to recite the names of each finger in "real life"?
It's the one right next to my pinky, whichever that may be.
My mom and I have dubbed this Panera our club house, and we sat at this exact same spot yesterday morning, and, coincidentally enough, ate the exact same things as well. Our theme song, apparently, is now "Keep Your Head Up" by Andy Grammer, and if you've ever tuned in to a top 100 radio station in the past few months, you'll surely understand the title reference, being a lyric of the unfortunately catchy song. Actually, I've taken to telling my mom "Only rainbows after rain" in the past week or so, because of many reasons and circumstances, but primarily because of (and oh yeah, this was the whole theoretical reason behind this post in the first place, wasn't it?) the fact that yesterday, she put down a $600 deposit on a 2 bedroom condo in a neighborhood down the main street. With any luck, my sister, mother and I will be sleeping there come Monday night.
And because I'm long past my alloted word limit, I'll just wrap this up with a simple phrase.
That's really all there is to say on the matter.
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