earning adjectives.

I intend for this to be a quick post because I have to wake up early, but we'll see how it goes. I am just feeling a little funky tonight and have chosen to turn to my favorite outlet for expressing the intangible stuff trapped between my ears, inside my head bone.

For all of the things I like about myself, of course there are plenty of things I don't like too. The thing I don't like that's really been giving me a hateful time lately is the apprehension with which I allow change into my life. I would love for some part of my eulogy to include something about how I was a free spirit or spontaneous or adventurous or something, but to this point I have done almost nothing to earn the attachment between my name and those adjectives-- besides say whatever a lot, and mean it. The question that's really bugging me tonight: Why I can't I whatever my way into change?

You may be wondering what specific events precipitated this train of thought. Well, as of this week, most of the friends I have hung out with for the past three years have all moved away (this all occurring within the last week), I am in a new (albeit better) place in my life, and Mollie (my friend of over 15 years--woah) and my cousin are doing totally awesome stuff in big cities that I envy.

I envy them because I can picture myself in a big city with a little apartment and the bare essentials; not knowing many people- making friends and work and being "The New Girl--From Florida". And I want it. But I haven't done much to this point to get there. And that is because when uncertainly beckons, I hide my head in my favorite, worn, most comfortable pillow and hide. I sometimes wonder why this is, and it is the trait about myself that I hate the most.

I am no hoarder. In fact, I have been known to toss or donate things that would probably be considered sentimental to most people. I don't hang on to many sentimental physical things. I hang on to comfort, however ambiguous it may be. I have tried to do a root-cause analysis on this whole enigma (not that realizing the cause would necessarily provide relief in this situation), and I always turn to the same life event, but at this point, it really shouldn't matter anymore. I should be a big girl and move and know that I'm not gonna diiiee or be forgotten or lose everything.

See, I realize these things. I have a rational brain and an irrational mind, I suppose. It's utterly frustrating.

On that note, I am going to end this post abruptly and go to bed. I have a big day tomorrow and I do have a little adventure unfolding beneath me, just not one that involves planes or trains. I know this was a scatter-brained post with terrible transitions and little if any flow, but welcome to my midnight diary. Nature of the beast.

Comfy place.