From me to me: a publicly personal blog for the walking contradiction that is my daily existence.
Leaving for college is a distant idea, like putting bread in the toaster, except even though you are watching it the whole time waiting for it, it is completely shocking and you jump a little as the newly browned toast pops up. OH hello there adulthood, how nice of you to pop up into my life.
I feel like I had this moment, or maybe it was a collective stream of moments that lasted the span of the entire summer.. this moment where I felt like I could finally sit down and study a little metaphorical book called My History. Upon seeing a terrible pattern, I have decided (do you hear this, future college self?) to dedicate more of my time to relaxing and recharging my thoughts and emotions, of which I have far too many. Arguably. Regardless, It is who I am, and I think most clearly, when I am not overdoing it and expecting myself to be in forty places at once. There, now it is on public record: Molly is going to learn how to say “no” to new obligations. That’s all folks.
A bird can’t fly unless its left and the right wing are working together. If a bird with a brain the size of a baby potato can figure this out, then why can’t our government?
To the girl with the blush and the lips painted bright,
Lay down your fears and learn how to fight.
Find your own armor and shine like the light—
The light on that day when you wake up and realize,
You don’t have to be rescued
You don’t need a knight.
That terrifying moment when there is a FUCKING TARANTULA IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. That shit isn’t supposed to happen in the suburbs of so cal.
I love my job.. working with the elderly is seriously one of the most incredible things. The things they have accomplished and the way that they deal with aging and loss is downright inspiring. All I do is drive em in this little extended golf cart thing, and meet them for maybe five minutes, but I see more of who they are thean I could with anyone 20 or 30 years younger. Some complain constantly, some don’t talk at all. Some tell me about their health issues, but not Mr. B., he has had 5 strokes but I wouldn’t have known if his friends didnt talk so loud in the hallway. It makes you think — after your days of being springy and invincibly young are over.. what will your true character be? Will you be the one who sings the tram driver tunes from West Side story, or the one who won’t stop complaining? Food for thought:)