Things I’ve Learned.

With 22 years under my belt, there are a few things I’d like to share with you. Some realizations are my own, others I’ve stolen from friends and coworkers, and some were borrowed from various internet sources collected along the way. Either way, take a few. Read them. Share them. Let them inspire you. Laugh. Think back and smile. Agree. Comment. Shake your head at the ridiculousness of a few. But most of all, know that I appreciate your procrastination skills at their best right now, since I’m sure you have better things to do than read my useless blog tonight.

  • I can take my phone out of my purse, look at it, and put it back two or three times before I actually realize what time it is.
  • Parents are the reason we have Limited Profiles on Facebook. No one wants their mother looking through pictures of them getting wasted with their friends when they were 16.
  • There’s no worse feeling than that millisecond you’re positive you’re going to die when you tip a little too far back in your chair.
  • Shirts get dirty. Underwear get dirty. Pants? They never get dirty and you can wear them forever.
  • Everyone should have a go-to karaoke song.
  • I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between hunger and boredom.
  • I would rather carry ten bags of groceries into my house than have to go back to my car for a second trip.
  • The freezer deserves a light as well.
  • If it’s not on Facebook, it’s not official. I know this sucks, but you know it’s true. And it kind of hurts a little when someone denies your friend request.
  • I automatically dislike you when you tell me you hate gay people. These days, it’s almost as unintelligent as saying that a woman’s place is in the kitchen.
  • You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you that you just aren’t going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
  • Bad decisions make great stories.
  • Hangovers are cured only if you combine coffee, water, IB Profin, breakfast of some sorts, a cold shower, deleting texts from last night, talking about what exactly happened with the other people that were there, and then complaining on Facebook about how lousy you feel. In that exact order.
  • Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
  • There is a great need for a sarcasm font.
  • Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you are wrong.
  • The best nicknames are the ones people don’t know they have.
  • More often than not, when someone is telling me a story, all I can think about is that I can’t wait for them to finish so I can tell my own story that is not only better, but more directly involves me.
  • Every time I hear a recording of my own voice, I am convinced that I would not be friends with me, even if I was someone else.

There’s a billion more, but perhaps there will be a “Things I’ve Learned: Part Deux.” Have more? Feel free to share.

Writer’s Block.

I realize it’s been over a month since I last wrote, and quite some time passed between that and the one previous. This isn’t a diary, nor is it a news publication. If something inspires me to write, I will spend hours upon hours perfecting my piece until it is exactly what I want you to read. However, lately, my time has been consumed by work, moving, and student loans.

I have not had time to vent, or appeal, or persuade, or object. I have not had time to create, or inspire. I have not had time to anything, really. Something has to change.

Am I a writer? Who’s to say what the boundaries are, or the qualifications that make you a full-blown, legitimate writer? According to Wikipedia, a writer is someone “who produces literary content, including but not limited to stories, poetry, music and other literary art, advertising, procedures, and books.” But I’m writing online. Does that make me a twenty-two year old aspiring writer? What’s the difference between a writer and a blogger? Do I need a degree in creative writing or journalism or any other program they offer before I can truly be a writer?

That’s where I’m stuck. I’m not sure what I am. I continue to wonder why I never went to school for creative things. Not that Intel and Russian aren’t “creative” so to say. K Dubs always said Intel was art. And perhaps it was what I wanted. And now… I feel like I’m back in high school, trying to figure out which college to go to, what I want to do with the rest of my life. I love writing. I would love to continue writing. Poetry, short stories, blogs, you name it. I love it.

So maybe writing is just a passion. A hobby. But maybe it’s a possibility down the road. My opinions and ideas will continue, with the overload of passion in each sentence I write. I feel free when I’m writing. I’m not held back. It’s almost as exhilarating as when I have a sunset, my Nikon, and an empty memory card. There are no boundaries when it comes to my keyboard or my camera.

And I know I’m only twenty-two. I have my entire life ahead of me. My possibilities are endless. I can do anything. But now the question is… Where do I go from here?