contradictions.

It is cold and I’m inside wearing knit socks and waiting for night to fall so I can pour myself a glass of wine. School let out early and I’ve been home for many, many hours. I should clean. But I don’t want to. I so badly want to be the type of person who can’t stand to live in a mess. But really I just can’t stand to clean. And so the mess lives on.

It is 2017 and I want to reinvent myself and my life-- I know my life is full, but there is something about being unsure of which boxes to check when you self-identify that makes you want to throw away everything you know and just pick up somewhere, something new.

But I’m also afraid of change. Even though I can live with messes.

You see, now, don’t you.

Humans are walking contradictions and I’m actually quite fond of that fact. You don’t have to be one thing and I like that as you grow up and you can be as many messes of “things” and labels as you so desire. Being a contradiction can, of course, be freeing. But also confusing.

No change. Everything change. Clean. But I don’t think I can move. Wine?

I feel like I’ve been dancing on a wobbly stone in the middle of a creek for some time. That’s a strange visual. It may look like you’re tottering or falling at one moment and dancing voraciously the next. Contradictions.

I want blonde hair and I want black hair and you can’t have both. You can’t stay somewhere with the good job and the cute house and also go out and live new and fresh. You have to pick one-- I don’t want to choose. I want a package wrapped in ribbon on my door delivered straight from God telling me exactly what to do. Telling me exactly who I am. Telling me that I’ll be someone new, someday, too.

But I don’t have a package wrapped neatly. And I have no ending eloquence for this, my scrambled words. So quietly, I must listen. Wisely, I must stop overthinking-- just breathe in and out and and give and cry and write and live, live, live.

I’m going for the wine now.