Think Less, Live More


Cosmetology school is hard. Not “bachelors in psychology” hard, not “this statistics class is so confusing” hard, not “I live in India and have had E. coli for 3 weeks” hard, but it’s hard. It’s a different form of learning and living.

I don’t always want to touch people. A lot of times, my anxiety is through the roof and hearing a thousand blow driers doesn’t exactly help. Sometimes clients are rude, ungrateful, weird… Sometimes I don’t want to give a hand massage to a total stranger. Sometimes I think I never want to give another haircut again in my entire life.

But I try to remember that every moment is temporary, so I can choose which ones I hold on to. I can constantly think about the client who was rude to me after I gave her the raddest highlights ever, or I can think about the client who squealed and hugged me after I colored her hair cherry red and gave her a cute bob. I remember my nice clients; they come back to me, and they’re excited to see me and chat. I don’t need to hold on to the bad experiences, because they’re just memories…neither of us wants to see the other again.

I’m lucky to have some amazing friends, both at school and in other parts of my life, who give amazing advice. They remind me that I’m new at this, so nothing will be perfect. They remind me it’s totally normal to be scared, because if I wasn’t terrified I probably wouldn’t try very hard. They tell me I’m gonna be a badass stylist someday (and they’re right). They tell me they’re scared too. They say, “Think less. Live more.”

Analyzing the unknown is futile. There are too many possibilities to predict what could happen, and it would be a waste of my life to even try. So every day, I’ll work harder to just live. I’ll prepare myself the best I can, but the rest is out of my hands.

This might be tricky, but I’m gonna try it out.

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Beauty School (Dropout)


I should not be awake. I also shouldn’t be sick and full of snot and coughing like a choking dog, but such is life. 

I started cosmetology school yesterday. Surprise! I didn’t tell y’all…possibly because I haven’t posted in like 4 months because I’m a failure working gal and got busy getting my life in order. 

Buuuut anyway, I had my first day of class yesterday, which consisted of:

1. Going through my kit (it was like a stressful Christmas morning involving way too many different curling irons and sharp objects that I will no doubt be impaling myself with at some point in the near future)

2. Getting my hair done by an older student (who, as I walked up to her, declared, “I’m gonna give you an Afro” and the rest was history) and subsequently missing my entire lunch hour because she got so into it. I shoved a scone in my face real quick, guys, don’t worry

3. Logging into a million different programs while trying to forget that there were mannequin heads in my kit that could spontaneously come to life and eat my face while looking at me with their dead eyes

4. Walking to my car in the pouring rain as my “Afro” deflated, only to discover that my battery was dead

5. Waiting for AAA while shoving trail mix in my face because I was starving and had a cold

So let’s hope day two is a little less insane! But I’m having fun so far :) This is a really exciting step in my life and it’ll be really interesting to see where it leads!

Summer Vacations Are Over


I just realized I’ll never have three solid months off for the summer ever again. And if we’re being totally honest, I’m not that sad about that. I never really loved summer vacation.

I grew up in a pretty rural area, but it wasn’t so rural that everyone else lived in a rural area….if that makes sense… Basically, I lived on 8.5 acres and my neighbors lived far away, but just a couple miles down the hill was a large development where tons of people lived pretty close to one another. We all went to school together, but I didn’t live close enough to them to spend hours upon hours every day making friends. I was a little bit of an outsider. While they all walked to each other’s houses every day in the summer, I stayed home with my sister and played in the yard, or did work in the little orchard we had, or made up stories by myself. My parents worked a lot, though they definitely did make efforts for me to have play dates with the other kids. It just wasn’t the same as living ten feet away from your best friend like all of the other kids did.

So my childhood was a little different from most kids’. I never minded much when I was little, because I didn’t realize there was an alternative. It helped me learn to entertain myself, and I got really comfortable being alone with my thoughts, which I think is super important and a little rare these days. I transferred to a high school in town when I was 14, and the same thing happened — I didn’t live near any of my friends, wasn’t able to just drop by. I loved high school and was really happy, so this wasn’t much of an issue, it was just different. My house was never the meeting place, because my house involved a 20 minute drive out of town.

Sometimes I drive through neighborhoods and see all the kids riding their bikes together, or walking to a corner mart, or just playing outside on someone’s lawn. I don’t know if I wish I’d had that childhood, really. It would’ve been nice to be able to be more social if I’d wanted, to have the typical high school experience you see in the movies where the best friend drops by all the time. But honestly, I’d be a different person. Those sorts of experiences change and shape you in ways we never really expect, so I don’t know who I’d be today. I’m sure I’d be lovely, but I happen to enjoy myself at the moment and I’m not terribly willing to change that.

So I didn’t care much for summer vacation, because summer vacation meant a lot of time alone. I’ll bet if I had those three months now I could find some really awesome things to do with some pretty awesome people, but I’m so excited to start my new job and make friends in this new city that there’s little that could make me want three months off of school or work.

It’s nice to be excited like this.

Tummy Trouble


Warning: Diarrhea talk below.

It’s hard to love this place when it’s essentially eating your stomach. I’ve been having a pretty rough time for the last 36 hours, mostly sleeping and laying in my room, running to the bathroom every couple hours. But today is the first day of classes, so we walked 3 kilometers (about 45 minutes) to school this morning and I basically wanted to pass out on the side of the road. Diarrhea tummy and heat don’t really mix too well.

I don’t know how people here deal with the stomach flu or other things that make your stomach unsettled, because the food here isn’t really soothing for my nausea. I’m sure they have soups of some kind, but I had a hard time even venturing out of my apartment yesterday for fear of needing a bathroom and not being able to find one.

Lipton boxed chicken noodle soup has definitely saved me, so I’m not about to keel over from lack of nourishment, and I brought some Gatorade so at least I won’t die here! (It’s not really that bad, I just like being dramatic.)

Anyway, today should be exciting to say the least. Wish me luck!

I Have a Few Issues With Bathrooms


Bathrooms should be sanctuaries. Sanctuaries where we poo. But lately I’ve been noticing a lot of issues with these supposed “tranquil” areas.

1. Why does the bathroom stall door open inward? Because when I’m on campus, wearing a backpack and a huge coat (it hath snowed, everyone), I already barely fit in the stall while the door’s closed. But then, upon attempting to leave the stall, I’m faced with a conundrum: how? How do I leave? I try to pull the door open and accidentally hit myself in the face! Now not only am I stuck in a poo “sanctuary” but I’m bleeding profusely from my schnoz and am possibly concussed. And then there’s always the possibility of an accidental falling-in-the-toilet situation. Which would just be unfortunate.
Someone needs to remedy this. I’m lookin’ at you, engineers.

2. What’s with those nonsense faucets that only spew water for about 2 seconds? You know, the ones where you lather up and then push a button with the back of your soapy hand, only to have a momentary spritz of water before the water stops. Those faucets are teases. “Oh, you want water? Sure, have some water. Nice, warm water to help you sanitize your icky hands…oh just kidding. I’ve run out. PUSH ME AGAIN.” Again. Engineers, you’re half-assin’ it.

3. Nothing you touch is sanitary. Ever. How can I exit the poo sanctuary in peace when the whole time I’m dodging bacteria like a germaphobic kangaroo? Those minxy faucets clearly are disease ridden, judging by the amount of times everyone has to punch them to get more than a tablespoon out. And the doors always have handles and open inward (both on the stalls and upon exiting the bathroom). I don’t want to touch a door handle after I’ve just washed my hands, because lord knows I’m in the minority when it comes to sanitizing my mitts after pottying. I’ve seen so many people leave that sanctuary uncleansed. Ew.

Basically, someone needs to do something about this, but it can’t be me. I’m too emotionally involved, and that would just lead to nonsense, like adding zen gardens into every toilet and having a toilet attendant who compliments you on your hair before you leave. Somebody. Do. Something.

Rain, Rain, You Can Stay


Rain makes me write poetry. Well, more specifically my professor makes me write poetry, but rain definitely helps me get into the mood. On a semi-related note, I already misplaced my brand new copy of The Complete Works of Sylvia Plath. Way to go, Caps. Clean your room.

Anyway, we were given an assignment in class to write a poem with a bunch of requirements (I’ll spare you, but I’ll post the poem below. It’s a rough draft so don’t you dare get sassy).

This week has been good because poetry.

 

OCEAN

This body, free and cold
has the arms of a goddess
who softly abducts shells, kidnaps crabs and
molds motes around castles in the sand.

Quietly sloshing at the surface, licking toes,
she seduces young couples
who sneak to the cliffs and kiss from here to eternity.

Diving, bubbling, shimmering,
a siren stealing treasure chests from sunken ships.
Her fingertips
like tiny tentacles
graze a sailor’s chest
and pull him
down
her song fading to silence as water replaces air.

She looks like peace.
Yawning, she captures, entrances, drawing all to her feet
promising darkness and serenity, yet
forgetting to mention the loneliness of her depth.

So we bob along, and some disappear,
tiny toys in her vastness.

The Truth About Anxiety


There’s only so long you can take anxiety before it makes you loathe everything around you (and everything about yourself). Because there’s only so long you can beat a dog before it bites back. But where do you direct the anger you feel toward anxiety? Who do you bite? All the anxiety, everything that makes you hurt, seems to be coming from inside you. And it starts to eat at your insides, causing you to want to rip them out, throw them across the room, and scream. Imagine that: ripping your guts out and just chucking them 10 feet, seeing them splat against the wall. Imagine that actually being satisfying. That’s what anxiety does. Even though that image is disgusting, it can be preferable to letting that horrible, clawing feeling stay inside you. 

Or there are the times when you feel guilty for feeling sorry for yourself at all. You don’t have cancer, you’re not really going to die, and a lot of people don’t even think anxiety is real. With everyone doubting you, with you doubting yourself, it’s hard to feel sympathy for yourself. When you ask yourself Is it okay that I feel this way? Is it okay to cry because I want it to stop? Is it okay that I don’t want anyone with anxiety to sympathize with me? Because why the hell would you want to commiserate with some other poor sap who also hyperventilates in the middle of the night when you can’t even “commiserate” with yourself? Odds are, you see yourself as weak for letting the anxiety get to you in the first place, so you’ll likely not want to blabber about it to others.

Sure, you say you’re open about it. You tell people you have an anxiety/panic disorder, but you’re so cavalier about it. “Yeah, I get really anxious. I have panic attacks. They’re scary.” But you never go into the heartbreaking/gut wrenching details. “I used to think I was going insane” or “I automatically think I’m unsuited to be a parent whenever I have an attack.” Because talking about attacks, and what they do to you, terrifies other people. No one likes a psycho.

Attacks. What a way to put it. Accurate, yes. Possibly dramatic? Sure. But not really. Everything you’ve ever hated throws itself against your heart at once. Every unknown that ever scared you jumps out of the bushes again. Every bad memory, no matter how deeply buried, troubles you once more.

But it’s all you, all inside you. And unless you rip your guts out and sling them across a goddamned room, you don’t know how to make it go away.

Every single person in the world needs to understand this, because I’m sick of hiding myself to everyone else. Sick of having to pretend that everything is fine, sick of skulking off into a dark place so I can flip out in solitude. Not that I’d want to have another panic attack in public, because that’s more traumatizing than anything else I’ve experienced. But I don’t want to feel like it’s this big secret, like I’m some monster that comes out at night. It doesn’t mean I can’t function in normal society, it just means that sometimes I can’t function within my own head. 

When nobody else understands this, or maybe they even act like you’re being dramatic and lying to yourself, it’s hard to get better. So I’m getting better through therapy, because psychologists understand. 

There’s no one to blame for the way that my brain works, and that’s including me. I am not to blame, because I do not do this on purpose. So I guess this is sort of an education session for y’all: People with these problems aren’t being dramatic, and they deserve support, not skepticism. 

So go out and accept everyone, my little muffins! I know how wonderful you all are, and you give me support on a daily basis. Go do good for everyone else. 

xo

I Got Married at a Party


With this ring, I thee...see ya.

With this ring, I thee…see ya.

Once, I was married for about three seconds. Well, okay, that’s a lie, but it felt that way.

I should start by saying that I don’t really go to parties, because:

1. Drinking is illegal for me, as I’m only 19 and in the U.S. you have to be 21. Which I personally think is a mistake, since everyone in college wants to drink and will find a way to do it whether it’s legal or not, but that’s beside the point.

2. Most parties in college consist of a lot of alcohol consumed by a lot of people.

3. See number 1.

So I don’t tend to go out to parties much, but about two months ago I did, (and didn’t drink, Mom!) and was having a lovely time dancing on my own (because boys are afraid of my sick moves) when my friend noticed a guy standing behind me, staring at me. She thought this meant that he wanted to dance, but I personally thought it was because he was out of his mind on a whole lot of illegal substances which could potentially have put him in the hospital. But at this point, he was at least semi-responsive and looking at me, and somehow managed to ask me if I’d like to dance. I said yes, mainly because I am an awkward monkey and don’t know how to talk to someone whose blood is half alcohol and half weed.

We had been dancing for about 3 seconds when he rubbed my butt. With his hand. In a very…rubby…way. And then he removed his hand from my trouser area (thank goodness) and held my hand. Really strongly, in an “I am now dating you” sort of way. I know this sounds so ridiculous, but I think it was one of the nicest hand-holding experiences I’ve had, creepy guy/butt rub aside. And then he looked deep into my eyes, and might’ve continued to my soul had he not been so wasted that his gaze shifted to my ear.

The point is, I got a butt rub, hand hold, and soul-searching gaze all in about 10 seconds before he walked away, at which point I busted out laughing for about a year. Because really, I could’ve been creeped out or offended, but this sort of thing would only happen to me. My friends? Would’ve danced with a normal fellow and had nice conversation. Me? Butt rub hand hold all the way.

Oh, and did I mention that I sat about 10 feet away from him in my class two days later? Yeah. I see him all the time. Best part? He doesn’t remember. But I do. I remember. And he is my husband. My creepy, slightly rapey husband.

Wink.

I’m Here!


So I transferred colleges. The place where I was before was…well…imagine Edward Cullen’s favorite climate, add another bucket of rain, and you’ve got it. I transferred to a college closer to home. Orientation started today, the semester starts on Monday, and I’ve already learned a few things:

1. They’re obsessed with cheese here.

2. We all wear the same shirt apparently.

3. The mascot’s tail kinda drags on the ground. It’s pretty sad. But he’s really happy, so I guess it’s not sad?

4. I have a terrible sense of direction and have no idea where I am on campus. I could be on the moon for all I know.

5. Then I realized that I now live in a tiny town and if I get lost all I have to do is take a left at Bessie the Cow.

6. The hallway on my residence hall floor smells and echoes like a pool. But I don’t care.

7. I’m great at pantomimes and icebreakers. Hooray! I could pass for a third grader!

8. There’s sunlight here.

9. I cannot handle that they haven’t had us register yet. I have therefore come to the conclusion that I am easily stressed, very tense, and am definitely going to have blood pressure problems when I’m older.

10. I have too much stuff.

Happy late new years, by the way. I’m a huge ninnymuggins and have been planning a different post for about a week but apparently don’t have the drive to finish it. Or maybe it’s just because I just spent that week packing everything I care about into boxes.

Anyway, much love from my new school. Hopefully Edward doesn’t follow me here.

Welcome!


There’s a thong hanging on a tree outside my dorm room.

The other night we had a welcoming convocation and I’m pretty sure a goat was sacrificed…

One of my professors clears his throat after every other word.

We had a Princess Diaries movie night the other night. It was kinda awesome. And it paralleled my life pretty closely…

I’ve eaten an insane amount of cookies. This place ALWAYS has cookies.

I’m forming calves of steel since my dorm is on a freaking mountain. It’s like San Francisco here.

I saw a white man wearing authentic Japanese garb in the library last night.

I saw (and heard) another man learning some Asian language on the computer with headphones at the library. It went like this: silence, silence, silence, HINGHANGYONG silence silence…YAAAAAAAAAAAANG.
Also, that’s not what I think all Asian languages sound like, but seriously…that’s what he said.

The girl next to me in astronomy this morning spelled it “astronomey.” A guy was combing his hair in that class, and someone near me smelled a little of stale potato chips.

Apparently guys think the best way to get you to hang out with them at night is by yelling their room number out their window as you walk past.

One of the guys in my Shakespeare class has his nose pierced, and it looks surprisingly good.

My roommate has informed me that I talk in my sleep. And I’m slightly profane…

I’ve also learned that I’m completely insane compared to 90% of people on campus.

I will never escape the campus Christian fellowship.

Someone was wearing fangs the other day.

This place is really freaking muggy. I swear to God my hair will never dry.

RA Wyatt is STOKED! And he has a soul patch.

One of my friends has a professor with a last name quite similar to Farafart.

One of the girls I sat next to at dinner last night was wearing mom jeans and laughed really loudly at everything I said. But really, who can blame her? I’m awesome. And so was she.

I learned in linguistics that bumblebees do a dance to tell each other where the nectar is. I told my boyfriend and he said he learned that in elementary school.

The bathrooms here have stuff like “Do lesbian relationships ever really last?” written on the stalls. And one featured Fleetwood Mac lyrics.

I think I’m gonna like it here.