This is going to be a ridiculously self-promoting and -aggrandizing post.
Are you ready?
Are you sure?
See, lately I've been really, really down on myself, for a lot of reasons. I think I can boil it down to a few simple, salient points:
1. I feel really isolated out here, and don't make friends easily.
2. I am stuck at a job I don't want to be doing, not the job I moved 2000 miles to do.
3. I am dating WAY MORE than I ever have before, and seem to have become this outlaw known as the One-Date Wonder, with a six-shooter that keeps all the boys from coming back for seconds.
Well, being down on myself is a drag, and today I am breaking up with that fucker. I am going to be UP on myself, which is new for me, so I apologize if it seems like I kinda suck at it. Wait. If you are sitting there reading this and thinking I suck at something, you are mean and I don't give a shit.
Okay. Taking a deep breath.
I am seriously cool, people. I've been sitting here wondering why the interesting guys I meet don't ever seem to be at all into me, and I'm thinking this is obviously my fault. Like, these guys shit gold and walk off the pages of GQ and are all movie-star-astronaut-nytimes-best-selling-authors and nobel prize winners too, and I'm this buck-toothed cat lady who starts clipping her toe nails at the dinner table. No. I am intriguing and talented, and I give pretty damn good conversation, and these guys are just too dumb to see it, obviously. I'm also a fucking geode, as I've mentioned previously: sort of difficult to read from the outside, often hard and rather impenetrable at first, but you take the time to chip away a bit at the exterior and I'm SPARKLY. Like a Twilight vampire, only way less lame. I am a sexy catch, too. I wear corsets, because I actually want to. I'm like Christina Hendricks, only cooler, because while she would be surrounded by entourage, I would actually talk to you.
This is me. Except on Thursdays, when I am amethyst.
So I haven't acheived all my dreams this very second. I did something I was terrified to do, left my life behind and moved to someplace I'd only seen in pictures, and I'm paying my bills like a fucking grown-up, people. And, maybe I'm not currently working as Ms. Colleen Atwood's assistant on the latest Tim Burton film, but I have completed four novels this year alone, and I'm not done yet. Maybe I'll just crank out another one this weekend, while I whip up an Edwardian ball gown and paint a masterpiece. Maybe I'll stay in and eat chocolate. But, even if I don't, it doesn't matter, because I TOTALLY COULD.
I know this post has been sort of crazy-pants, and I apologize if you are currently un-friending and un-following me right now. But, I've spend a lot of time lately refusing compliments and listening to mopey music, and I think this morning I sort of snapped and decided to celebrate me a little.