At approximately this time last year I was in Vegas. I went with my friend Iris. She's got great taste and has been to Vegas about a billion times and loves it. If she suggests something, it's usually a good idea to do it because it's going to be fun. Before our trip, I was quite sure I was much too unique and original to enjoy a vacay so common as 4 days and 3 nights in Sin City. Wrong. It was awesome. Top 3 memories of my life.
For whatever stupid reason, it's 7am on a Sunday morning and I've been awake for two hours.
I'm stuck awake thinking about school. Stupid school. No, scratch that, I love school, it's chemistry that I hate. After graduating from high school 8 years ago, I'm finally now going to university to complete prerequisite courses for dental hygiene. I hated chemistry in high school and I hate it just as much now. I don’t remember the basics from chem. 30, and I’m already embarrassingly behind now that I'm attempting chem at a higher level. I’m meeting tutors this week, but the light at the end of Heisenberg and Schroedinger’s tunnel is getting really dim. If I don't pass chem 101 this semester, I don't get into hygiene. Period. I don't even have a chance at applying for hygiene.
At this time last year, while looking out floor to ceiling Wynndows I wanted to start writing and was strongly considering taking a PR course. Then I was going to move to Vancouver and walk by the ocean and hike on the weekends.
Then I met a boy. He's the funnest person I know. He's also 6'4" and has really amazing biceps. He thinks I'm pretty and funny. He insists on carrying the grocery basket, but not until it gets heavy because he knows I like feeling independent. He's a fucking catch and a half. He makes me want to do important things with my life.
I keep thinking about my trip Vegas because I worry I’ll never have that feeling again now that I’m in love- that feeling of freedom and excitement of unknown adventures and the newness and contentment of finally, after 25 years, feeling confident and comfortable in my own skin. I didn't feel like a kid anymore. I felt like an adult.
When you’re in love you have to do things like miss people and become a dental hygienist. When you’re in love you don’t write blogs about getting the clap from boys who’ve been to prison or finally humping a boy who speaks Russian, only to have him cry in your bed afterwards. You don’t write blogs about going on a date with a cross dresser, or about the Kiwi tattooist who performed cunninglus on the mussels he had for dinner while you made help-me eyes at the waiter until he wordlessly brought the check.
Dental hygiene would be a solid choice. An enjoyable choice, for the most part. Definitely a profitable one. But a stimulating one? A fulfilling one? Meh.
I was going to start a blog last year in an attempt to improve my writing. Then I put it off because I was scared of sucking at something. But since I think I crave something more creative than scraping plaque off teeth, I’m finally going to start this fucking blog.
Uuuuuuhhhhhh. That felt amazing.