A poem. Advertisements
These days I’ve been listening to Spotify radio stations of Andy Grammar’s Good To Be Alive, John Legend’s Everybody Knows, and Ella Henderson’s Ghost. Twenty sixteen started out with breaking the one hundred thirty pound average weight (plus minus five, it settles on one twenty nine), relearning the novelty of gliding on ice, and feeling like the cool new kid that everybody wanted to get to know. It was clear and beautiful, like sunlit snowy days, and going to work feeling good about your clear, dewy skin. Keith Urban’s Somebody Like You. Buzzing, light energy. But just around the corner was a sharp drop, and I fell. Predictably, I’m binge eating while watching Family Guy up to two in the morning. It’s been a terrible past few days, with the last straw being a phone call that was a welcome reality check, but emotionally exhausting (too exhausting) after a long day at work and class. I’m just tired these days, and needing to crawl into a shell and simply, be.
Happy 2016, all. At last, I’ve evolved past the Sheldon (from Big Bang Theory Season 1) mitosis (as reproduction) phase into being more human, and maybe even more of a woman. Another shade from the spectrum of human emotion unlocked. What happened is that within the past days, I have joined those plagued by unrequited like. Not love, but like, and even if it’s lighter and not serious, it’s bothersome.