So I did a thing.
A big thing. A potentially not-so-good thing. A what-are-you-thinking thing.
A do-you-actually-use-your-brain-cells-to-acquire-the-goodness-you-deserve-in-life-or-do-you-simply-seek-to-self-sabotage-yourself-in-everything thing.
Officially, as of approximately eight hours ago, I am no longer a college student. I am now just a lump of still-somehow-sunburnt flesh who has a chance to change her exceedingly miserable life.
Maybe. We’ll see. In my mind, there are two conceivable outcomes to a decision of this sort:
I succeed and metamorphosize into a Me 5.0 that somehow has discovered her passions after tasting unexpectedly wild success during her brief hiatus (who also becomes the sole proprietor of the world’s most chiseled abs, the century’s thickest flowing hair, and the assiest of asses in the knowable universe because why not).
I fail and use what little money I have to stock up on canned beans and purchase a nice Serta mattress because I will be living and shitting in that thing until the day I graciously abandon this life for an even more intolerable one.
Or some third thing in the middle. But that’s no fun.
With all this being said, I shall continue to write content in this blog that contains nothing of value to a reader because I want to and that’s that. I can barely take care of myself: I am definitely not going to be able to take care of you and your Internet-scouring needs, too. If there even is a you. A yew. A ewe. Okay, for the rest of this blog post, I’m pretending to write for female sheep.
Right-o. Enough about ewe, back to me.
I need vibes. Some major vibery. Some pristine vibage to reviberate my way. What I intend to do over the course of two-thirds of 2018 is unprecedented for a person like myself. Admittedly, I am lazy and entitled. I expect things to work my way; when they don’t, I write really depressing poetry and abuse the vast reserve of affirmation cards available to me on the Internet so it feels like my life still retains some semblance of meaning and direction.
I am not sure if what I’m referring to is a unique concept created by myself. To me, vibes aren’t just something you feel: their aura must be encapsulated by an image or symbol of some sort. My ex-boyfriend and I used to do this for each other all of the time. For example, during one of his biology exams, I sent him an obnoxious stream of white-backgrounded plant images in the hopes that he might absorb their silent, planty wisdom through literal photosynthesis.
I think he got a B. Anyway,
ON TO THE VIBACIOUSNESS.
I vibe myself good health. Because I will be eating a lot of pizza to curb my sadness and I fully expect to construct a wall of fleshy insecurity that nobody can or dare penetrate.
I vibe myself a fervor for life. Even though I’m pretty sure Richard Simmons is still hiding in his Beverly Hills mansion, the man’s energy is unmatched. I want that. I want to wake up every morning revitalized by the possibilities of the now.
I vibe myself an absence of shittiness. The diarrhea life is not for me, thank you. To a certain degree, yes, encountering many a fecal situation is an inevitable part of life, but I would like to expose myself to as little shit as possible. And success. I vibe that, too. I want to feel like I have the capacity to purchase a gold-encrusted bidet one day.
I vibe myself friends. One of the lowliest things I think a person can do is to listen to budgie chirps on loop for an extended period of time. In a previous post, their little noises juxtaposed the sounds of cool, normal people mingling outside of my apartment door. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to converse with unintelligible bird garble anymore. I want to be connected and free.
I vibe myself Prince Charming. Yeah, yeah. I know. I shouldn’t focus on deriving fulfillment from the love and affection another human bean can bring me. I have to first learn to love myself before I can expect anybody to love me. Love only comes when you least expect to find it. Well, fuck that. I want to look at somebody the way Cinderella looks at her PC #macsarewhack. And I don’t think that makes me an illogical person for being open about that want.
Well. There we have it. I’m going to take a nap now. Wish me luck, all of ewe.
(And while my knowledge is sorely lacking when it comes to successfully maintaining a blog and the people who read my junk are far and few between, I just want to say that if you read this and find yourself in a particularly rough spot, I feel for you and I’m sending you my vibes).
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