unpoetic

Many of the posts I read appear to be the product of carefully worded prose, in very dramatically phrased verbage.

Yep, not gonna do that. And if I do it's unintentional. Maybe it's just part of my style... but I definitely do not write like that and it's not in my plan. So for searchers of pretty words, sorry- you're reading the wrong blog.

I was sitting at work yesterday, whining internally about how much I hated my present circumstances, and then said, "Shut up, Maren. Enough with the victim mentality." So I did. And the second half of work was tolerable.

It's birthday week. Therefore, I've been buying myself stuff every day. It's usually been coffee (so not swaying terribly from the norm), but I'm thinking today will be some teriyaki lunch and potentially some new clothes. You can't go out for birthday dinner without new clothes. I mean, come on.

I've taught Bekah to recognize platform shoes! I'm getting Jen and Bekah on the fashion kick.

Today I'm wearing my cashmere sweater with a perfectly matching shirt underneath (which, by the way, took about 3 months of constant searching to find). But it feels a little '90s and a little Liz Lemon, which makes me feel a little lesbian. Damn you, 30 Rock. Make those of us wearing v-neck sweaters with shirts underneath feel un-feminine.

Saturday marks 25. TWENTY FIVE. And yeah, I KNOW everybody says it's young and it's normal to be a little freaked out and it's normal not to have the perfect career and a loft and a husband. I don't really care that it's socially acceptable. I still don't like it. It's like telling someone with a huge nose that a lot of people have huge noses and they shouldn't be concerned or feel weird. It still feels weird to them. Twenty five still feels weird to me.

I've been at this job exactly two years. That's so strange. I'm considering writing my book about my occasionally absurd work experiences, mixed with the rest of my occasionally absurd life experiences. My typewriter still isn't exactly working, so I have a good excuse not to write it for now.

I have a fifteen page paper due in like 3 weeks for school, as well as a power point and a final. BLURG BLURG BLURG. When the hell am I going to get all this done? I genuinely have no freaking idea and it's freaking me out.

I had this bizarre notion that night school would be simple. Now I laugh at that train of thought. I definitely, definitely didn't know what I was about to tackle.

Welp, enough with the rambling. I officially proclaim a Happy Birthday to Me and a wtf to my life. And maybe they'll collide and it'll all work out. We'll see.