The Art of Writing, Aging, & Laziness

I tell myself all the time how utterly lazy I am, and how I don't write enough. Mostly, when I finally come home from work (usually after working unpaid overtime-usually my own decision), I just sit down in front of Netflix and binge-watch either an action-packed anime or a down-to-earth, touching romance/drama like When Calls the Heart or Call the Midwife.

I decided today (Easter) that I am going to use today as a more-realistic New Years Eve. I am not Catholic or Christian, so maybe the best way to celebrate today is to use it to review my New Years Resolutions, discuss how I let them drop, and write new ones I will actually follow. One is to write as much as I did as a kid. For inspiration, I decided to read some of my old diaries for guidelines from my young self.

And I found these three, consecutive gems:

Dear Journal (2/10/06),

I have no clue what to write. Nothing important has happened today. Bye.

Dear Journal (3/1/06),

I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. I love David. 

(Yes, I wrote that 29 times in my middle-school diary that day. Why 29? No idea. That's just when I stopped.)

Dear Journal (3/20/06),

There is no way I'll EVER finish this journal! 

Okay, so they weren't all gems. And maybe I do write better entries in my journal now.

Happy Easter.

Things I Do Instead of Being Productive

When I was an undergraduate, one of my writing professors had us all read a short story about a woman who would do careless things just to amuse her. One thing was buying a house and then wandering around in it, turning on lights, and going Hm, I have a house. It has stairs that go up and down to blank, bare rooms. I have a kitchen primarily not used for cooking. (I only imagine this was the exact dialogue in the woman's head because that's what I would think.)

Everyone in class thought that was ridiculous and unrelatable. Who would buy a house just because it amused them? Completely reckless!

So, here's what my life has become:

1. I got a promotion and instead of taking the time to consider how my life is progressing, where I wanted to go, and what I should start doing now to get there, I bought the most expensive apartment and new furniture that I could afford.
2. I made a late New Years' Resolution to start posting more regularly on my blog (we all see how that has gone, right?), and promptly ignored it.
3. I made a late New Years' Resolution to start spending an hour a day working on my literary journal, and promptly ignored it (as I am doing right now.)
4. I adopted a cat named Teddy one day while volunteering at the animal shelter because they ran out of things for me to do and said Hey, you can play with the cats in the cat room until your ride gets here. Then they learned not to let me do that anymore.
5. I bought Teddy Lupin (yes, Harry Potter) a scratching post that he promptly ignored (he takes after me.)
6. I did not do anymore wedding planning for two months and instead would go to work, walk the 10 minutes back to the apartment, and binge watch any anime on Netflix (in my defense, I'm having a half Great Gatsby / half anime wedding. This is called research. And spending all night in the same position on the couch, staring at the TV, forgetting about every single thing else I was supposed to do.)
7. I started seeing a new therapist because my first therapist, who diagnosed me with having trust issues, could never show up for our therapy appointments on time. Last time, she didn't show up at all. I wasn't even upset, I laughed. I'm still laughing (and a little bit of crying.)
8. I don't get paid overtime but sometimes I work 11 hour days (approximately 6:30am to 5:30pm with no lunch break), then reward myself by buying nice things I forget about. Like tickets to Mamma Mia's farewell tour, which was this past Wednesday, and I just did not remember to go.
9. Rented Good Morning, Vietnam finally and was actually "nice fiance" and helped my fiance with his paper for one of his history courses by watching the movie with him, telling him everything I thought was important about the plot and characters, and making him write it down word-for-word because I am, in my own words from that night, "A complete genius." This, of course, ended up being what we did instead of remembering to finally see my favorite musical live. 
10. Tried to start volunteering for our local LGBT and interreligious organizations to help out, and was completely blown off. I guess someone isn't "free labor material" anymore.
11. Walk around my apartment daily, turning on and off the lights, and going Hm, I have an apartment. It has stairs that go up and down to blank, bare rooms. I have a kitchen primarily not used for cooking. I use it to store more action figures and books.

Reasons I Can Never Be Jane Goodall

This is going to be an ongoing list to remind myself of all the reasons why, despite really wanting to, I can't do what Jane Goodall does.

I have always wanted to study animals, even before I enjoyed research and nonfiction. When I was in middle school, I was immediately struck by the idea what I, with no experience or training, should write the great book on manatees. I'm sure my reasoning for being interested in manatees had something to do with their connection to mermaids. I didn't even like, or tolerate, nonfiction at the time, but I wanted to research manatees and collect all that research in one book, but I never did.

In the end, I became a business major.

Here is my list of reasons why I can't be similar to Jane Goodall (yes, I know she studied chimpanzees not manatees, but after manatees I became very interested in Jane Goodall after becoming very interested in Tarzan):

1. Reading does not make you an expert or give you the skills you need (for the most part.)
2. I hate bugs. I scream when I see a tiny ant on my bed.
3. I become too attached to the smallest bugs. When I kill one and flush it down the toilet, I am immediately coated in grief, regret, and fear for the fate of my soul. It usually ends with me whispering a prayer for the bug's soul and it's family (and I'm not religious.)
4. I become very irritable in heat.
5. I become very irritable walking long distances.
6. I become very irritable without proper feminine products or toilet paper or hand soap.
7. Sometimes, I'm afraid of dogs. On leashes. And also my own pet dogs that I've had since childhood. How would I handle a chimp or whale?

Short Post on My Mom Picking Up My Birth Control

I live in a city that doesn't have the mass transportation New York has, which is problematic when you have no peripheral vision, anxiety issues, and you're just not tall enough to see over the dashboard.

So, my mom has to pick some stuff up for me, like birth control. No big deal, or so I thought until my mom told me that she felt weird picking it up the other day.

Me:  Why?

Mom: Well, the guy was younger, like 21, and he asked me if I knew that insurance didn't cover your prescription.

Me: Yeah?

Mom:  And I told him that I know. I was about to leave, but then I added that my daughter doesn't do anything that isn't expensive. Then I went home and thought about what I said. . . .

Me:  Thanks, Mom.

For making me sound a little like a whore.

Tales From a Sugar Mama

It's a little ridiculous that I consider myself financially secure. I touched on this earlier when I mentioned to you (my readers) that I have a $1,800 mono-printing piece of art I call Natalie hanging in my childhood bedroom. In my parent's house. Where I still live.

If I can afford a $1,800 piece of art, you may be wondering why I still live with my parents? Good question, audience! Well, the answer is simple:  when I was nine, I had encephalitis, had two seizures, and lost my peripheral vision. No driving for me.

Of course, my doctors didn't bother to find this out when I was nine. For years, my eye doctors (I went to two different providers regularly in my mom's failed attempt to find out what was wrong with my eyes) marveled at the oddly pale backs of my eyes, then did nothing. No tests. No guesses. Just a lot of Hm, that's weird, but she can still see, right? Then I guess she is okay! If her eyesight starts going, then we will look into it.  It wasn't until Obamacare forced my eye care center to give their patients routine tests that it was discovered. The test ran all while the eye technician (or whatever she is called in eye-doctor language) complained loudly to me about Obamacare and the unnecessary testing and costs and time and paperwork (my god, the mountains of paperwork!) it was causing her.

Then the eye results came back and she shut-up about Obamacare.

So, I don't drive, so I continue to live at home where I have to rely on others for awhile. This allows me to save up a lot of money, which I spend ... erratically, to say the least. A really cute $12 tank top at Target? Hm, I don't know if I need this. . . . A trip for two to Disney World? Fuck yeah! Fast food three times a week? Hm, do I need food? Really? But I'm so little.

Even though I put a lot of thought into what I spend money on (sometimes), somehow I became my boyfriend's Sugar Mama. Trip to Milwaukee for Summerfest, trip to Disney World for a week, action figures, food, movie tickets, etc. . . . Even though Boyfriend would love to pay for stuff, he knows he can't, and I think he is finally comfortable with how much I spend on us.

Too comfortable.

—Boyfriend and I listening to Meghan Trainor's new song. The lines I never pay for my drinks. My entourage behind me. come through his car's radio—

Boyfriend: I never pay for my drinks either. —holds up a bottle of soda I just bought him to keep him hydrated on the way back from Summerfest, where I paid for our hotel stay—

I spoil him, and I don't know why.

Maybe because of his resemblance to Shaggy from Scooby Doo, representing simpler times where I would also blow my allowance on many things.

Thoughts From A Girl With OCD

I have had OCD (obsessive violent and/or sexual thoughts) my whole life. Probably even before I hit puberty. Like most OCD-sufferers, I just thought I was evil reincarnated.

Now that I know what it is, finally at the age of 23, I accept that I'm not evil reincarnated (how narcissistic of little kid me to think that I was the most evil, villainous thing there was!)

However, that does not mean the struggle has completely gone away. . . .

Common OCD Thoughts When Meeting A New Male Client:

Boss: Jordyn, I would like you to meet Mr. Client. Mr. Client needs a new website.

—Mr. Client holds out his hand in greeting—

Mr. Client: Pleased to meet you!

Me: Pleased to meet you too.

—Sudden image of my kneeling down and sucking his dick enters my mind while we shake hands—

Boss: —unaware— Please sit so we can get started.

Mr. Client: Great, well, as you know, I am a family man, and I really want my clients to get a sense of that on my website.

Me: Okay. —takes notes—

My thoughts: Images spread of me pulling down my pants, sitting on his lap, and riding him.

I look to Boss, convinced he can read my mind. Finally, he looks back and smiles.

Oh no, he CAN read my mind!

I look at Mr. Client, who is talking to Boss, and giving me a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Oh no, he can read my mind too! I better stop thinking!

Mr. Client: Website, blah blah blah, family, blah blah blah, products and such.

My thoughts: Trying to force the image of his old, wrinkly dick in my mouth out of my head. Image only grows stronger. Image Me seems to be enjoying it, and Image Client is not.

Boss: I think we got a lot of good information today. Jordyn, what do you think?

Me: —looks down at jumbled, nonsense notes— Yes, I agree!

I reach over to shake Mr. Client's hand, the picture of his cock finally out of my mind. I am thinking clearly again.

Me: It was great meeting you. I will send you the first design once it is finished.

Mr. Client: Great! It was nice to meet you too.

Mr. Client gives me a friendly smile again and I think—He DID read my mind!

The End.

Why I Can't Ever Live Alone

Most graduates can't wait to live alone. I just realized that I never can.

Reasons Why I Am Too Immature to Live Alone

1. Tornado Warnings Don't Scare Me

I live in Peoria, and so far (until recently) a tornado had never come close to my house. We get warnings all the time in spring, but after years of my parents pulling me downstairs to take shelter in my footy pajamas, I realized that none of the tornadoes ever hit us. Just because they hadn't hit us yet. Because I am smart.

So, a few weeks ago when a tornado came very close, I tried switching the channels to get away from the pesky weatherman pulling an all-nighter to save my neighborhood. When my father demanded I finally come downstairs, I grabbed my laptop. And the novel I was reading. And some water. And toilet paper, for after I drank the water. And then I finally decided I had enough necessities to be safe and sound.

My brother had immediately ran downstairs and was shaking. His hand looked like it was going to fly off his arm any moment.

"Stop it," I had said while I tried to find a station that worked, but my parents yanked the remote away to watch the dedicated weatherman.

2. I Would Never Be Able to Shower

After the tornado, unfazed even though this one almost came to our street, I was the only one that stayed up past midnight. Then I realized that I didn't want to shower in the morning.

I made the adult, reasonable decision to shower now so I wouldn't have to shower in the morning. So I got a towel my mom will wash, pajamas my mother had washed, and my retainer for after the shower.

I took off my clothes, turned on the hot water, and closed the shower behind me. And realized that this was how every horror movie trailer starts.

NOTE, I said trailer. Because I'm too scared to watch the entire horror film. And instead just watch the trailers. While covering my ears. And shutting my eyes. And praying (yet not religious) until the trailer is over so I could finish my Parks and Rec.

Again, I made another reasonable decision to not close the shower behind me, and instead soak the floor so I could observe if any spirit or murderer crept in. Because seeing the intrusion could totally help my naked 90-pound body stop a spirit or murderer from killing me.

Not only am I not smart enough to realize that I could never, ever stop my own death, but I would drown my bathroom. And I can't swim.

Think about it.

3. Too Awkward to Exist

I work at a marketing company where I sometimes walk through websites with my clients. One client has a YouTube video on their home page, and they were wondering about the random video suggestions at the end of the video.

And I forgot that I was logged into my work email, so the YouTube channel I was connected to would be the one automatically created for my work email. And I forgot about all the VH1 100 Best Songs of the 90s videos I had been watching.

So the clients and I were skipping through the video on their home page and we came across four suggestions. Two of them were related to their business. One was some video game YouTube video because my boyfriend uses my laptop to watch his nerd things.

And the last one, in the upper right corner, was "I Touch Myself" by the Divinyls.

The two choices were clear: Confess that these were my personal recommendations, or think that a video with a thumbnail of a girl lying on a bed was a random suggestion that would come up for all their users. Even for children and the elderly.

And I spent the next few minutes telling them that "I Touch Myself" was actually a song, and that I just listened to a lot of 90s songs. I'm still not sure they believed me, but the website is launched so I don't have to see them again, so whatever.

When they left, I immediately deleted all of my recommendations on my work email YouTube channel. Especially the Britney Spears ones. I think if that suggestion had been a Britney Spears video, I would have been more embarrassed.

Because I am so un-adult that I think a well-known pop song would be more embarrassing then a possible porn video.

Short Blog on How Selfless My Boyfriend Is, & How Selfish I Am that I Can't Even Lie to Him About What I Would Do if I Won the Illinois Lottery Jackpot, & this Title is Longer than the Post

My boyfriend:  If I won, I think I would give each of my friends one million dollars.

Me:  That's stupid, don't do that.

My boyfriend:  Why not?

Me:  Because it's stupid.

My boyfriend:  Why would I ever need more than $10 million dollars in my life?

Me:  No, that's still stupid.

My boyfriend:  I would pay off all my student loans, and your loans too! Then we can both be   debt-free.

Me:  Aw, that's really sweet, thank you. You should buy a ticket now.

My boyfriend:  What would you do if you won that much money?

Me:  I would pay off my student loans, too.

My boyfriend:  What about me? I would pay off your loans!

Me:  I would pay off...my sister's loans. . . .