I have a serious case of it. I haven’t gone out ONCE.
Let me rephrase. I have not enjoyed this apparent prime time in my life to its fullest by engaging in meaningful (and by meaningful, I mean fun, crazy, wild) moments that will forever stand out in my memory and in my old age make me look upon those moments with shining eyes and fond stories that I’d eagerly want to share with people who don’t really want to listen to it.
What I mean is, I haven’t done anything fun. It’s been AGES. I don’t know what’s up with me. Where did Sharon go? I have gone out for ONE movie this semester. I’m going to make up for lost time after my finals when I go to Halifax. I plan on slipping into a short phased new identity when I’m there. Goodbye boring, hellooo crazy!
In much less disappointing news though, I’m starting to feel a lot more comfortable in my skin. I’m moving in a direction I’ve started to appreciate, stopped caring about things and people that don’t matter, and started being a lot more of the kind of person I want to be. I’m still a little passive aggressive, but there’s still time for change. Sometimes when I think about my 17-year old self in my first year, I’m amazed at how just a few years can make you a completely different person.
And this feels right.
If I were at a karaoke bar,and if I ever
grew a pair of balls (turns out I’m better off with my own privates), to get up there and sing a song, I would pick Norah Jones – Those Sweet Words.
“We call someone a ‘pussy’ for being weak, even though the vagina contains incredibly strong muscles capable of pushing out human beings that weigh over three kilograms. When someone does something brave, we say they have ‘balls’, even though the testicles don’t seem to do much except hang around, produce sperm and get squeezed out the side of briefs as a gross party trick.”