Perhaps it's the fact that for 18 years of my life fall brought with it newly sharpened pencils, fresh pages of Five Star notebooks, and the highly anticipated "first day back to school" outfit that had been very carefully debated, chosen, and friend approved during the week prior. This outfit alone was a personal statement to everyone in school that you were cooler, hotter, and WAY more mature than you were just two and a half short months ago. It was a representation of how far you had come and just how far you wanted to go in terms of the adolescent social ladder of success which, let's face it, for a lot of us was top priority back then.
Now here I sit, two years after my schooling has been complete. Sipping my black coffee, the chill of fall creeping in through the screen from my window. I should be loving this. I usually adore the fall. My birthday is in the fall. Thanksgiving is in the fall, the holiday devoted to stuffing our faces (and giving thanks and stuff). Pumpkin pie, pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin munchkins, pumpkin scented candles, pumpkin french toast (is there anything that hasn't been done with pumpkin?).
Yet I can't help but yearn for the start of another school year. Not because I miss schooling really, but because I miss that feeling of getting a fresh start. A redo. Fall used to signify a new beginning...and nowadays I can't help but feel stale. A new year in my life (my birthday remember?) is approaching and I'm not really sure what I've done in the past 24 years of my life. And I'm not really sure what I want to do with the next 20. I was hoping my poor life choices would cut me off at like 30 and then I wouldn't have to worry about the rest.
I knew this would be a problem two years ago when I graduated with my basically useless degree in what I like to refer to as imagination (Musical Theatre) and was handed the reigns of my soon-to-be rest of my life. From here on out I was going to be held wholly responsible for whatever happened in the years to come. Would I be famous? Would I be broke? Would I be that crazy homeless person on the 6 train reeking of piss and singing "Under the Boardwalk" deliciously off key ? Would I be the 50 year old, overly enthusiastic, barista at the Starbucks who is WAY TOO HAPPY for 6am?
Like, didn't anyone KNOW me? I am, at my core, reckless, eccentric, over analytical, afraid of commitment, and just a big ol' HOT (hot being the key word) mess. Y'all want me to be responsible for my LIFE? I didn't even like being responsible for my roommates plants when she was away on vacation this month.
In the two years since graduation I have made a beautiful, wondrous, ABC Family worthy life for myself. I have drained my bank account, traveled the world, fallen in love with strangers, almost killed myself with alcohol, raged my face off, ingested a multitude of substances (separately and all at once). I have fucked my finances, my morals, my ethics, social norms, and a few strangers I met on OKC.
Yet every fall I start to get the sense that my life is going nowhere and I should, in fact, start picking my shit up off the floor and getting it together.
So with this new blog I would like to grant myself a new beginning. I have fallen off the metaphorical horse a multitude of times and to be quite honest my ass is fucking sore and I'm over having to hop back on. But hop I must because otherwise I'm just going to "hands up pants down" this life and become one of those crazy people who abandon life and society as we know it and just shack up in some abandoned house in the woods for eternity. Like Thoreau.
Or hurl my body off the George Washington bridge because this life has no meaning or purpose.
I invite you now, dear reader, to follow me on my developmental journey of twenty-something. Lost and confused and desperately seeking a clue as to what the hell I want to be doing with this life I have been so recklessly cast to care for.
It will be filled with lots of question marks, commas, run on sentences, and parentheses. I will not be politically correct, socially correct, grammatically correct, and the only reason this isn't littered with spelling errors is because of auto-correct.
However I can promise to provide you, precious audience, with tales of my ever adventurous life. Some sexy-time tales of a single, overtly sexual female living in Manhattan. My 30 day trial with Bikram yoga in an effort to find zen in this ever racing mind of mine.
Essentially this is my own little personal experiment, seeking answers, seeking validation, seeking to record the mistakes I have made and continue to make so maybe I can be held a little more responsible. To finally make some changes and stop sounding like such a ... a..