Snap the fuck out of it

Lately, it seems like every single day gets shorter and shorter. I have so many things I want to get done and not nearly enough hours to tend to any of those things. I feel uninspired, unimpressed and generally blah.

This is not like a "oh no my life sucks" type of complaint. I guess I just wish I had the motivation to do more. I most definitely procrastinate and waste a lot of time either moping around or complaining that I don't want to do the things that I know I have to do but, I also wonder if I'm not alone in that.

Everyone must do it right?

There are days where I feel like opportunities for growth are endless, and days where I'd rather curl up in a ball under my blanket and just hibernate. There are days where I feel sad and there are days when I feel happy. There are days that couldn't end sooner and days where I debate drinking myself into liver failure. (probably not funny)

Right now, I feel frustrated and I keep having ideas of things I could do to snap out of it but I also have little drive to get myself to that place that I want to be at.

Okay now, seriously, I think what I am missing is a vacation. In a few weeks I have a week off where I will literally just lounge by the lake and be away from any and all responsibilities. I hope that will be the case anyway.

Simultaneously, I probably need to snap out of it as well. It's probably not good for me to just mope around. I can definitely see myself drinking a glass of wine tonight.

I am not entirely sure what this blog post is supposed to be about necessarily but I guess it's nice to just see the words and emotions I am portraying right now.

If you have made it this far into reading this, send me a message telling me about your current frustrations. Maybe you'll make me feel better about mine.

Talk to y'all soon xo

Hard truths to swallow

If you would have asked me a few years ago, I would have said that my taste in men is impeccable. I have always had a very particular type and you could not sway me in a different direction. Had a few mishaps where I had a fleeing crush on someone outside of my comfort zone but for the most part, I would say I had a type.

If you would have asked me a few days ago, I would have said that previously, my taste in men was shit compared to what I have now. Completely outside of everything I have ever known.

And then, I got hit with a question that has been on my mind since: Was my taste in men shit because of my own insecurities?

If you would have asked me a few years ago, I would have told you that I am entirely confident. That I am hot and light up a room when I walk into it. My own high horse.

If you would have asked me last year around this time, I would have said that I am merely a girl trying to find myself in the midst of all of my failed relationships. I was hurt. I had just ended something with someone who was definitely my type.

If you were to ask me now, I guess I have a lot of thoughts on the topic that I want to break through. Everyone who has ever known me, knows that I am a hopeless romantic. I love gestures and little things and I would split the world in half if it meant that I could see a smile on the face of the one I love. I put heart into everything I do and especially if it is for the one I love. I guess I have always wanted someone to reciprocate exactly what I am giving.

I was pretty innocent to love and relationships until my 20's. No particular reason why, just rather innocent. My first love was a weird combination of a situation that should not have progressed any further if I would have had any idea of what a relationship was supposed to be and feel like. In the moment, I felt extraordinary because I was given the love I anticipated in the form of sweet words and gifts, but it was wrapped up in thorns. Missed calls gone to voicemail, disappearing for the night while out with the boys. Being called "my friend" in public while still deliberately holding my hand. And yet, I treated the situation like a project. Something that needed to be fixed. Gaslighting turned me to put the blame on myself.. perhaps I wasn't trying hard enough. Perhaps I wasn't deserving of more.

I had never particularly been someone who needed to be jealous. I would like to think that I know my self-worth and don't need to check in on anyone to see if they're being unfaithful. And yet, the insecurities were slowly being built within me. To be frank, I never quite admitted that. I have always worn a very "hot girl summer" armour to disguise my fragile self-doubt. I would never cry in public but god knows how many tears my pillow has soaked up.

Eventually it ends and perhaps I stayed longer that I should have. I fought to try to fix something that would have never worked out and I knew it too in my heart of hearts. But I was naive and wanted to think that love is forever and I shouldn't walk away when things get too hard.

And then, with every relationship that follows, I found myself in similar situations. Not exact, but similar. At one point I questioned if the idea that I had in my head about love was simply that... an idea. Perhaps things are never easy and perhaps this is what every couple goes through. Maybe I don't have it as bad as I think I do. I ride the wave and come out stronger, or so I thought.

It got to a point, where last year right around this time, I was torn to pieces. I didn't quite understand dating anymore. I don't think I ever quite admitted any of this to myself. It wasn't that I was insecure... I just didn't know any better. I never had a love so good that it builds you up and teaches you to walk away from anything less than. I never understood what it was like to have someone say they loved me and mean it.

I guess I thought I was living through something I perceived to be normal. Frankly, most of my friends were in similar, pretty shitty relationships so it's not like I was able to see what extraordinary feels like.

This isn't meant to be a cry for help or a boo hoo my life sucks. No, I guess it's just a matter of self-discovery that I suppose I have been putting off for a while. It's harder to admit when something is shitty when shitty is all you've ever known.

A full year

On this day last year, the reality of what we were calling an actual "pandemic" was starting to settle in. It was a few days after the last day out on the town. I remember entering one of my favourite bars with some new friends I had made during that last weekend of freedom. It looked deserted. We were the only four people in the whole bar and I got an eerie feeling that things were about to get much worse.

Spoiler alert: they did. We have now come full circle, a year later. Not much has changed, still in the middle of the pandemic. What is different however, is the mental, physical and emotional state that we are in, a year after the fact. That has all gone to shit. I literally cannot remember what it was like to be in a room full of people. I cannot remember what it felt like to not have a single restriction to moving, being, living.

What was it like to be sat down in a restaurant at the only free table in the whole joint? What was it like to go on a date and not wear a mask?

What was it like to even meet people organically? Wild.

It's been a hard year and yet, it seems like it was just yesterday that it all happened. I'm not going to lie, I've been having a very hard time writing this blog post. I started it at the beginning of the week and it is now Friday and I am scrambling for the will to write it.

The other day, I was walking to the subway station on my way to work and I remember thinking that a full year after the fact, all I feel is that I was robbed of a year of life. I mean, that sounds pretty dramatic because I did a bunch of awesome things last year regardless, but, it was my 25th year, the epitome of being young, wild and free. Instead, I was losing my youth day-by-day, restrictions on top of restrictions.

I remember thinking it would be something so short lived, that we would bounce back and pretend like it never happened. I know we probably are still heading that way, but I have to say, I am tired. I don't even know how to explain this exhaustion that I feel, but I feel like many of you reading will know exactly what I'm talking about.

I also think about what the world will be like once we make a full return to normalcy. Will I even want to party in a club again with a bunch of sweaty people? Will I be too old at that point?

I have been putting a lot of thought into the past year and the things it brought but also taken from me. I was scrolling through pictures on my phone this morning in an effort to delete some and I came across a screenshot that I took back in May of last year when my now boyfriend was telling me that he would one day make me write a book. At the time, it felt like one of those goals that I would eventually work towards down the road. Now, nearly a year later, it is becoming more and more of a reality and that's insane. Back then, I had just launched my blog publicly, and now, I have so many posts. Insaaaaaaaane.

As much as the last year has taken away from me, I am trying to think positively in that it has conditioned me to be more understanding, resilient, ambitious. To love more and treasure every moment. Crazy to think it's been a full year. Wow.