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When you’re alone and not in danger of anyone walking in on you, you really let loose and settle into who you are underneath that veil of being witnessed by someone else. You buy a Demi Lovato song and lay on your floor listening to it without judgment, you stand in front of the mirror naked and push your skin around to see how awful you can make yourself look, you search for exes online and pry into their lives to a degree we never thought we would ever be able to ten years ago. You read old love letters from someone you can’t even remember loving. You sing. You sing hard. You sing like you can really sing. You sing like you’re in a music video. You take pictures of yourself with your computer that you will never show anyone, but secretly wish they would find because you look good in sepia tone. You smoke a cigarette that you find on your patio. You pull out your relationship horoscope book and match yourself with someone you know you have no chance with, just to see if it says you’re supposed to be married to each other. You google the shit out of yourself. You don’t admit these things to anyone because you aren’t sure if they do them too. But they do. We all have our own version. It’s addicting having this time to yourself. You realize how safe you live your life when you are around other people, making sure to not offend anyone or expose the pathetic person living inside of you. And you slip up sometimes. You start a conversation with, “ya know when you…” and everyone looks at you with dead faces that can’t relate. Those people are assholes. Short of mentally mapping out a murder, nothing you’re doing when you’re alone isn’t relatable. If you ever wonder if you’re crazy, it means you aren’t. Everyone is wondering if they are lovable, if they’re good enough, if they’ve confused people into thinking they’re talented. Anyone who doesn’t is so unlikable, I just wouldn’t even blog about them.

Yesterday I was really feeling myself. I had some good work stuff going on (Oprah leaves the longest messages, its desperate) and I was wearing a blue shirt that really made my eyes pop, my barista complimented me in the morning, I was wearing my jeans that give the allusion of a firmness that could only come from hours at the gym that I don’t participate in, and a friend started to pick a fight that I gracefully turned around into a bonding moment that brought us closer. I started thinking, I’ve really figured it all out.

Then I went to my sisters to baby-sit my little eight-month-old niece for a few hours. Bath time was at 6:30. As soon as I got her in there and started washing her patchy little hair, I got soap in her eyes and she let me know it. She was pissed. Her eyes turned red and glassy and she was screaming and all I wanted to do was make it better. As soon as I used my favorite blue shirt to rub her eyes clean, she smiled and shoved her face in the bath water to start drinking it. Now, drinking the soapy bath water wasn’t on the long list of things my sister warned me couldn’t happen, but I used my common sense to gather that it probably wasn’t okay. Every time I pulled her head out to stop, she looked at me like I was taking her dinner away. I hoped for a minute that she wouldn’t turn out to be on that show “Strange Addictions: I like to drink dirty bath water”. Once I got her out, I checked the list of what to do next. “Rub Calendula Cream on her and get it in her butt and vag!” Now, even when you’re as close to a baby as I am to little V, it feels wrong to go there. It feels like if someone walked in they’d be like, “What’s going on in here?” So, I made a quick swipe down there and decided to move on to getting her pj’s on and playing on the floor for 30 minutes. In an effort to tire her out I played a game where I slid my blackberry across the floor and she’d crawl to get it, and then I’d slide it back to the other side of the room where she’d immediately crawl back over to get it. Kind of like playing catch with a dog. It went over very well. I looked on the list of what was next and it said, “Do NOT let her touch your blackberry!! Radiation!!!”

I couldn’t get anything right and immediately forgot about how earlier I couldn’t get anything wrong.

We make excuses for a compliment, but never forget an insult. It’s like we want to be as hard as possible on ourselves just to beat everyone to the punch. And we spiral so quickly. One bad thing happens and we throw our hands up in defeat. I think that’s the defining moment, when we create the spiral that we think is happening to us. And we look up and go, “why me?!” Now, I’m not gonna go into religious beliefs on here because I’m smarter than that, but my personal opinion is that God ain’t thinking about you that much honey. Just turn it around yourself. Stop looking for someone to blame or to look to for an explanation. Sometimes you step in a puddle on the first day of wearing your most expensive shoes. And if you’re wearing heels with a red painted sole, and they’ve got muddy water on them now, this is the moment where you laugh or pack it in and go home in shame. Who do you want to be?

I’m pretty sure there was no clearly defined arc or direction in this post, but in conclusion… I’m available to baby-sit your kid if you’re interested.

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