Thriving in chaos.

“I expect nothing, and accept everything, and it makes my life so much easier.”

I wouldn’t say my technical life is chaotic, but me just being myself is a walking ball of wild recklessness. My brain talks to me, and I talk back, and we have great conversations, and inside jokes. I like to pretend I can whistle, even though I look crazy with my mouth in the whistling formation, with no sound coming out. Nothing ever really seems to bother me, and that bothers me. I’m not crazy, trust me, I am actually just a sub-par member of society. I started a “blog” because my horoscope told me to, and I wish I could eat Nutella with a spoon for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Just trying to write a coherent anything is hard because my brain tells me a million different things at a time; and I only choose to listen to certain things when it benefits me. You could say I’m selfish, and I’d probably agree. I’m very gullible, almost dangerously so. I believe almost anything people tell me. I wish I questioned things more, but then I wonder, what’s so bad about being accepting of everything? “I expect nothing, and accept everything, and it makes my life so much easier.” I don’t remember who said that, but i read it once, and it stuck with me. I truly do just accept everything that comes my way.

Most people say I’m “laid-back”, and “chill”, but I just feel very boring. People see me as “chill” because I don’t show any outrageous emotions unless something is really funny or something, but to them, they see a cool girl that can roll her own joints, that doesn’t give a shit about anything. But they’re wrong. I care about a lot of stuff, I just don’t like it when people know that. You could say I’m “laid-back” because I rarely speak. But that’s fine. I have so many funny things to say, but I hold back, and I sit in general silence while my friends talk at me. But again, it’s fine.

I wouldn’t say I’m an introvert, but I love to be by myself. I like to walk around alone, and go sit in a coffee shop alone, read alone, sing alone, dance alone, watch movies alone. I don’t care. I could probably go a few days without speaking to too many people, and not even notice. I catch myself staring out windows whenever I’m indoors, and I rarely fucking listen to people when they’re telling me their life story. Sorry to the girl from down the hall, but I could really care less about how your little brother went to a concert last weekend, or about how you never eat anymore, and you think it’s funny. I hate listening to people complain. It’s like I have a sign on me that says “Please, tell me all your secrets, hopes, fears. Please.” But I actually stop listening as soon as a story doesn’t pertain to me. And I don’t really care if that makes me a bad person. To be honest, I don’t think that makes me a bad person, I think it makes me just …a person. My brain is thriving in chaos, my whole world is chaos, but I’m here, and I’m loving it.