Confessions #21 and #22

Yes, I failed to post last week. I blame it on the (little sister's) sleepover hangover I had. I was so exhausted that I was going cross-eyed while trying to stay awake during the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I couldn't sit the movie out though, because YAY SOCIAL INTERACTION! I did, however, pass on a more significant social gathering yesterday... but that's because eight hours with ten babies and toddlers is more powerful than any house full of twelve-year-old girls could ever hope to be. After I got home from work, I collapsed in my bed and did not crawl out until after dinner. Now my original train of thought seems to have been derailed...

My apologies for not upholding my promise! This week gets two confessions to make up for last week, and I'll do my very best not to skip a Saturday again.

Confession #21:

I am afraid of the things that go bump in the night. (Not to be confused with potential aliens, which I no longer fear.)

Well, "afraid" quite the right word. It isn't like I think something in the room is out to get me the second I close my eyes... but anytime I hear something after I've crawled into bed, I feel entirely uneasy and can't rest until I've looked around the entire room at least once to try and locate the source of the noise. I know it was probably just my air filter blowing sheet music off the stand of my nearby keyboard, or my fan rustling the bag in my garbage can, but despite scrunching my eyes shut and silently telling myself "It's NOTHING," over and over, I have to look. All around the room. Never mind that it's dark and I'm blind as a bat without my glasses. I think the only thing I've ever actually identified was a balloon, and that was years ago. (When I was little I discovered that the air conditioner will blow a helium-filled balloon around the room, with it bouncing against the ceiling. While completely innocent during the day, that repetitious thumping sounds quite ominous at night. After I figured that one out, balloons were always banished to the hall at night.)

Lately this paranoia—if that's even the right word, since I'm not actually scared of anything—has been getting worse, and I really can't explain it. Honestly, it's more of a compulsion that anything. I know whatever caused the noise is harmless, but I can't not look. Having typed that out, a thought just occurred to me. Any experts on OCD out there? Could that possibly be the cause? I've always suspected I have OCD, albeit mildly. My sister has been diagnosed and is being treated for it, so it's not that big of a stretch to think I would have it as well. I have a handful of other quirks that seem to fit the bill, but we won't get into that this week...

Ha, look at that. My blog is forcing me to rationally examine my flaws, and is resulting in revelations. Have I mentioned that there is never any planning involved in these posts?

Confession #22:

I don't count my blessings as often as I should.

That fact slapped me in the face this week and left a nasty handprint.

Confession #20

I hold grudges more frequently  and for longer periods of time than I would like to admit.

The biggest grudge that comes to mind is one that I've been holding for about four years now. It's particularly stupid because I haven't even seen the offending person in almost as long. I've tried, but I just can't let go of it.

In brighter news, I had the opportunity to hang out with someone new last night, and I didn't feel nearly as awkward as I could have—or would have, had I met this person, say, six months ago. However, I still spent most of the time fidgeting. Baby steps.

Confession #19

I'm a proud nerd, and it's all my friends' fault.

When I was in middle school, I was a huge fan of Hilary Duff. I loved her acting, her music, and generally everything about her. I think that's perfectly acceptable of a twelve-year-old, but I had one friend who disagreed. She seemed to believe we were much to old to enjoy Hilary Duff, and she made it known fairly often. One instance in particular has stuck with me for years. I had a slumber party for my thirteenth birthday, and at some point during the night, we were all flipping through the numerous "teen" magazines I had hoarded. In the fan-submitted artwork section on the back page of one magazine, this friend found a very crudely-drawn picture of my favorite actress. She pointed it out and asked, there in front of my closest friends, "How old do you think that kid was?" Or in other words, "Why don't you GROW UP?" She was supposed to be one of my best friends, but she utterly humiliated me at my own birthday party!

Flash-forward about a year into the future and I had outgrown my Hilary Duff phase. I discovered, however, that even with my (somewhat) broadened horizons, I still wasn't watching the same shows as the rest of the kids my age, or listening to the same music. I tried to tell myself that there were plenty of people out there who liked the same things as me, but I could always hear my friend's voice in my head, criticizing my taste. It made me feel like an even bigger outcast. (I already felt like one, you see, because I was rarely in school and hardly knew anybody.)

Jump forward another year and I felt completely isolated and alone. Being so sick and missing so much school caused me to repeat the ninth grade, so now I literally didn't know anybody in my classes, and the whole situation was just miserable. To top it off, my further-broadened horizons still didn't mesh with the rest of the kids my age. Then a funny thing happened. Four new people friends wandered into my life and turned it upside-down. For the better! Not only did they approve of me and my company, but they didn't even care that I spent my free time writing fanfiction, or that most of my favorite music was forty years old. They didn't find my love of Superman strange, or make fun of me for having a huge crush on an actor who is old enough to be my dad. All of those things that certain other people would have rolled their eyes at, these new friends accepted! I hadn't felt accepted in so long!

So now when I go ranting about whichever old sci-fi show is currently on my mind, or start singing songs nobody else knows, or dance in a very outdated manner (Hand Jive, anyone?), you can blame them. They're the ones who helped me learn to be proud rather than embarrassed and ashamed of who I am.

Ha! A meaningful post published with two minutes to spare!