angst at twenty-something

15 Mar

When I’m in a bad mood, I have minor to severe urges to “like” every misfortune broadcasted on Facebook or to say sarcastic/hurtful things to people who usually annoy me only slightly. I wish this wasn’t the case. I really want to be Nice Person. It’s probably a chemical imbalance, right? There’s something wrong with my brain that can only be fixed with chocolate.

I’ve moved on to the next paragraph without chocolatizing, but I think we can chat here for a little while more without bloodshed. Let’s do Five.

1. I’d always feared being engaged would make me a different person. I knew I’d probably feel the same, but I worried my friends would see me first as someone’s fiancee before Just Jen, like I used to be. When I feel I need to be acknowledged as an almost-wife, I will find subtle ways to let you know. But I’m pretty much the same, and I have just as much a right to be in a bad mood about Living as I did last week. Still, if you must know, Daniel is amazing and is able to make me happy if I let him.

2. Sometimes I think I am dying. If I don’t have water in my lungs, I have a serious hemoglobin deficiency, or a weak heart, or cancer, all over. And when I feel I’m suffocating on my back in my bed at night, Daniel will try to convince me that nothing is wrong, and that I will wake up in the morning just like I always do. So I go to sleep half hoping something will go wrong and the doctors at the hospital will confirm that I have a problem, and it’s a good thing we caught it early. I am not a hypochondriac. I’m just concerned that I’ll die from something I was too afraid to find out I had. Like, HA! That’s What you get for being shy and embarrassed of everything, all the time.

3. A few days or weeks ago when I said I was mostly Punk Rock, I left out the part where I should have mentioned that I’m also hugely made of Southern Rock sounds. Take that as you will. Well, just know–Toby Keith is not what I consider Southern Rock. Every so often, I’m ready to accept new music, and I’m about eighty-six percent fulfilled this time around. If you have thoughtful music suggestions, I’m fourteen-percent likely to adopt them. Also, if you try to push your favorite bands onto me, the ones that are not at all Punky or Southern Rockish, I will think less of you. I just will. You would, too. Is this mean or honest?

4. I’m supposed to be more mature than the times I want to shout about how I can’t wait to be my own boss. I would do what I want, when I want it, and I won’t have anyone to tell me that I did it wrong. And the grownup few of you reading this now will tell me the parts of being bossed around I should cherish and learn from. Because other people aren’t trying to make me miserable. They are only trying to help. And like a child, I will stomp my feet. Beneath my furrowed brows, I will glare and frown with a mouth that screams at you to shut up–just shut up and mind your own beeswax.

5. I wish I could run forever. Run far, and like it. Run in public. I hear it’s cathartic. I mean, it looks to be. Like I symbolically run from my problems, I can more literally do so if I did not hate it so much or fear being seen sweating or panting. I would run and run and run and run, and I would stop to write a novel about someone doing the same. Someone who looked better than me and had more interesting problems and a conclusion that would make everyone happy or so sad they want to hurt themselves. Then I’d run and run and run some more until I’d gone far enough to die a pathetic mess on the side of the road.

I’m just not in a pleasant mood.


3 Responses to “angst at twenty-something”

  1. theemrsbates March 15, 2012 at 8:22 pm #

    I can relate. lol

  2. Wendy March 15, 2012 at 10:30 pm #

    Your bad moods could never rival mine. 🙂 Daniel is a lucky man and Allen isn’t 😛

    • jenibo March 15, 2012 at 10:50 pm #

      Haha. Whatever! Allen is VERY lucky.

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