Quick post so that it says the correct date when I actually post. 11:56. Win. I’ll write, it’ll just take me more than (now) three-ish minutes.
I’m still figuring out the rules for this whole summer blog mission. I suppose I don’t actually have to post every calendar day, but my days. That way, it wouldn’t matter if I posted at two in the morning (as I typically do) because it’s still the same Jennifer day, even though it’s after midnight and the next day has technically begun. I don’t know if that will bother me too much, seeing the dates be off but probably not because I’d rather have the ability to post at will. I’ll let you guys know what I decide when I do.
So, on to my much anticipated actual post for the day.
Today has been one of my “runaway” days Well, this weekend has been that way actually. Sometimes, dare I say often, I just want to crawl in a hole, hide in a cave, and run away from everything and anything, everyone and anyone. I guess I’ve been this way for weeks now and I just notice the feeling much more strongly at certain moments. Sometimes I wish I had the option of going far, far away and could choose whether or not to ever come back. Right now, at this moment, running away forever doesn’t seem like too terrible of a plan. I hate how that sounds. I hate that any of you who are reading this may be thinking how valueless your relationships must be to me for feeling this way. That’s how I’d feel if I were you reading this. I do value you and the blessing you are in my life.
How would you feel about running away with me?
I don’t need a pep-talk, a hug, or even any kind words of encouragement. I know what I need, but I’m choosing to be selfish and wallow in my selfish ways. Bump this. Annoying, emotional teenager writing that makes me want to pull my hair out.
This is embarrassing.
I may or may not leave this post here. Lucky for the few of you who will read this tonight, I don’t have the energy to type a new, fakely-cheery post tonight so that this is not what everyone makes opinions of me as a person. I suppose this is proof that I’m not so bold after all. I suppose this is proof that it’s much easier for me to say that I don’t care what you think of me, than to actually do so. I do care about what you think about me.
I’m quite disappointed in myself.
If I’m the person that you think I am
Clueless chump you seem to think I am
So easily led astray,
An errant dog who occasionally escapes and needs a shorter leash, then
Why the fuck would you want me back?
Maybe it’s because.
You don’t know me at all.