Thinking about thinking about thinking.

Who am I? An 80 year old woman trapped in the dimples and curves of an almost 22 year old girl? I've traded in my champagne bottles for early nights and well-behaved ways. I cant seem to find a happy medium between obsessive and complacent, intriguing and predictable, reliable and unexpected. One extreme to the next has always been my forte, leaving me struggling to find a meaning in the actions of my own and others. I read the world like it's a 500 mile deep bible; I try to find hidden answers and signs within the most simple words or expressions, and I find it hard to be satisfied with just living. I contemplate what's right and what's wrong, 50 times over until my heart has checked out and my brain is the only force in my body keeping me moving.

I'm good with words, but terrible when it comes to listening to the things I say or type. I can't even take my own advice, let alone the recommendations of those I turn to the most. I ace almost every job interview I am given, based on the fact that I will say what you want to hear and mean every goddamn word. I'm not a liar; I will change my mind to fit yours. I give until I'm all out of giving things, and I try too exceedingly hard to please others. Every step and every thought is an instant bout of stress sent down my spine, all the way to the heels of my feet. I can't relax, I can't do things in moderation. If I'm not obsessing over the numbers that the scale reads, I'm obsessing over a calorie count consumed and a calorie count burnt off.

I hope to someday find a middle ground; somewhere I can lay out a beach chair and stick around for a while. I want to put my feet in the sand of happiness, but I don't think I've found it yet. I most definitely do not want to die with one foot in each door or soul at all times. I want to fall in love with the world, and I've realized I have to let it fall in love with me first. I'm great at good impressions, but I am most definitely terrible at keeping up appearances.