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It's time for change.

Explanation on new blog.
http://amandabrunton.blogspot.com/


Hope to see you guys there :)

In case you didn't know

In case you didn't know, or forgot-- being a girl is no picnic. I mean, it could be a picnic, if my hair would stop frizzing out in the humidity, and ants refrained from nibbling on my carefully and delicately cut sandwiches. Or I didn't accidentally drop a grape down my cleavage. But alas these things happen. Girl life, come to find out, is not all red and white checkered blankets. And those cute little baskets. (Where do people get those anyway?)

Today I woke up refreshed. I had plans. Awesome, productive type plans. Like leaving the apartment with my bed made, and a cup of tea. Honey Lemon Green Tea with a spoonful of Splenda, that was my plan.

I maintained these intentions up until my shower, when I emerged sopping wet, and slipped.

In case you didn't know, or forgot--falling HURTS. especially when you're naked and surrounded by tiles and a porcelain toilet.
I think it knocked all the plans out of me. I was annoyed and tired. I let my hair dry naturally (afro-y). I put on yesterday's clothes. I no longer cared to make tea or my bed.

Isn't it funny how things can so quickly change in the hands of a clumsy,hormonal girl? Like I said, no picnic.



I'm too tired to finish this.
I am not, however, to tired to shop for one of these:


This weekend's suppose to be pretty. :)

Cubicle for one, please.

I never should have researched job openings. It makes me crazy for a multitude of reasons, which I will now list.

1) The job description. I realize you can "professionalize" any job with certain words. I can make my position at All About Pets sound like a complex, responsibility-cloaked managing job (I don't just sit behind the counter and write blog entries after all).
2) I can't picture myself performing some of these tasks--simply because I never have. And what if they don't teach me first? I'm really starting to doubt the point of college.
3)NEW YORK. Of all the job postings I was interested in, only one was somewhere other than NY. And none were in Memphis.
4)I actually love my current job. It's the new experience I crave. And maybe more $.
5)What should I be doing? Purpose? Passion? Too many decisions. Too many questions.


So I put it out of my head, I diligently cut the UPC's off of expired products. I finish The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves letters btw). I don't think about it. And then I think about what I'm not thinking about, and my head hurts.

What should I do with my life?

Days like today

I told Matt I was feeling uncomfortable in my skin. That was sometime last week, and while he tried to tickle me out of it, that feeling of fidgety discontent still lingers.
I'm tired of a lot of things. Small things that make no difference in my character, or where my life is headed;things so slight that they could be changed with ease.
I could lighten my hair. I could find a Pilates class that tones and strengthens me. I could make more time to write, to garden, to cook, to read.
But I want my hair to be lightened by the ocean sun, and my body to be toned by mountain hikes and bicycle rides. I want to have days solely for pansies and sunflowers or seasonings and spices.


But if I can't have these things, and as far as I know, I can't until December, I'll take more cool breezes and warm sunshine.
I can be content on days like today.

Wheeeeeeessssshhh(brain)

I would like to just take a moment and
bitch slap my day.

**SMACK**

First of all, it was my fault. My body doesn't respond well to pills ever really(there's been an incident every year since 1992). So when the head shivers and nauseousness hit me, I panicked. I can only miss one day of class, use it now? Can I drive? Is this going to last all day? Should I force myself to eat that pizza? Can I lay down and leave Lily in her cage?
But, decisions and head shivers don't get along, unless it has something to do with sleep.
So, I got in bed, figuring I'd sleep through it and worry about emails later.
Only, I'm one of those good grade, teacher-pleasing girls (when it comes to my English classes anyway), so I couldn't stay still. I couldn't stop worrying that I was missing something really important.
So I went. I wore dirty clothes and sunglasses in the building, but I went.

AND SHE WASN'T EVEN THERE. That, my dear friends, was not my fault. Instead, she sent another professor to read from one of his books. So I sat there--in angry fuzziness--and listened (or sort of).


~~~~

I'm not even going to go into the flat tire I got while driving home.

I have this list of things I should be doing at the moment. But I also have a full day before a night class tomorrow, so motivation to read that story and those chapters is somewhere between down there and before plunging the toilet.

...I pride myself in not being a dramatic person.
I don't want to be that girl. The one with all the problems, who's boyfriend died, who had an "unstable" childhood. The victim, the girl who needs help, who doesn't trust.
I have zero interest in being her.

But these days, that's the girl I seem to be. Maybe the girl I'm becoming.
So lets think. How do I break this cycle? How can I stop being so incredibly needy, when I'm not even looking for help?

What happened??

**

I think, tomorrow, I'll make another phone call to another type of doctor. Maybe then I won't be so....


CRAAAAAAZZZZZZZYYYYYYYYYYY


♥
Manda




*it's easier to relax when I take steps back*

Buttons and Blues

I could easily be a zombie today. I'm just so tired, so I stare and eat, and stare some more.
I need inspiration, and some zeal.

I wish I had a button. No, I wish I had three buttons. One for rest (Power Down), another for rejuvenation (Awake), and one for wisdom (Update?). Living would be so much easier.



I need story ideas...And some winter boots. :)











*block out all your demons with white noise, pills, and Jesus*

Diagnosis: H.IMB

I made a doctors appointment. It's done. January 31. Maybe I can stop crying because some jackass stole my parking spot. That can't be normal. It'd be more natural to whip out a handgun, wave it in the air, and yell, "Give me back my spot,mother*censor*" (I mean we are in Memphis)

I can't decide how I feel about psychiatric medications. On the one hand, I think we turn to them when we should be turning to God. Of course humanity yearns for the quick fix, an easy way out. If I win the lottery, I could solve all my problems.
But I also believe that some people truly need them. Chemical imbalance, clinical depression, whatever you want to call it. We wouldn't wait for a cancer patient to be magically healed by faith. We act, we fix,and pray that God allows them to be healed.

So if this doesn't work, well...There's no shame in crying, right?

so I don't actually need a Thundershirt...

Epiphany: I am calmed by writing.

Duh.


After several days of major mood swings, shifts, plummets and lifts, I remembered. Writing fixes me.

Duh.





My excuses have been these:

I have nothing to say.
I am tired, can't you see how much I do between work and school?
Nobody reads this anyway.



Writing is my therapy, my anxiety pill, and source of sanity. I've known that since I was ten and got my first diary.write it out and forget.write it out and live.
Duh.
Let's hope I don't forget again. If not for my sake, than for Matt's sanity. ;)

Wishing everyone a contented New Year,
Manda

can I please just stay home and color?

This stint of my life is killing me.

I was designed for creativeness.
It's in the spare time, not the time I created out of procrastination, but the truly spare time that I never have anymore; that's when I'm at peace. Because I can read, learn, and write these scribbles with energy that I now lack. I can bake a pie and make a necklace. I can finally learn to sew and knit. I can take pictures and travel. I can live with passion, breathe with vigor, and dream with inspiration.

I spend so much of these days reading things I don't want to read, writing things I could write better in a different way...in my own way.
I burn myself out.

And I really, really don't want to do it anymore.