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Back again?

Not Shady, that’s who.

Ayyy, it’s been a while! I have tons of work that I should be getting done, but who has two thumbs, (probably) mild clinical depression, and difficulty expressing her feelings to actual people?

Wow, you guessed it. How did you know.

Nah, but for reals, I’m back, mostly because I’m cranky, and I got feels that I would like to share but feel too weird about actually sharing.

So since my emotional maturity has regressed to high school stages, what better place to air this out than where my journey into shameful oversharing began? Besides, all the actually dumb shit has been locked so tight even I don’t remember how to open it, so I think we’re fine.

Welcome back 2009!Grace, the whining you loved, but with new and improved dank memes! #dicksout #sunsoutgunsout #whatguns

But for real reals, I’m currently trying to convince myself that this is an improvement over pouring everything out into a private Word document because:

  1. This saves my annoying thoughts in *the cloud*, which is probably better for posterity than my hard drive
  2. Publishing this for public access means I have to describe everything through a remove-personal-information filter, which might(?) help me emotionally detach from the situation to aide processing.

Aight, so here’s the deal. As I have mentioned before, Christmas is a special time for me and my homegirls (please don’t actually call us that). Not because Christmas itself is special to me at all, besides the potential for dope presents and mild-to-intense religious disagreements. No, Christmas is a time when nearly everyone goes home to see the fam, and by extension, each other (and also get days off).

Ever since university hit, naturally, the annual get-together has had increasingly poor attendance. And “Christmas sleepover” has slowly evolved from “silly high school sleepover” to “casual dinner get-together with maybe some wine but not too much because most people drive home to sleep in their own beds”. In a few years, I’m sure it will slowly become “dinner and then, ooh, sorry, we’d like to stay later but the babysitter is paid by the hour”. And somehow I missed the fun transition stage when it was “everyone gets wasted on mulled wine and hard cider and eggnog”…maybe we’re just not that type of group.

Anyway, this year is no different, what with me being halfway across the sea. But it’s mid-November, so the question in the group chat gets asked: “can you make it?”, and my answer is obviously: nope.

Fine, Grace can’t come. But Other-out-of-province friend might be able to make it, so let’s plan this get-together, trying to mesh together the schedules of 10-ish busy people, some of whom have an annoyingly high-paying job. And I mean annoyingly in that it pays well enough to support SOMEBODY’S annoying habit of LEAVING THE COUNTRY every chance she gets (you know who you are) (but for real, congrats on the job, please take me with you on your trips? Just pay for my airfare and accommodation, I won’t even make eye contact with you the whole time, you won’t even know I’m there).

So yeah, planning, planning, for an event I can’t attend, but it’s fine, I like lurking in group chats, even if I’m not contributing…makes me feel included, like a happy cat in a basket of plush toys. Included, yet creepy, like a happy cat hiding in a basket of plush toys, waiting to bust out and pounce on the human who feeds me.

But then Out-of-province friendo #3 chimes in, “heeyyy, sorry can’t come gonna stay out-of-province with that fam this year kthxhavefunbyeeeeee” (tone has been significantly altered in this transcription).

And what follows? “awwwww, we’ll miss you friendo!” “it won’t be the same without you friendo!” “i hate that you’re missing another Christmas with us friendo!” “hearts!”

I mean, I realize why my response didn’t get…a response, but what am I, chopped liver??

[warning…in an already pretty salty post, there is increased salt ahead]

Look, she’s missing out on Christmas willingly, to spend time with family. At least she gets to experience the warmth of familial social interaction to help thaw the frigid hell of winter. So of course, it’s “aww, such a shame!”.

And me? It’s not like I could have come home but chose not to. Could I have come? Let’s see…I’m stuck in a foreign country. Stuck in a foreign country that doesn’t even have the decency to have warmer winters. Stuck in a foreign country that doesn’t really celebrate Christmas. So yeah, not by choice.

And like I said, I don’t do Christmas. Christmas has no meaning to me, in and of itself, save for one very special reason (no, not the friendship gatherings, actually). But, it is the wonderful year of our lord, 2016. Do you know why 2016 is such a wonderful year? (Trump) Because BOTH Christmas AND New Year’s Day are on weekends. And, since I’m in a country that doesn’t really celebrate those days, do you know what that means for me? I GET NO FUCKING DAYS OFF!

YEAH! WHILE EVERYONE ELSE I KNOW WILL BE OFF, CLOSING UP THE OFFICE, GOING ON VACATION, SLEEPING IN, DO YOU KNOW WHAT I’LL BE DOING??? WORKING NORMAL MONDAY-TO-FRIDAY WORK WEEKS, THAT’S WHAT!

But no, Grace doesn’t celebrate Christmas, so we don’t have to acknowledge that Grace will be missing our Christmas this year. She’ll just be across the sea, working, suffering, while we’ll be happily enjoying each other’s company without her. (see, I told you it would get salty).

And believe me, I could write a whoooole other post’s worth, rationalizing why my feeling put out is dumb and irrational. I’ve done it before. But right now, all I wanna do is scream my petty and immature rage into the void. There is a time and a place for gaslighting myself into invalidating my own feelings, but that’s not as entertaining as the salt. So I’ll just post the salt.

So yeah, this entire post was because I got minorly ignored in a group chat thread.

But that’s me. I don’t like to impose my personal feelings, but I still want to impose, so I do in the most roundabout manipulative way possible. I post it publicly, but secretly, so if it ever gets read, my feeling have been imposed, but now it is entirely the fault of you, the reader, for choosing read this shit at all. HAH, CHECKMATE, I WIN!

You know what? I’m bringing it all back. No more password protection (except that one page that I feel like really should be locked away forever), no more secrecy, no more shame; I’m lettin’ it all hang out baby!

I know I said before that I was ashamed. And I still am…a little bit…kind of. But that was, what…at least 6 months ago? Definitely one and a half semesters plus one summer ago, by my count. Maybe I’ve grown up since then. Or maybe I’m just in a little bit of a better mood and I’ve simply changed my mind (because that’s what people do). Or maybe I’ve just found a bunch of 3-year-old blogs from friends and acquaintances that I think were clearly meant to be kept secret (the blogs, not my friends and acquaintances), and I had a good long laugh at how ridiculous they were; how ridiculous we all were.

Point is, I’m putting this blog back to public setting and leaving it here for a while. After all, I don’t think I ever posted anything too damaging, and plus, if I ever want to I can just shove the whole thing back on private mode again. (Knock on wood that I never end up eating those words when I’m permanently banned from employment because of a stupid post I made when I was in high school)

When I took everything down, it was shortly following a moment when something I posted online came to affect me IRL, and I had a bit of a freak out. It threw me into this big-ass existential-crisis-like deal, “oh my Gawd people are reading what I write”, “oh my Gawd people I know are reading what I write”, “oh my Gawd I’m sharing too much on the internet I’m so pathetic oh noes oh noes” (not in those works dear lord please slap me if you catch me talking like that unironically).

But really, was anything I ever posted really that bad? Maybe. Actually, no…yes, yes it was that bad. Definitely in terms of quality, depth, and, well…I’m definitely not going to win a Pulitzer for any of them, that’s for sure. I made a post last February explaining exactly why I was taking down my blog, and I made a few good point then. On the other hand, well, I think I’ve let that go (for now at least). This blog was silly and poorly written. It tried to make profound observations, present important social commentary, and make a statement worth being proud of; needless to say…it failed. But what it did exceptionally well was present an accurate impression of who I was when I wrote my posts: a socially awkward teen too wrapped up in her own head (who, in my defense, was also low on sleep)(also I haven’t changed that much throughout the years, maybe I’m just a little bit more self-aware now). It was a reflection of who I was, what my mindset was, even what my style was all those years ago. And while I don’t feel like that’s exactly something worth sharing, I think it’s at least something worth preserving (and it’s worth noting there’s a difference between sharing a cookie and just leaving said cookie out on a counter full of other similarly poorly-decorated cookies).

And, at the end of the day, what my posts are, above all else, is freaking funny! Even the ones where I was trying to be deliberately funny…although those ones are just sad in their own right. But they’re all funny in a nostalgic way, that way everyone loves to laugh about what massive idiots we were when we were younger, even though we thought we were so deep and intelligent and cool and funny and important. Looking back, we were fooling no one but ourselves, frankly. But I like being able to look back and groan. I like being able to pick through my posts and point out exactly when I thought I was being introspective and wise while ignoring my very shallow worldview; when I thought I was so unique and special even though I was spitting out literally what every other kid in my situation was thinking; when I thought I was being so subtle in my complaints even though now I could identify exactly who and what I was whining about from the Moon…without a telescope. And why should I be selfish and hoard all the embarrassment to myself? Everyone should be allowed the opportunity to point at me and laugh (plus it might make them more receptive to me pointing and laughing with them at their old blogs too so…bonus?), let’s all point and laugh at me together! It’ll be fun.

Plus, you know, it wasn’t all bad. I think 17-year-old me had some gems among the chaos. Not to mention, well, I like to think that I’ve matured to the point where I’ve realized that I’ve got a lot more growing to do, and that I’ll never stop changing (I know, took me long enough right?). In that spirit, I think I might like to start posting again someday (maybe soon), you know, take another snapshot as it were. And when I do, there are some points and arguments and posts here that I may want to revisit. Maybe take a look at them through my older 20-something lens and see how it stacks up against my teen self, or maybe even just take one of my old posts and completely decimate 16-year-old me; she (in a manner startlingly reminiscent of 21-year-old me, isn’t that interesting?) tends to make some strange assumptions and awkward logical fallacies. And if ten years down the road finds me thinking “damn, I should have written more on that blog”, well then, that’s my loss isn’t it.

Fin de la conte: It’s back baby, just as it was. I don’t want to be Madonna, refusing to sing her old hits at concerts; I’d rather be Billy Ray Cyrus, perfectly happy to whip out a mullet wig on his daughter’s television show. I mean, I respect Madonna a lot more if only because the screaming mess that is Hannah Montana didn’t spring from her loins, but I feel like Mr. Achy-Breaky-Heart might be marginally more fun at parties based on that fact alone.

So here it is. I invite you to bask in the awkward teenage angst. Although since this is the first post on the site, I feel it is my duty to warn you: moving forward is to delve into the mind of a self-important judgement teenager masquerading as an wise and open-minded intellectual. Tread carefully.

(Oh, and if you start hating me just a little bit, I beg of you to please take into consideration the date-and-timestamp on whatever post you happen to be reading and cut me a little slack? I assure you, I probably hate past!Grace infinitely more than you ever could…)

I’m done.

It’s gone. Well…hidden, technically.

For an overly long explanation of why, see here.

Oh, and brace yourself. The URL might be changing sometime in the near future.

Okay, so I was browsing my facebook account, looking into my past, into a time when I was more, well, extroverted, I guess would be the word…into a time when was less hyper-aware of exhibitionists, attention whores, and my general distaste for them (except when it comes to Shawn from Psych…I think he’s just keen…). I found this:

Must I really?

Here are the rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits or goals about you. At the end choose 20 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you!

(ed. Well, actually, I kinda just want to see how much this thing spreads…it’s kinda neat)

Okay, fine. I, like many others, have not bothered to tag the requisite 20 people. So go to law school and sue me (yourselves, I will not tolerate any crap from any other lawyer).

1) I wrote about 19 of these earlier. Then my pinky hit a button on my keyboard, sent Firefox to the homepage, and I lost it all. Now I’m writing all of this in Microsoft Word out of paranoia
2) If I could have one frivolous, idiotic wish, I would wish that I could talk like Bugs Bunny
3) I over-punctuate normal sentences
4) Sometimes the world seems so grey, the lines get so blurred, that I don’t think anyopinions are justified
5) I wish I could make a career out of eating fruit and sleeping
6) I think everyone could benefit from some therapy
7) If I haven’t read all of the books/comics, if I haven’t actually played the original game, if I haven’t watched the original show, then I don’t feel entitled to own any of the nostalgia merchandise, even though I understand the sentiment and novelty behind it.
8 ) I fear that I will miss out on many “growing up” experiences because I am too aware…is that even possible?
9) I don’t think I will ever sleep healthily again
10) Why does everyone feel the need to grow up? Nobody will play hide and seek with me anymore 😦
11) I make outlandish threats without any intention of following them through…it’d be interesting if I did, though
12) Just because I’m not going, doesn’t mean that you will have any less fun. Why won’t you just accept that I don’t want to go?
13) In school, I’ve been rewarded for lack of effort too many times. I fear I might get negatively conditioned
14) Sometimes, I wish I had a documented mental illness; at least I might feel more defined
15) I like to ponder things – wonderful or horrible, I find it all interesting
16) I have a constant and rotating craving for steak and sushi. I don’t know why
17) I think I act like I understand less things than I really do
18) RomComs without anything distracting from the romance (like action, mystery, fantasy, etc.) make me sick
19) I think that whatever holds all of humanity together, what makes us human, the common aspect within all of us, is the same thing as that “higher power” that some people believe in; and I don’t think it’s conscious
20) I believe that the world would be a much better place if it operated on cartoon physics
21) I wish my life was a sitcom; soundtrack, laughtrack, clear plotlines and all
22) Sometimes, I just feel like a walking, pathetic cry for attention
23) My mood is in a direct, linear relationship to the amount of sleep I get…I think…
24) I just accidentally whacked myself in the head with the corner of my keyboard
25) It’s after midnight, and below freezing outside. I’m going out for a walk. I’ll probably be back in less than half an hour simply because I got too cold

I was a bit too emo with this thing, wasn’t I?

So, apparently, that was me, circa January 29th, 2009. Now, on August 24th, 2010, at…*ahem*…5:02am, I had the bright idea to redo the list…25 random things about me that I would allow my facebook friends to read; were I willing to reveal to my facebook friends that I revel in my past, and would ever commit the distasteful sin of…*gasp*…reposting!!!!! L’horreur…

Anyway, here I go, 25 random things about me, -insert real name here-, age 18 and a half-ish:

  1. I think I’m dying faster than I’ve ever been; seriously, right now, my head is pounding so hard I can hardly hold my own head upright without feeling disoriented and dizzy…this didn’t use to happen.
  2. I fear I have been far more negatively impacted by my recent relationship (and subsequent loss of said relationship to – as one of my friends put it – a french whore) than I had ever thought possible.
  3. Seriously, it occupies more than its fair share of my thoughts – I cannot, cannot look at any of his online status updates, I am plagued (putting it dramatically) by nightmares of him hooking up with another one of my friends, and I get constant, debilitating reminders that I am “loosing the breakup”
  4. This summer, I have become such a hikkomori (def: japanese term for shut-in) that I have actually become deficient in vitamin D…yes, it’s that bad.
  5. I fear I will become one of those adults who will be forever incapable of growing up, accepting responsibility, and moving on.
  6. I have serious doubts in my ability to succeed as a physicist.
  7. I haven’t spoken to my father in more than a year. I haven’t seen him in more than two years.
  8. I am…gross. Seriously, anyone who would ever learn of my hygiene routines would be very, very appalled.
  9. I need sleep; bad.
  10. I think I am far more negative and socially inept than I have ever been.
  11. I have no clue who I am anymore – come to think of it, have I ever known?
  12. I never want to leave Dairy Cream. Ever. It pains me to know that I must.
  13. I spend waaay too much money, and I am way too easily convinced to break any self-imposed spending limits.
  14. I need to get out more…I get waay too depressing when left to my own devices without being otherwise occupied.
  15. I don’t think I’m pretty anymore…*sob*…okay, that one actually made me smile just by writing it.
  16. I hate, hate, hate Miley Cyrus and all that she’s become.
  17. Same deal for Lindsay Lohan.
  18. I should listen to music more…
  19. I should read more…
  20. I love Calvin and Hobbes…love, love, LOOVE!!
  21. I hate attention-whores, and yet I find Shawn Spencer from Psych extremely attractive…also on the list of fiction character crushes are Jason Stackhouse (*sigh*), Fargo (aww…), RDJ (*drool*), and, forever and always, Sokka (I know he’s a cartoon character, and also waay younger than me by now, but that’s beside the point)(and stop judging me for having the hots for a cartoon character!!)
  22. I am probably way more perverted than anyone accounts for…
  23. I still have an unholy obsession with collecting nail polish colours.
  24. I sometimes get the feeling that I’m “above” the girly indulgences my friends have (like Degrassi, or Gossip Girl, or 90210), and it makes my act grouchily and condenscendingly to them…I feel guilty for this…
  25. My head is still pounding. Ugh…

Okay, so there it is. And, looking back, this isn’t the type of thing I’d ever allow my facebook friends to see. I shudder at the very thought…

But then again, nobody reads this damn thing anyway, so it’s all okay!! Lovely.

But, if you have read this…any thoughts on how you (or I, for that matter) have changed in a year-ish?

Okay, so I’ve figured it out; my attitude towards attention.

Apparently, I like it, sortakinda want it, just as long as I don’t know who it’s coming from. Pageview states are nothing but numbers; the most detail one can wring out of them is the itty link that referred them to this shallow grave of misery and insubstantiality.

However, once I can put a face to the stat, it gets hairy. I mean, it’s so…personal, you know? All these questions bubble to the surface: Why are they here? For what reason could they possibly want to read this? Do they expect something from me? Will they perchance actually ask for something from me if we ever should meet face-to-face?

Oh the humanity.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m all too aware that the wrong people are reading what I write. Because, well, I’d like to think that what I write is personal, honest…something which I think I rarely am in real life. At least, about what I think or how I feel about certain things. And, well, there’s a reason I don’t wander around yelling about my insecurities; although I am fully aware that my contributions to this blog could be construed as such. Now, while there are different reasons for different people, the blanket reason is basically that I’m slightly scared of their reactions, and the possibility that I would be forced to relinquish the image of stability and quirky nonchalance that I’d like to imagine that I’ve cultivated.

So, once I can place a name and a face to whoever is willingly delving into my musings, I become fully aware that they have had the opportunity to react to all the things to which I didn’t want them to react. Are you following me here?

Now, you may ask: “so if you’re so fearful of making it personal, facing the reactions from those around you, why do you always write these posts in a fashion that suggests a personal communication between the reader and the narrator?” Simple answer: because it’s easier to convey sentiment and express non-seriousness should the need arise.

Also because it’s how I talk to myself, but that’s another matter.

So, in conclusion, I am fearful of personal connection, I really need work on my basic sentence structure, and I talk to myself. Now I will be off to scan something in the library.

Adieu!

Okay, so after a bit of late-night pondering, i have arrived at this very simple conclusion:

Life is boring.

Seriously. I mean, no one ever wants to set up a meeting with you with the intention of acting as the catalyst in the reuniting of you with an ex, no one ever goes to insane lengths to surprise you with your heart’s desire on your birthday, no one ever wants to usurp your position – okay, so they might, but not when you’re just a lowly first year university student with nothing going on in your life.

See, the reason, I figure, is simple: people are stupid. People are boring. People are too preoccupied with everyday crap like television and gossip and taxes and mortgage rates to think of convoluted ways to get what they want out of life. Between everything else in their lives, they’re simply too tired to put in all the effort needed to see things like this through; they’ve simply got no time to plan it all out. That is why life is boring: because no one, no one, has the time, energy, or means to put together an awe-inspiring, purely genius, simply legendary secret agenda anymore.

After all, if there’s homework calling, tax forms to be filled out in triplicate, a dog to walk and a kid to pick up from daycare, then of course it would make more sense to do all of that stuff, and hang up those plans for that brilliantly complicated master plan. Because, well, those who would be willing to sacrifice financial security, the dog, and the kids for an intangible plan are usually the ones hanging around the looney bin.

But you know what?

I’m tired of my life being boring.

I am just a first year university student with nothing really going on in my life, and summer fast approaching.

Meaning: I currently have some time on my hands, and a lot more coming my way.

So…I vow, from now on (whenever possible), to approach all endeavors in my life with a carefully thought-out hidden agenda!

That’s right!

I will go to work with then intention to not only serve ice cream, but also to subconsciously manipulate my boss into eating a spoonful Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream that day.

I will go to class with the intention to not only learn, but also to incite a certain clique of noisy future-engineers to sit closer the the back of the classroom.

I will go to a party with the intention to not only…do whatever it is that normal people without a secret agenda do at a party, but also to convince two people who will most likely end up making out by the end of the night to (gasp) play a nice cheery game of Go Fish! instead.

I will covertly coerce my will into other people’s minds.

I will learn the art of manipulation.

I will stand in a corner a cackle maniacally as I watch my carefully laid plans work like clockwork.

Or, at least, I will try.

The most I forsee is myself failing miserably, but, hey, isn’t that the beauty of secret agendas? If no one ends up bending to my will, if nothing goes according to plan, then at least no one has to know, right?

Listen to yourself when you talk.

If you find yourself saying the exacts same things in the exact same words, then maybe it’s time for you to shut up.*

This especially applies if you catch people’s eyes drooping, wandering, or glaring noticeably every time you open your mouth.

*Note – if the words you keep repeating are either your catchphrase or part of a speech, then just ignore me.

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