cheeseroom

this thing i wrote on xanga in may and then posted on my current blog before copying and pasting it to tumblr where no one knows me or cares to read all of it

Hey no one,
It’s, like, two a.m. and I don’t have work tomorrow, so I don’t feel pressure to sleep. For five months now, I’ve been blogging every day on Wordpress—my serious blog. But it’s been dumb lately. Like, really stupid. I don’t ever know what to say or who I’m actually writing for, so if I can get through a hundred words without mentioning how much I hate my job or not knowing what to write, it’s good. It’s, like, noteworthy. Seriously. Throw me a freaking party. When I have time, I try to think of something profound to really sit back and reflect upon. And for some reason, I’m always taken back to high school. At camp, crying during worship because I think I’m being real with God. At a table with Fireman in the senior area, being the victim of a breakup I really should have expected. On Robert’s bed with a bunch of boys, trying to be cool because I always had a crush on one of my friends, trying to be sweet and girly like they all liked, actually feeling more comfortable with them than I would have just one girl, trying not to eat. And fine. That was A Time, or whatever, but they’re all the same to me now. One giant wad of pathetic. And blogging about them as an engaged twenty-something doesn’t make me feel any better about what happened when I was a teenager. I can only talk about it because I think my readers think I’m better now, older, and everyone understands that all the little things that broke your heart in high school are actually really funny. Even if they aren’t. But that’s probably how people move on to become better and stronger. I mean, I really think I’ve grown to believe that confessing my attraction to Surfer Dude in ninth grade and watching him scribble some other girl’s name onto his pants with a marker during Conceptual Physics is funny mainly because, at the time, I was utterly devastated. Who even does that? But whatever. I saw him once in college and we hugged, for like the first time if you don’t count that night during Project Grad when everyone went around a circle to hug everyone in our class of one hundred, and he said we should have lunch or something and to “hit him up on Facebook,” which I think and hope to God I didn’t. So adult. So mature. So completely over Surfer Dude and ninth grade humiliation.
I think what I started writing here to say is that Wordpress is making it hard for me to think. Even though what I’m writing there now sucks, I’m still too concerned about the content I post. Like, what is it about my new blog that makes it so difficult for me to tell you that his name was Michael or that I have my period now, and I’m cramping but bleeding less since I’ve been taking birth control pills for a little over a year because when I found out I was anemic and my three-tampons-an-hour flow was NOT NORMAL, the doctor said that these pills would regulate my blood flow and help me keep more blood that I apparently needed. And iron pills. But really. I did not know how easy a heavy but not ULTRA-WATERFALL-HEAVY flow could be, and it’s all because of those pills I was embarrassed to take. Maybe if I’d known in high school how ABNORMAL it was to lose, like, an arm’s worth of blood in SEVEN TO EIGHT DAYS, I would have sought help without having fainted twice in 2010 and I might have been confident enough to go to the beach more and be tanned and beautiful like the girl whose name was written on Surfer Dude’s jeans.