If you know me, like in real life, you know that I am always sick. Now, I don’t mean to jinx myself, but historically speaking, I do tend to get sick quite a bit. No idea why. Well, yeah, I do know why. It’s simple equation. The fact that I’m extremely prone to allergies combined with the fact that my sleeping pattern isn’t always consistent equals sickness.
Which is exactly where I am today, sitting at home on the couch SICK. I’ve actually been sick since Tuesday and have been working from home on and off since then. Ugh. So annoying. But, if I want to get better, than I need to rest.
The question you’re probably asking yourself is: if I know that equation, than why don’t I change one of the variables.
Twiddling fingers wondering if I should even type what I’m about to say, but I pride myself on being truthful and honest, so here goes.
I desire to have a perfect life. In turn, I end up living a false life, one in which I sometimes have no true concept of reality.
The ironic component of this mentality is that I have experienced so many trials the last four months that one would think I would have outgrown that very childish way of thinking. However, that’s not the case.
I never sleep because I’m always working. I’m always working because I want more money. I want more money so that I can live a fabulous life. I want a fabulous life because I have honestly watched way too many episodes of Sex & the City and Girlfriends.
Surely, I’m not the only late 20-something year old gal who doesn’t struggle with this cycle. Surely, I’m not the only woman who doesn’t compare the current reflection of our life with some unrealistic fairytale.
I recently moved into my own 1BD/1 Bath apartment…by myself. From my hip, urban, chic and near downtown apartment with two other girls to an older, near North Dallas apartment by myself.
Friends and family come over and ask me what I think of my new place. My immediate response, “I hate it.”
Now, I am grateful to the Lord above for providing me an awesome cost-efficient apartment literally 24 hours before I am supposed to move. I am even more thankful to have a job where I can afford to pay for expenses all by MYSELF!
But, I really don’t like living alone. Why? It forces me to accept my reality.
Every day I walk in my door, I remember that it’s just me. No one greets me. No one asks me how my day was or what exciting things happened. No one prepares a delicious healthy dinner. It’s only me.
So, to avoid dealing with that, I sometimes just avoid going home. I spend countless hours at the gym. (Working out can’t be that bad for me as I have big health goals ahead) I go to the mall or local department stores (my favorite is T.J. Maxx) to window shop or see if I can snag any good deals. I participate in countless happy hours and networking events. I avoid the feeling.
Talk about being childish. There’s no worse way to live than to avoid life.
Five years ago, life was so simple, like algebra. Five months ago, life complexities appeared with all their various variables. In high school, I hated calculus; in college and grad school, statistics made me want to vomit. But in both cases, I had my trusty T.I. 86 calculator, the ever-loved course curve and amazing friends to get me through it.
Today, there is not a calculator smart enough (or programmable) to give me the answers to life’s questions. There’s no index with the answers in the back. And unfortunately, the only curves I’ve experienced witnessed are on my hips.
But I still have friends and family to at least help me figure out. I still possess the determination to keep trying when I have no idea where to start; and luckily, S.C. Johnson still makes Kleenex for when I don’t know what else to do, but cry.
Life is a not a poly or a quadratic equation. Variables are exponential and sometimes never reveal the answers for years. I sure as hell can’t keep running from something that I will inevitably have to face, like coming home and growing up. That is no way to live. My apartment may be older, but it has beautiful crown molding, my modern couch fits perfectly and slowly, but surely, I am adding little pieces of décor that just scream “Vicky D.”
“Running the streets” every day and weekend is not good for my bank account or my belly. Emotionally running away is worse. Sometimes, it’s important just to sit, reflect and listen to my own thoughts. Perhaps, if I did that when I was well, I wouldn’t be forced to do that when I’m sick.
Hmm…Maybe I just solved one of my equations.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some recovering to do in my beautiful apartment and “He’s Just Not That Into You” came on.
It’s the little things.