The weather isn't getting any better, but I am. I've definitely lost the blogging bug a bit, and after not updating in so long it's going to feel strange getting back into the swing of things, but I am determined not to let this project slide out from underneath me and so I will continue to update, even when I have to push myself through it, like now. I'll start simple.
A fact that I enjoy: even when I pretend like I don't, I DO have my shit together.
I was with some close friends from London a couple of weeks ago and we all got drunk and I ended up falling asleep in a bed that was not my own, spending the night at an apartment that wasn't mine, and missing out on all the shenanigans of the evening because I was...sleeping. I'm terribly exciting, I know. Anyway, my friends engaged in fun activities while I slept, some making good choices and some making bad choices and some making neutral choices, like, say, deciding to go to sleep. You know, whatever. Who am I to judge. Etc.
What got me was the morning after conversation. As we moved about slowly in that morning-after-head-still-throbbing haze that comes with too much red wine the night before, my one friend giggled and said something like, "Ha, I thought we'd all get our shit together when we got home from London." And suddenly I was enraged. Like, absolutely livid. It wasn't my friend's fault. No, I was mad at myself. "I have my shit together," I muttered, as I searched around the room trying to find the leggings I had peeled off my sticky body the night before when I started sweating from the humid rain seeping through the open window. And I realized that my refute was laughable. I was the very picture of a mess. I didn't look like I had anything together. I couldn't even find my pants. And in that moment I was so frustrated. Because the fact of the matter is, I know I have things together. I know that I haven't deserved the nickname Matt gave me, VaMessa, in at least a year. More. I don't sob hysterically every time I get drunk. I don't leave drunk voicemails that I'll regret in the morning. I don't mope about this boy I once loved when I was 16. I have direction. I have life goals. I try to put healthy food in my body and avoid poisonous stuff like alcohol and weed and cookie dough. I go to the gym. I have an internship and a job and I am happy. Really that's the most important thing. I am happy. I am not a mess.
But I was letting myself slip. That's why I was mad. My semester in London was unbelievable and I would never ever trade it for anything, but I made decisions abroad that strike a little too close to the version of myself I was freshman year, and that's no good. I let myself get caught up in a crush that should never have started, and when it didn't work out the way I wanted it to I allowed myself to wallow and pine and embarrass myself at every opportunity. I drank so much that my mom eventually emailed me to say she was worried (don't be, Mommy). I gained back a lot of the weight I lost in the fall. I got confused about who I am and what I want to be. I never thought of it as losing my shit, but in a sense, it was.
And so my friend's flippant comment about "getting our shit back together" when we returned from London hit hard because I had not yet allowed myself to acknowledge that I might have lost it a bit when I was abroad. The implication that I had any ground to reclaim offended me only because I realized it was true. I am proud that I was indignant, though, and that's how I know I am still with it. I don't want to be a person who is all over the place. I have no desire to slip back into my messy old ways. I like the person I am now. I might have fudged it a little bit in London, but she's back. She goes to bed before 2am and wakes up and gets stuff done. She dreams big and makes sure to work hard enough to achieve bigger. She doesn't get blackout drunk and she sleeps in her own bed and she doesn't cling to people who clearly aren't interested. She's still fun, and she's funny, but she's mature and that's awesome. I like that person very much. And I am proud to be that way.
So I think that's it, kids. I let myself get in a funk over a lot of things that weren't really worth it. And I let myself relive some old habits when it comes to coping with things I don't feel like dealing with outright. But I'm over that. I don't want to spend the summer nursing hangover headaches and trying to remember hazy evenings spent sipping too much wine. I don't want to put all my effort into people who don't appreciate it. I'm reevaluating relationships and prioritizing my time and generally keeping myself healthy and happy. And the fact that I could recognize all of that, organize it into coherent thought, make a solid effort to fix it, and then blog about it confidently assures me that I haven't regressed as far as I might have feared.
I'm back from London and I do have my shit together. I'm getting my life back in order and it's grand. I'm getting better. Now if only the weather could follow my lead. It looks like the summer might finally start existing on Wednesday; I couldn't be more excited.