We’re Not in the Present Anymore, Dorothy

I hate it when I can’t see things; consequently I hate not wearing glasses.  I get a little dizzy from the sensation of not wearing glasses and the anxiety that pricks me because I can’t see what’s going on.  Logically, I shouldn’t be so dependent on seeing because I know that my sense of sight is the worst out of all five, but sight is my primary mode of function (as it usually is with people).  Not being able to see where I’m going is dangerous; I could step on something sharp or trip on something.

From Laura Redburn's Flickr gallery.
From Laura Redburn’s Flickr gallery.

As a result, I think a lot about the future and try to map it out to avoid tripping and injuring myself.  However, I find myself wonderfully disposed to defying all planning, no matter how extensive, but just the act of planning makes me feel better.  Somehow, when pen comes to paper (or hands come to a keyboard) and I write down what I want to do and need to do, I’ll feel better, which only backfires later when I get more anxious about things I didn’t finish and additions I need to add to the ever growing list.  It’s probably better for my health not to worry about the future, but worrying is so deeply ingrained in my mind, I think the sword in the stone would be easier to uproot.  It’s frustrating to know not everything goes according to plan, but a fake sense of control makes everything ever so slightly better.

People ask me a lot about what I plan to do in the future and I often say, “I don’t know.”  In fact, that has become something like a catchphrase of mine, as my friends were so honest to point out.  I get a little annoyed whenever anyone asks, but the questions are valid.  I’m approaching the start of being an adult and I should have a decent grip of what I want to do.  However, I really don’t know, which is a really lame answer, but it’s mostly true.

Where do I want to go for college?  What makes people think that I want to or need to go to college?  I’m joking, but really now.  I’d go wherever I feel like I’d find the most beads of life and kindred spirits.  A not-landlocked area that has good hot beverages would also be nice.

What do I want to be?  I want to be everything, but apparently that’s not a viable option.  If I it was really my choice, I’d just wish to be a kid all over again.

Do I deliberately not tell people what I want to do?  Perhaps, but how I can I tell someone something I don’t even know myself?  That just seems irresponsible and careless of me.




Do your slippers go back in time too, Dorothy?


We’re Not in the Present Anymore, Dorothy

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