What Happened To The Days When Being Sick Meant "Princess For A Day"?

I am sick. Well yes, in more than once sense of the word, but today I am refering to being physically ill. I was going to originally spend this post talking about how my inevitable slide into adulthood was beginning, and then through all the sniffiling and work to breathe normally...I had an epihany. A stuck on the couch, six pillows, downcomforter kind of a revelation. I don't want to grow up. Can we talk about how there is nothing more miserable than being sick when you live alone? I will claim the feminist, independent woman card all day long, but when it comes down to it, when I am sick, I am hopelessly needy. I want to be taken care of! Chicken Soup? Yes, please, and if you could snuggle despite my homely appearance, contagious 'I don't know what I have' symptoms, and incredibly bad taste in outfit choice, that would be nice too. As if being sick weren't bad enough, my car broke down on the way home too. My lungs hate me, my car hates me...can a girl get a break?! What did I do? I cried. That's right. Car doors open, car hood up, front seat bawling. Nevermind that there were people all around. I didn't care.
"I just want to get into my bed...wah wah wah"...this probably deterred any possible help from the slew of people waiting at the bus stop in front of my car. The situation looked tragic I'm sure. What did this damsal in distress do you ask? What every damsal would do, I called my Dad. Prince Charming, not so available right now. He drove me home, and towed my car. Good day. I got home, dropped the heels, threw on a hoody and fell into bed. I went to the doctor later, all for her to tell me that the symptoms I was exhibiting were usually cured with sleep and lots of fluids. Really? $30 dollar co-pay for that? I'm going to med-school. Well, sleep? That's not happening this week, and my lungs would beg to differ, so some prescribed relief please. Perscribed she gave, relief...three days later, and I'm still waiting on that part. Ash wanted to bring me soup that evening, but all the way from Austin. And even I, in my compromised state, realized that was ridiculous. However, as soon as I hung up with her, I realized I was cold and thirsty. For five minutes I sat there thinking of how great the days were when I lived at home, and Mom came running with all that I needed. It wasnt until after those five minutes did I realize that wasnt going to happen, and was forced to get it myself. Dizzily stumbling through the hall to my kitchen, I decided growing up sucks. Not only was my Brita water filter empty, but five minutes after cozily settling back into my fort on the couch...burning up! Ugh. I'm hoping menopause is a thing of the past by the time I turn sixty. Then a Sonic commercial came on and convinced me an ice cream sundae was all the cure I needed. Hair sexily fountaining from the top of my head, my black yoga pants stuffed in a pair of Ugg boots, and my comfy hoody on, I treked outside, keys in hand. All to turn the corner to my driveway to remember, I didn't have a car. Defeated, I went back inside, fell into bed once again, shoes and all...and passed out for the night. At 7pm. Being sick when you are young has perks beyone belief. When you are an adult, its just sad.

And It Went A Little Something Like This...Questions I'll Die Trying To Answer.chapter four.

'I Have A Dream'...Now What?

Why are things always better in our dreams? If we are intelligent enough to piece together events in our sleep, that make us want to go back to sleep, even if just for five minutes. Than why is it so hard to make that happen in real life? As if finding out who that cloudy face was you were about to kiss, is going to change the course of your days events. It is pointless. Just like when you wake up one minute before your alarm clock goes off, and yet you still close your eyes for the now 44 seconds that are left in that moment. I mean yes, I can kiss a cloudy face in real life, and with 6th street a mere thirty minutes away, easily so. But what does it actually take? In my dreams, I am invincible. A force to be reckoned with, someone that someone wants to look up to. I am fearless and forward. I take what I want, and demand what I deserve. And in my dreams, I look like Natalie Portman and I might be 5'9, but those are minor details. I'm pretty sure my sister has it all figured out. The other night this is how she told us she was going to sleep...
Sister: "Alright guys, well I'm going to go think about what I want to dream about."
Me: "What does that even mean?"
Sister: "Oh yeah, well I haven't been having very exciting dreams lately, so now I just go lay in bed a little earlier and think about it first."
Me: "Does it work?"
Sister: "Every time".
Now I agree that it does sound like a pretty legit plan, but we first have to remember that all she is really having to think about, is whether or not she is marrying Brad Pitt or Jude Law. And between the secret love children and nanny cheating Jude is accustomed to these days, Brad is the obvious choice. Too much baggage is never a good thing, even if just in a dream. Now 'Dream Planning' as I will refer to it would be great if it somehow involved transpiring dreams into a reality as well. A well-versed optimist, and yet when it comes to the life that I want to lead, I'm a bit of a pessimist. Everything I've ever wanted to do in my life, I've told myself it isn't practical. And maybe it isn't, but jobs that real people have nonetheless. If it is a practical way of living for them, why can't it be a practical way of living for me? Again, most of which I am referring to didn't really grow up 'practically', more like privileged. But still, normal people can have these amazingly wonderful lives too... It happens. A wise professor once told me that it is dangerous to daydream because our reality can never live up to what we imagine in our dreams. But what if what we imagine in our dreams is better than anything we imagine doing in real life? I've had my fair share of crazy dreams, and in some cases it is probably best that they occur only in my head. Vegas showgirl probably wouldn't have panned out, Jesse Spano kind of ruined that one for me...she should have just stuck with Saved By The Bell, I sill looked up to her at that point. Showgirls, not her best move, but VH1 still plays it from time to time, so there's a small kick back I'm sure. Songwriter to the stars...I couldn't make that one happen either. Being able to play the instrument you are trying to sing to, some would call it a necessity, I'll throw that one into the logistics category. I guess part of the problem, is that not only do I have no idea how to go about bringing my dreams to fruition, I also have a small problem with uncertainty. I'm kind of all over the place, and I think I'm kind of okay with that. That I am certain of. Bravery is probably one quality I would need for sure, and maybe a little stupidity. Check and Check. I think it would also be wise to have an ounce of ill-regard for others. Let's face it, in doing what you want, you are probably going to be disappointing someone...so I'm thinking it would be more to my advantage if I could find it in me to just not care. Oh to be self-centered, and driven. Not to say that only successful people are self-centered, but yes, that's what I am saying. Is it such a bad thing? Narcissism is a quality we all posses, and rightfully so.
I am driven, but probably not in ways I should be. I'm driven to blog instead of studying, driven to drive to the mall to spend money I don't have, things of that nature. All the best authors have credit card debt. It's like a pre-requisite. In terms of actually moving forward with a career and life in general...ehh, it will happen when it happens. They say you need passion to do what you love, and passion I have. But honestly, if passion were enough to make all your dreams come true, than I would have been well on my way quite some time ago. My passion for writing started at an early age thanks to my mom's ability to get under my skin, and my mellow-dramatic tendencies. Reading my journals quickly became a favorite past time at sleepovers, as most of my entries started out a little something like this...
Dear Journal,
Today was the closest to worst day of my life...# 7! My journal's became such a hot commodity, that people actually stole them. The one's I still have are probably collector's items at this point. I write a lot, but to say that it is something I could make a career out of...this I am not sure of. I basically write what I know. My life. I'm not this clever storyteller, I can't come up with catchy character names. Sarcasm is my number one tool, and that is all I go on. Life cannot be taken seriously, and my life is far from it. I feel as though my venture through this life would also be much more productive if I didn't find in interest in everything I do. Isn't that why they call them hobbies? No No, I believe that they should all somehow be made into one, cohesive career. And don't even get me started on that dream of 'happily ever after', because I am fading fast on that one. For now my happily ever after is my comfy bed, my room to myself, candles late at night, and Dave Barnes on repeat . I hate to be a broken record, but I am still comfortably bitter, and finding things that I still don't understand about the opposite sex.
So in terms of a dream...I'd like to find out how to first remember what the heck I did dream about last night. I know it had to have been good, because I woke up smiling, only to think..."Wait, where was I?" We're doing good if I can remember if it was happy or scary. The smile is not a sure indicator. It could have either been a nice dream that warranted a nice smile, or I am just reflecting on how ridiculous I am. Most wake up instantly when they have that 'I'm falling' feeling, or something startles them to wake up...not me. I may wake up, and then try and reason whether I am in fact really falling. A recent development: I've mastered the art of pulling muscles in my sleep. Two weeks in a row now. It's a talent even I didn't know I had, and not one I'm sure I would like to keep exploring. Secondly, I think there should be a support group for all the in-between. Hint: If you're confused, I'm referring to myself here. In-between doing what I am going to do, and doing what I want to do. Practicality is by far overrated, and this I am positively sure of. I have been pursuing a degree that I describe as..."it will be a great job when I have children...". Fact: I've been single for five plus years now, children are not in my near future...there not even in any realm directly or indirectly related to me at this point. To all you five to seven year olds out there...when your teacher asks you what you want to be when you grow up, pick something good! And it would be best and less costly to your parents when you are in college if you would just stick with that. Because let's face it, though at five, rockstar sounds a little extravagant, at twenty-three, it's totally looking like a good life plan. Rock On.