Ok, so now that I am dating someone and finally not sitting around staring wistfully at my ceiling listening to Bon Iver songs, attempting to spoon with pillows, and making out with the back of my hand at night in bed, I have had to find other ways to be unhappy.
Don't worry. There are plenty.
(Actually, I still make out with the back of my hand sometimes on the weeknights. It's good practice. And I don't want it to get lonely. That hand and I have been through a lot, it deserves the best. )
I could rant on about feminism, the bullshit of college and education in general, or my current still-going identity crisis, but instead today I must tell you the sad, sad tale of the girl who peaked all too early in life and then had no where to go.
I'm not talking about my straight-As in high school (not counting the unfair grading system of an evil unnamed English teacher who just needed to go away my senior year) that have lead to my mediocre college career. I'm talking about my life long quest to beat the microwave beeps.
It all started long, long ago when I was just a wee lass.
Wrong drawing. That isn't me.
I had this dream. It was a crazy dream. "You'll never achieve it" they said, "Your dream is crazy."
And maybe it was.
I don't know where it came from. It was just a part of me, a part of my natural human drive. Or maybe those beeps were just too annoying, and I was the only one who could forsee change. Or maybe I just had something to prove in this wide world. I had to show them who I could truly be. Something worthwhile, something real.
I tried and tried, tirelessly, standing attentively by the microwave
every most of the time, at the ready, fingers flexing in anticipation, my heart racing. The count down was always so thrilling and as soon as I saw those wicked three zeros my reflexes pounced for the handle.
There were those disappointing microwaves, that beeped no matter what. They got me down, but I persevered. Even with the cooperative ones, it was still so tricky. I could never pull it off.
Until one day.
That fateful day changed me. I had done it. I proved all of the non-believers wrong. And I got twenty-eight whole likes on Facebook. I had hit the big time. I was unstoppable.
I glided along for the next half hour like I was queen of the world. It was all a dream. All these people, so nobly liking my Facebook status. They were proud of me, I was their champion. The hero of the North American people.
But then, slowly a empty, hollow feeling began to creep over me. What else was there to life, to cooking things in the microwave, knowing I had conquered all there was to be had?
It was pointless. Empty.
Microwaving was never the same again.
All the joy was gone. The thrill of the hunt. The desperate desire. I was lost amidst of world of boring microwaves, lack-luster cooking experiences, and those beeps. Those beeps.
They mocked me.
And they still do.
Dear lord, help me find my way. Help me find my passion in the microwave challenge once again. Because without it...
who am I?