I never really sit and watch the Oscars. Usually, I get excited about the gowns and
plan on watching the show and then end up working and being too tired to remember to turn it on; or end up just watching the end to see who gets best picture. This year, I sat through the whole thing without multitasking or switching back and forth from another show, or deciding to work instead.
And even though I enjoyed the show, and kept thinking "Gosh, I really must have been working and sleeping a lot this year to have missed so many movies that I wanted to see", it's almost one in the morning and I have so much f'n work to do that I wish I had just skipped it all together.
My weekend has consisted of working on my full-time job, working at my part-time job, going to a fantastic birthday party, working at my part-time job again, thinking and stressing out about my full-time job, the Oscars, and now this.
I don't even want to think about the week ahead. I honestly didn't think that it would ever end up like this--me dreading the week. The entire week. Not just Monday, but the whole freaking week. I'm not that person.
Old me: I wake up, the sun is shining. I have people that love me and I'm working towards some goal(s).
Me now: I wake up, hit snooze eighty times. Think about my boss stressing me out. Drag myself out of bed; feel guilty for being unsatisfied with the way things are since..I have a job, and I work towards my passion for helping people every day. Get pissed that my jeans are tight and the five pounds I lost last month, I probably gained them all back in the past two weeks since almost our whole organization's well-being rests on my shoulders and I'm treated like an intern Blah blah blah blah. Awesome.
This has got to stop.
Right now, while I worry about the bills I have to pay or can't pay (eh hem, student loans) and the recent ex I was with for five years who's emotionally abusive immaturity can still pull the rug out from under me at times, I think about how Michelle Obama would be studying at 6 in the morning. Sure, I know I didn't go to an ivy league school, so maybe I didn't have to get up at six, but the ownership of time that successful people--successful women--have is just plain admirable...and brilliant.
Dad always said that everyone--smart or dumb, rich or poor--has the same amount of hours in a day; it's all in what we choose to do with them.
I'm 24. I want my skin to look as good as it does now for at least the next 10 years. I want to wake up in the morning feeling as if I have some control of how my day is going to go, and if not my day, then my evening and night when I'm not at work.
I want to dance again. Teach again. Write again. And create.
I know the solution isn't to sit here and look at the Oscars and be distantly envious of people who get to follow their passions and express themselves through art for a living. People who are paid to be inspired. People who are paid to look good. I know.
I guess the most painful part is that Gabby Sidibe, who's a couple years older than me, took a risk. It's so amazing what became of that risk, and totally inspiring. But here I am with all the tools and heart--usually knowing the general or focused direction of where I'm headed--with absolutely no where to go. With seemingly no real, place to turn. I want that chance. I want that risk, but I have no idea where it is or where I should go from here.
I'm tired of meetings about future meetings. I'm tired of people who don't just do. I know there's always going to be bureaucracy and the need for diplomacy--I get it. But I'm sick and tired of people who don't give a flying flip about realizing their full potential and really taking everything they do and touch to the next level.
If all I have at the end of the day is my health and my passion, I'll be damned if I let incompetent, hand-wringing, milquetoast and insecure sunshine vultures stand in the way of the things that give life and voice to my internal child.
And now back to work.