I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve had myself some sort of transcendental meltdown with an introspective kicker. Learning what you want out of life (to borrow a line from John Green) is like falling asleep … slowly, and then all at once. Bits and pieces have come together over the years, but nothing has ever really come clearly into focus until recently. It’s as though I’m finally content with adulthood and all the stuff that comes with it (I mean, minus having to pay back my eleventy-billion dollar student loan debt and coughing up money for tires). Like, I get that contentedness is a journey and whatever, but, at least in my heart, I’m feeling pretty good about myself.
Here are some things that happened in the last week and a half:
If you follow me on Instagram, you might have seen The Great Spray Tan Debacle of 2017. If you missed if, have no fear: I saved it and uploaded it to the interwebs, where it will now live in immortal infamy.
The Sooners lost to Iowa State. I died on the inside.
The Sooners beat Texas. I rejoiced on the outside (and probably on social media because I’m a hooligan).
The USMNT isn’t going to the World Cup, so I’ve got a year to think of new excuses for ditching work next summer.
One of my best friends got married and it was an incredible night and she was beautiful.
Per the usual, if it’s not related to sports or vanity, it didn’t really happen in TyLand.
That said, though, I’ve started a few posts that I can’t seem to finish, either because I don’t know quite where to go with them or because I’m actively avoiding them. One of the latter posts involves me working for The Weinstein Company in 2008 and everything surrounding Harvey’s sexual assault allegations and a giant “me too” (clarification: not a me too with Harvey) and it all gets icky and personal and whatever, so I’m slowly but surely molding it in a way that makes me comfortable. It makes me a little itchy, babies, because it’s a far cry from getting my tongue stuck in a bottle or op-eds on the death penalty. Make it a just little bit personal, something slightly soul-baring, and I’ll shrivel up like a lost soul from The Little Mermaid.
Anywhoodles. In spite of my initial spray tan phobia (and nearly screwing up my entire collection of visible skin), I really liked the outcome and think I might do it again. I enjoyed this whole self-care gig, with the spray tans and the painted fingers and pedicures and stuff.
I also might get Botox this week.
Look, just because I’m become content with my adulthood doesn’t mean I have to look it.