So who's the girl wearing my dress?

The other day I posted a survey on Facebook that described twenty-five random things about my life. I failed to mention that from the time I was five until the time I was fifteen (nineteen), I firmly believed that I could specifically remember being inside my mother's womb. I remember the colors, the sounds, and thinking to myself, "I'm ready, world." This is all a bit far-fetched, and it's more plausible that it was a dream rather than a real life occurrence, but a part of me still believes that I was an exceptionally rare infant.

I also failed to mention that almost every week I would perform a nightly news segment or some form of puppet show or palm reading. All of these things involved our ab cruncher, a sheet, handmade tickets, dimmed lights, and a legal pad full of jokes. One puppet show in particular featured a large piece of white faux-fur accessorized with google-eyes and a pipe cleaner mouth. The gist of the story line was that my Ken Doll was going through puberty and started growing hair in every nook and cranny on his body at a rapid pace. He eventually turned into a white monster and went crazy.




But one of the things I did mention in the survey was that I am, and probably always will be, a big cry baby. Seldom a week goes by where I don't cry at least once. It's not necessarily that I'm terribly upset, or that I'm terribly sad, but I just cry. Most of the time the tears are unnecessary. Like when I'm watching The Office, or listening to music, or staring out my window. It's all pretty cheesy. I do it anyway.

This is going somewhere.

Last night my friend and I went to see the good ol' rom-com He's Just Not that Into You. It was predictable. It had some serious logic flaws. There were some funny parts and parts that made me hate my gender. If anything, it was two hours and nine minutes of sugary sweetness. Nothing satisfying or Oscar-worthy, but then again, we weren't expecting anything brilliant.

But I was so embarrassed that I started to cry towards the end. Like, I literally stomped my foot in protest. As we were leaving the theater I told my friend that even though I could have told her the ending from the opening credits, that the entire basis of the movie was a bunch of relationship garbage, that the movie played up stereotypes and hokey lines, I cried. I cried like a little girl.

I guess it's because somewhere deep down inside my overwhelmingly girlish heart I want my life to play out like a movie. I have faith in my ability to distinguish reality from fantasy, but every once in awhile I get caught up in the idea that relationships should be simple and cute and fuzzy and easy. I trap myself by giving my mind away so easily. So, so easily. It's a scary thing to do, actually. Scary and dangerous. My mind of all things.

For the past nineteen years I've always kept my heart guarded. I haven't been in love, and my outlook on romantic relationships leans towards pessimistic. I have very little faith in people. And it's difficult, you know? It's difficult to have these hopelessly romantic ideas about the future, but to have an outlook that's so negative. Just call me Delainey Downer.

Maybe "negative" or "pessimistic" aren't the exact words. They aren't even close, truthfully.

I have come to no greater knowledge about this situation. If anything it's that I've come to realize that I'm constantly thinking about dating, or guys, or the way guys perceive me. I understand that relationships aren't supposed to come wrapped up nicely in a box. I understand that maybe I'm talking out of my ass when I'm trying to give my grand philosophy about love. And I understand that I have to be patient. That doesn't make it any less of a struggle.

No perfect conclusion. Just a trip. Kind of messy. Kind of not. So it goes.

"I just want you to be more than that. You have got to be the voice inside your head and heart that makes the choice to be louder than the one that tells you what's wrong with you, what is supposed to happen, that relationships should be simple and cute and fuzzy and easy. It is a choice. Be louder with the truth than the world with its lies."

(Again, thank you.)