What the fuck am I doing? I can't believe I've actually started a blog. No one is going to read this, but whatever-the-fuck-ever. I'm actually hoping no one will read this so they don't get to see the diabolical mess of a life I've fashioned for myself. It's more of a thing for me, I guess, with some sort of subconscious desire to be exposed to the world all the while maintaining a safe aloofness. I'm currently planted in my hometown (in my childhood home to be accurate) and I'm trying to figure out my next move. I've been trying to figure this out since I graduated high school. I've spun the wheel of destiny (of the week) and landed on law school. Okay, law school it is (for now). We'll see how long before I lose my shit and change my mind completely. I'm positive it'll happen. Just a week ago I was telling a friend that her couch would be my new home while I went to cooking school in Florida. She even bought me Christmas presents to coincide with my particular mood (Julie and Julia by Julie Powell, a whisk for christ's sake) I read the book which hit me like a semi would a deer. Big eyes in the headlights, "what the fuck is that?" I was seriously crying at a point in the book when, after receiving a call from an interviewer, Julie relayed the news that Julia Child, only the most consuming element of her life for one full year during this monstrosity of a cooking project, didn't approve of what she was doing. What a fucking heartbreaker.
Anyway, the book helped me realize that I need to do something with my life, even if it's something as seemingly esoteric as concocting aspic. As a start to the whole new lease on life garbage, I've decided to volunteer like I've been planning to all throughout college and beyond. The other impetus behind this sudden urge is a radio commercial I heard on the way to work today which basically went something like this:
"you almost gave, which almost helped someone walk at a treatment facility that almost got built. How good is almost giving? About as good as almost walking."
Holy shit, right? Talk about laying on the guilt. It's certainly worse for us lazy bleeding hearts. The paradoxical nature of being the arm chair activist has finally gotten to me. I won't be going green or becoming an organic vegan red-paint thrower anytime soon (I like KFC way too much for that). So, far from being a 'project', I suppose I can use this blog -- by the way, using the term 'blog' makes me squeamish, but the fact that I'm blogging after it has reached the height of its cultural significance makes it a little easier to digest -- to track my progress on the road to becoming an actual adult.
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