Happy despite

Happiness.

I didn't really know what it felt like, not for a while. Not for a very long time. It's the middle of the week, a Wednesday, two more days of work before the weekend. I shouldn't be happy. Just a month ago, I would not be happy. I'd be dreading the next day, the long hours in the greenhouse where I work. What changed, in just one month? Why am I different? Is it me that is different?

I should be miserable. Broke up with my boyfriend of over a year, in just a month ago. I was miserable, so very heartbroken. It only hurt once today....But I'm still happy. Despite that.

So maybe I'm not so much happy because of something? I'm happy despite.

I'm happy despite this not being where I imagined myself. Where am I? Working 5 days a week, moderate to hard physical labour. In all weathers. Two jobs, both part-time. It's really hard work. Some days I hate it. Other days I love it. My evenings are filled with lazing around, or admiring the beauty of our property. My weekends are free to fill or leave empty as I wish. I look to the future, and I see a whole lot of nothing. I have no set in stone plans, just time to kill, I suppose. Or time to make something, have experiments. Maybe I'll make something of myself? (cue melodramatic cellos)

A year ago, my plan was to go to college, get my degree, wait for my boyfriend to finish his, then we'd marry and go on our merry way. I knew this would take a while and I was glad about that; I felt secure in the knowledge that the next few years of my life were neatly put into this little box. (now that I think on it, it was almost creepy how tidy my life looked)

Then a huge emotional explosion happened mid-semester, and my box fell apart. I questioned. What the hell was I doing? Did I honestly want more schooling? The answer, of course, was NO. School was wrong for me, very very wrong. Then later down the road my eyes were opened to who my boyfriend was, and I was like 'OH HELL NO'. (specifics in another post)

                                                                   Story of my life
So now I'm here, boxless, yet happy. Happy despite my structured, organized life being blown to bits. Maybe I'm happy because I get to break the mold, that I get to determine my own future (or let it determine itself). I can make new plans, my own plans. Be my own master (of sorts). And that is exciting.

                                                       It's about this exciting.

Sometimes you just have to learn to love where you're at. (dangit. ended a sentence with a preposition. sounds catchy, so I ain't changing it.) This should be interesting.

 Heerrreee we go.

This is intolerable!

Crap.

I'm staring at this blank page, trying to organize my thoughts. I was so very excited to start a blog. I had wanted one for a while now (though not quite as long as I have wanted a pony), but now that it's here, all those danged drafts I wrote in my head just up and left me. Perhaps that is a good thing.

Maybe I should introduce myself? Do bloggers do that? Goodness, I feel like I've joined this club. 'Club Blogger'. 'Tis tres chic. Although....until I get evidence that I am actually being read (or at least my page had been viewed) I will feel pretty awkward about this whole blogger club thing. That's the hazing for Club Blogger; my blog has to be a tad more circulated. 

I suppose first off I should explain that I am ADD. (as if the previous paragraph didn't scream ADD to you, dearest reader) I don't say that I *have* ADD, because I've never been diagnosed by a medical professional. However, mine own extensive reading (and being somewhat of a hypocondriac) hath diagnosed me (myself?) as ADD. As I am getting impatient with how slowly thoughts can be typed, I'll get around to showing you why I believe such. But for now, all you need to know is that I turn off most of my filters when I write. You know that people have filters, right? Like 'Oh, I really shouldn't say that my brother looks like he lost some more hair, so I won't'. I keep a moderate filter on my mouth, but my fingers are magic (that deaf, dumb, and blind kid....) so everything you read, I think. I will proofread, and make it more or less entertaining and, well, readable for you, kind reader, but the long and short of it is you are getting my thoughts. Holy crap, look out.

Also! I like to cuss. Well. Okay. I cuss. Whether or not I take joy in cussing could be debated. And I like paraentheses. I like them a lot, mostly because I think in paraentheses. Now I could go be all hypocondriac on you and say it's cause I've got a split personality or am bipolar or sutin', but I'll just let you make your own conclusions about my parenthetical thinking.

Gosh. That's scary. Me writing and not interpreting for the intended recipient? This is new, and frightening (redundant, I know). I usually have to clarify a thousand times for people as to what I mean.

Maybe I should have just titled my blog Serendipity's Ramblings? Oh well. I'll get to the why of my blog's name tomorrow. Perhaps. You just can't wait, can you, fine reader? 

P.S. Did any of this make any sense? Hello? Anyone out there?....

P.P.S. I'd love if people would tell me if they get my inside jokes. Cause then you'd be inside, and we'd be friends or sutin'. And I like friends.