A little voice in my head is saying to me that it's time to start sharing again. and I'm reluctant. I'm afraid. I'm a perfectionist. and I don't want to mess up. I have a clean slate, it's a new start in a lot of different areas, and I'm terrified. But I will make mistakes. and I guess I can still accept myself for that.
I'm going to do very well on the LSAT. It's right up my alley. The alley called "meticulous overachieving overthinking neat freak."
I'm happy being single. until I meet boys I want to kiss. Boys with strong arms and crooked noses and dark eyes. They make being single a little more complicated. And the inner dialogue gets a little tiresome. and I'm stubborn. still very very stubborn.
I'm actually pretty great, but you don't know that. and you wouldn't believe me if I told you.
I guess all we can do is our best. and we all mess up. and things work out sometimes and sometimes they don't and contrary to what we're taught to believe, it seems like it has nothing to do with whether or not we mess up.
I sang last night with my old friend. This piano bar was so much seedier than I remembered. I'm not sure if it has changed over the years since I was there last, or if my memories are just so biased that I didn't recall the tacky carpet, or the strange, awkward assortment of regulars who sit in the corners on Tuesday nights and bring music to sing. The resonance of music is fascinating to me. No matter who or what you are, no matter what you're going through, we all melt into music. Or at least I do.
