It's Not a Full Moon, No, That Was Wednesday

What is it about a cold, dark Saturday night at about 3am that calls me out to my car? The first time, I realized, was a subconscious act to be near my car since it had been the anniversary of the death of Percius P. Percival, my scion xa who had been totaled a year ago, and I had not done anything to honor his memory.  Tonight, I'm not sure. I don't remember April 27th being any day of significance in terms of my car. It seems that both times, I had an errand I had to run involving my car that, for some reason, could not wait until the morning.  I feel wired. I feel like I need to do something.  I can't sleep, I can't relax. At this time, all I can think of is going to sit in the warm comfort of my car.  It could be nerves. I could be suffering from over stacked nerves about finals, end of the semester, finals, grades, friends, social interactions, family, interactions, moving out of my dorm, moving into my apartment, what I'm going to do for that week in between the two, this summer being my last camp summer, if I should find a doctor up here in Massachusetts, should I just stay with my pediatrician until I get kicked out of the office when I get to old because Massachusetts might be just a temporary thing, am I trying too hard, am I not trying hard enough, am I actually failing at my life, am I disappointing everyone, or am I just making everything up in my head?

Right now, all I know is that I appreciate you Swooshy. You are good to me.

Love,
Lunch Box.

I Still Wake Up.

Done with freehand sharpie (and no references...). Every once in a while I get the inspiration to draw and this is sometimes what happens.

The words I had found inspiration in through the lyrics of a song, "Some Nights" by Fun. and found myself telling myself "I still wake up." over and over again when I hit small spirals of depressive thoughts. It helps me to keep walking forward.  The images became a sort of unspoken mantra, that I still wake up, no matter what is happening.

Don't Kick The Puppy

In my mind, I see issues, or at least any topic that elicits a response from an individual, as puppies. Most people can attest to a situation in which they bring up a topic of conversation and someone jumps down your throat about it. The person who brought up the topic kicked the other person's puppy.  And this isn't to say that the puppy is ONLY theirs, more like it's a puppy that they chose to care about, or a puppy that they connect with personally.  This thought first came about when I heard people say to others who looked pissed or at least agitated, "Who kicked your puppy?" Insulting someone, or something they connect with is, in my eyes, the same as kicking their metaphorical puppy.

How hard a puppy is kicked can be judged in two VERY different we ways. The first is obvious; how extreme the person bringing up the topic is about it. The second is more ambiguous:  those topics that are so touchy to begin with, that simply saying the name of the topic will send 30% of the people within hearing range into a state of rabid defensiveness.  Those two instances I have classified as punting the puppy across the room. In true second case, it describes the fact that they respond as if their puppy was punted across the room.

I truly connected this metaphor when I was in the middle of a LGBT support group. I had brought up how, before I first came out, I had built myself up, arming myself, against every negative response I could have expected to get when coming out.  This was stemmed from all the horror stories I've heard about kids coming out in their schools.  An image popped into my mind:

[The puppy represents any topic or subject that you feel compelled to protect.]

When I didn't get the negative response initially that I was expecting, all the pent up defensiveness had no where to go. Now, I am in that unfortunate, ever defensive mode where I tip-toe into every situation, waiting for someone to come and kick my puppy.

I thought that I would share this metaphor since I just had a classes where people were seriously punting puppies across the room.

Sincerely,
Lunch Box.

Look Too Far Forward and You'll Find Yourself Looking Back

More often than not, I find myself wishing to be a child again, to be back home where everything was simpler.  You didn't have to worry about your college experience, how likely it is that you will get into vet school, getting an apartment, getting a job, or worry about life in general.  You only had to worry about your homework and your chores, like keeping your room clean and anything else your parents tell you to do.  If things went wrong, your mother was there to give you a hug and tell you that everything was going to be alright. Your dog is there to paw at you to give him attention when his presence is more sought after than he actually thinks.

There is a little part of Mr that wishes I could go back in time and tell myself, "Enjoy your youth while it lasts, enjoy being a kid with no responsibilities. Growing up is not all that you think it will be. It's tough, it's tedious, and at times you will think it's completely unbearable, despite how great of a freedom you get by growing up.  Savor your childhood, don't scorn it, or forsake it, but embrace it. Be a child when you're supposed to be a child, don't fight so much to be an adult when you have only reason to be a child."

I wish I enjoyed being a child more. As great as the freedom of being an adult is, I miss the freedom of being a child, where everything was so simple.