The Universe Signs I Ignore, Cause I’m A Dick

THERE ARE NO PICTURES OR VIDEO HERE….JUST WORDS. IF YOU ACCIDENTALLY LANDED HERE BUT WANT TO LEAVE, PLEASE DO. ALSO, I KNOW BLOGS ARE DEAD SO DON’T SEND ME MESSAGES ABOUT IT………..KAREN.

My friend Amy (whom I introduce in conversation EXACTLY that way…as if people assume she isn’t my friend but instead a kangaroo stuffy that I knitted) has been on my ass to write something for about 11.5 months. When I told her recently that I had an idea for a blog, she said “Just promise me you won’t start by apologizing for not writing. No one wants to hear that shit.”

*I put that in quotations without knowing exactly what she said, but it’s close and I think I made it sound better*

So I’m not apologizing.

My mom has also been hounding me in the way stay-at-home, inspirational calendar moms have a tendency to do. It goes a little bit like this…”When I listen to some of these books on tape, I really hope that you will do the voice for your book. I think it would be much better than having someone else do it.”

I don’t want to break the heart of the woman who I shamed at Christmas when I was an asshole 14-year-old, but I haven’t written that book and I currently don’t know anyone who will publish my 2.4 amazing ideas. But that’s a mom for you. She sees qualities in me that I would need 1200 microscopes to see in myself.

While having a mental health day last week, a dear friend whom (I LOVE THE WORD WHOM, FIGHT ME) I haven’t been in contact with for far too long, sent me a random text. I was in the midst of a mental/emotional/Netflix spiral while consuming the series The Keepers.

*SIDE-NOTE: PLEASE DON’T WATCH THIS SERIES WHILE SAD…BUT PLEASE WATCH THIS SERIES*

Her text read as follows (minus some personal parts I took out because I’m a grown up and I can):

“My beautiful friend,

I woke up with the strongest feeling to tell you it’s time to write your story. Your story of ______________________. The battle of _____________________.

The world has gone crazy and I believe we need to share our stories. It’s the only way to change things. Your words are perfection. You can take us to the brink of heartache and then flip us on our asses with your wit, sass, and humor.

When you choose to write, I will be the first in line ready to love, support, and purchase!

I love you. I honor the woman you are. The incredible mother you are. The wicked talented writer you are.”

(Yeah…she’s a writer, too. And BOMB AF.)

And then I cried and sent back a text about how broken I was. And then I cried some more.

For the last 3 months, every time I look at my phone or a clock I see 11:11. It feels like an STD that  refuses to crawl out of my vagina, so I finally Googled it. The number thing, not the STD.

Then I told my mom and she was mucho better than Google, because she always has been.

Mom:  “The Universe is supporting you. You are okay. You are loved.”

*You don’t have crabs*

Here we are, my friends. 3:08 AM on a Saturday. I have a math test in 4 hours. I’m exhausted and frazzled and not nearly the person I was when I came to this writing place last year. As I said to my dear friend who sent me that EVERYTHING text “I am not the best version of myself right now.” And I’m not. And maybe you are not. You may not know what the fuck you are doing with your life….me, too. Maybe you ignore the Universe when it’s screaming at you….SAME THOUGH.

The Universe: Write.

Me: Okay, but I haven’t and I have work and I’m in school and I’m a little bit wrecked.

The Universe: Write. I’m not leaving this alone, hooker.

I have been ignoring the Universe’s signs for a hot ass second. Partly because I’m a dick and partly because I don’t know exactly what to do with them. Maybe I can live in a van down by the river? (I won’t tell you how appealing that sounds right now.)

Here’s what I’m telling myself until I can find my way…..

It’s okay….no one gave me a manual.

And I’m guessing no one gave you one either.