Finally done with my finals! Earlier this morning I was flippin’ out at all the stuff I have to do before Tuesday, but now, with one less thing off my load, I feel better!

(Actually, I also dipped out on my writing group and another appointment, but!)

The point still stands that this morning, I was crying while getting my hair done (which freaked my brother out, lol. “Why are you crying? Your hairs gonna be fine!” said he.) But now I’m relieved. So the lesson is dump more stuff when you find yourself crying at the hair salon.

You might have thought I’d say BEFORE you cry at the hair salon, but don’t worry about that. As an almost psychologist, I can report that hair dressers, as a population, are highly neurotic. Anxiety, depression, mood disorders, personality disorders, addiction… those are the good stylists that you’d want doing your hair. All that to say, if you break down at a salon, you’re in good company, so don’t worry about it.

Or maybe I just don’t mind breaking down in public. Maybe that’s been what the last three months have been about teaching me. There has been a lot of crying—big crying—in public, around strangers. And I think I’ve finally let myself off the hook for it.

I think I’m ready to be a bit of a fuck up.

I think for… ever, at least in my adult life, I’ve always subconsciously thought: What can I bring to the table? How can I be a better friend/girlfriend/daughter/student/protege? How can I make sure everyone knows I deserve to exist? How can I make sure I can never NOT be loved?

But… I think I prefer the excitement of imperfection over the anxiety of near perfection. Being excitable and passionate and energetic and overly sincere are strengths. And I don’t mean that in a generic, turn your negatives into positives way. I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, that my ability to be an obnoxious hater and debate my friends about stupid shit like X-Men ‘97 makes my life more fun and exciting. I think writing juvenile blogs and taking really bloomy pictures and posting my doodles and pixel art is just… more fun than not doing it. Eating half a watermelon is more fun that not eating half a watermelon. Going on vacation is more fun than being afraid of dying on a plane and leaving my life unfinished/unproven/imperfect. But being really scared and crying on airplanes is kind of fun, too. It’s big feeling, and I appreciate the sympathy from strangers, to be honest.

But I think I just want life to feel bigger, like it did when I was a kid. So this is one path to try.