If there’s one thing I can attest to, it’s my general inconsistency of what it is I “Want”. Yeah, healthy, happy, blah blah blah. We all want those things. Sometimes they’re unobtainable and most times they’re out of our control. And please don’t give me that positive outlook speech–that “We choose our own happiness” cockamamie, because it doesn’t always work that way. At least, not for me.
If I’m happy, I’m happy. If I’m not, I’m not for days. Sometimes longer, but if it lasts too long I start to remove questionable offenders and decide if that’s the root of my cause. It’s a good method with decent effectiveness. But apart from those things…there’s the little girl inside of me that has never grown up. She sits there and watches Old Molly continue to mature and make grown up decisions and there she is, on the sidelines, wondering when the hell it’s her turn. And sometimes I let her talk. Sometimes I let her make decisions. And it’s entertaining as hell, in a very non-schizophrenic way.
I had the opportunity of shopping alone today. It was weird, and productive, and of course I bought absolutely nothing for myself, but I didn’t need to. I had the thing you can’t by–mental freedom. There was no, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”, as darling as that is. And it led me down a hilariously cathartic road of, “What are you going to DO with your life, Molly?” Because that’s the thing that everyone pushes. DO something. You know, because I am a worthless individual at the moment who merely depletes resources and puts more trash into the landfills. DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR LIFE! People practically scream it at you. As if you’re just supposed to know what the hell that means. I am doing something. I’m making moves! I’m doing stuff!! STOP PRESSURING ME! YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE!!! God, it makes me feel like I have to spaz out in a caffeine-addict way. I’M SO EXCITED! I’M SO EXCITED!!!!
But it’s a thing–not knowing. And what’s worse is when you “make a decision”, and then it doesn’t immediately work out. Or you second-guess yourself. Or you learn it’s an exuberant amount of money out of pocket.
Or they want you to take all of your clothes off and dance on a pole. But Baby Molly is in the background with a ring pop on her finger shouting things at me. She likes that I’m a writer, but doesn’t want me to go get a traditional degree. She wants me to write books but to also be an astronaut. Or an actress. Today, she told me to become a Pilot. A PILOT. Like, jet engines and actual FLYING. I mean, hell yeah, man, that sounds fantastic. I would want a completely male line up of shirtless flight attendants.
Baby Molly told me that’s sexist and missing the point.
But I get it. And I have to listen to her. I have to realize who I am and what I enjoy. Stuffy desk jobs will never be my thing. My butt will just refuse to lose it’s shape from sitting in an office chair all day, and the real-REAL thing is, I need excitement. I need to be jumping from planes or something. I want that job where they mail you all over the world to test out those amazing little wearable cameras. I want to be everything. Yes, I’m so lazy at times that there will be dishes literally in my sink for days. I’ve consistently used cups as cereal bowls. I once ate rice out of a measuring cup. You think I’m joking. But it’s because dishes are boring. They’re not hurting anyone. This cool thing over here needs my attention much more urgently.
I don’t know, I’m sure a lot of people think I should know by now. And I do, really, when it comes down to it. I’m a born writer because apart from being an actor, it’s the only job that allows me to be literally anything. But what about the “more”? I need the more. My split personality demands it. And I just can’t sling liquor my whole life. I fear for my liver, guys.