Very rarely do I get all serious and/or complainy on the blog for one main reason.
No one cares.
I mean, people want to read about the bad ass concert you went to or the sweet necklace that you just bought/won/were given.
But back in the ole days of the blog, I would write about whatever was on my mind, as an outlet for the thoughts, whether they be sad/happy/angry -- anything.
So I feel like I can freely admit on this thing that I, Laura, am in a rut.
A feeling good about myself rut -- a being happy at work rut -- what have you. Just stuck. My workouts don't seem to be working lately; my hair always seems to be a mess and my makeup never seems to go on right anymore. Like WTF liquid black eyeliner; I don't need you all over my face, mmk? Perhaps now that I've older I've lost that steady hand that I so desperately need to not make myself look like a middle schooler experimenting with makeup. And ever since I turned 30, it's like my metabolism gave me the big middle finger, and was like, yep, I'm doing working for the rest of your life. And then work. Don't even get me started on that.... I feel like I'm on the losing end of a battle there. Every day lately.
And I know that I haven't been very active in the blog world, but it still hurts my feelings when I lose a follower. Maybe my pictures aren't good enough, or I don't write about anything useful. Maybe a combo of the two? See, rut.
I thought the questioning of yourself was supposed to be over after college...errrr, at least eight years later.
Anyway, at least this face is always there for those sweet eyes and a good look.
During the process of inheriting all the old pictures I've gotten, I got to come across some older pictures of my mom. I don't have to worry about getting killed for putting these up there, because I'm pretty sure she doesn't read these anymore, so that's a plus in my direction.
I always thought it was neat to see pictures of my parents pre-children, before we had time to drive them crazy, or right after children in those few small moments where having kids is cool. Of course those are all assumptions, because I don't have kids. Maybe there aren't those moments at all -- or maybe some parents say all those moments are cool.
But hearing a kid cry in Target, because she can't get a nail polish would suggest otherwise. I always wonder if I was that big of a brat, but I know the answer. Of course I was.