Lookie here, butterbutts. (I seriously have no idea why that just happened.) BUT BEAR GET BARE WITH ME AND LET’S GET BACK TO BUSINESS.
Last week I talked about Those People who are about one super-positive Facebook status update away from totally losing their shit. But what I forgot to mention is that everyone is almost always on the edge of totally losing their shit–
And that’s okay.
Because sometimes, your nose gets so stuffed up that your eyes are just sort of constantly watering and your cheeks burn, and instead of asking for someone to bring you soup, you pick a fight with your landlord and/or girlfriend and/or landlord girlfriend. (<—No judgement).
Or because occasionally, you think about all of the things you want to do in your life, and those ideas and passions and needs pile up on your chest, one by one, until your breathing gets weird and shaky and you wrap yourself up in an afghan cocoon on the couch, The Ellen Show blaring in the background while you mutter to yourself like a fucking crazy person that it’s going to be okay. That it has to be okay.
And because on some days, for no reason at all, you find yourself melodramatically sliding down your shower wall and crying in the corner, your hands wobbling with pure, unadulterated feeeeeeelings as you lie your head back against the tile, looking up into the stream of water and thinking that if someone took a picture of you just then, your arms tastefully covering your boobs, (obviously) and mascara streaking down your face, it would be super artsy in a really impactful way. (Never mind the fact that you totally couldn’t make it your Facebook profile picture, because OH, SWEET JESUS, what would your Aunt Bonnie say?!)
What I’m getting at is that we’re all just doing the fucking best we can.
And some days that looks like sprints around a track, the sweat beading on your brow and splattering the ground, working productively for 9 hours on a fulfilling project that will probably lead to world peace, laughing during happy happiest hour with a group of perfectly-balanced (yet still beautiful and inappropriate) friends, and coming home to crawl into a huge king-size bed, your fluffy pillow like damn hug for your brain, and some sort of tiny, furry, well-love animal curling up at your feet. And then you drift off into sleep studded with sweet dreams and the highest hopes for tomorrow.
But some days. SOME DAYS. You wear zebra-striped pajama pants that are two sizes too big and you picked up at a thrift store for $0.50 three years ago as a joke. The toast burns, so you eat refried beans out of the can until your Pizza Rolls are done in the oven, forgetting to run a brush through your hair before trying to find any–any–spark of genius that will help you sit down and make work happen while mostly just wanting to bang your head into the desk that you probably should have dusted about two weeks ago.
And to top it off?
Your friends are all home with the flu. There’s nothing good on TV. And before you know it, you’re on your third Guinness at 6 p.m., staring into your unshowered face in the mirror and genuinely wondering if you can pull off straight-across bangs. (Spoiler alert: You cannot. PUT DOWN THE SCISSORS AND STEP AWAY FROM THE PICTURES OF ZOOEY DESCHANEL.)
But the cool–the really cool, astonishingly gorgeous & incredible inspiration in all of this?
It doesn’t matter.
Each and every day doesn’t matter.
What matters is that you brush your damn teeth, go to bed, and dig up even a sliver of determination to do it all again tomorrow.
We’re not perfect. Hell, half the time we’re not even okay.
But we’re doing our best, and that certainly deserves the roar of well-timed applause and a round of the finest whiskey.
When shit metaphorically, (AND GOODNESS FORBID, NEVER LITERALLY) hits the fan, what makes you feel better? What gives you that oomph to keep trying and fighting and kicking the most ass? Tell us in the comments. OR ELSE. (Dun dun dunnnnn.)