Tonight, when I walked into my apartment, my roommate asked me what was wrong. When I said nothing, she gave me that "your pants are combusting" look. And she was right: I was upset. I hadn't gotten in a fight with anyone, I am within the normal range of the "behind on homework" bell curve that dominates college, and I have been having a wonderful week. However I was upset, and it took me a moment to place why I was stressed. I was getting stressed out about a book. A very pretty, fancy book, that I am told is rather valuable, but at it's heart, just a book. More specifically, a book that belongs to me.
Inside all of us, we are everyone we used to be.
There's five-year-old Heidi who sits in a room in my Mind Palace with fifteen-year-old Heidi. And that's okay.
I'm learning to love my young self.
(according to me, who is completely underqualified to make this assessment, except as a student).
My ideas that sound contradictory, and won't by the end of this blog post:
As you can see from the list of blog posts, I just started this whole blogging thing. I had a few excellent reasons for doing this:
it was on my list of "Things to Do Before I Start College."