Partly smart, mostly water.

Partly smart, mostly water.

I like to consider myself an intelligent individual. I’m assured by most of my friends that I’m “mature for my age”, which? I take whole-heartedly as a compliment. Sue me for my narcissism.

Lately I’ve found myself in a few socially awkward situations that leave me dumbfounded or merely under the impression that the person standing across from me is onto the fact that I may not be as mature for my age as I once appeared.

I have a feeling it’s the meds. Not only have they made me gain weight (which is a whole other post in and of itself), but it’s left me restless, stunned, and shockingly speechless, which, if you know me at all, is a flabbergasting statement of its very own.

I’ve had a few interviews over the past few weeks, each leaving me less and less comfortable with this newfound inability to find my words. That intellect I’m typically so keen on possessing. It’s as if the written word is my friend and the spoken my enemy.

I haven’t even milked that feeling here, for you, to dote or drone upon in my little universe. For that, I apologize. I feel like I’m wasting some precious resource that could be channeled to current events, social media drama, breastfeeding dolls, tragic losses of addicts…

Instead I sit idly by, complaining of my physical appearance, attempting to rub the tired out of my heavy eyes, thinking and not doing, doing and not thinking.

Things are great. Great things are coming. Why can’t I enjoy them like I know I should?