Sincerely, Sorely Disappointed

"She had always spent her life waiting for something: for her father to come back from work, for the letter from a lover that never arrived, for her end-of-the-year exams, for the train, the bus, the phone call, the holiday, the end of the holidays. Now she was going to have to wait for death, which had made an appointment with her."

"It was precisely because she found everything so stupid that she had ended up accepting what life naturally imposed on her. In adolescence she thought it was too early to choose; now, in young adulthood, she was convinced it was too late to change."

"She would consider each day a miracle - which indeed it is, when you consider the number of unexpected things that could happen in each second of our fragile existences."

Veronika Decides To Die -Paulo Coelho

---

I think New Years Eve might be my least favorite holiday. It is the only one, in my opinion, that is nearly always a let down. Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of New Years Eve, and I always get excited for it, which is precisely the reason I have come to dislike it so much. Why should the fact that I don't have someone to kiss tonight bother me more than the fact that I didn't have someone to kiss last night, and I won't have someone to kiss tomorrow? Sandy reckons that if I stop assuming everyone is out at a party and acknowledge the fact that the rest of the world is sitting on the couch watching TV in their pajamas and drinking sparkling cider just like I am I will appreciate the holiday a lot more. And maybe she's right. Perhaps if I lower my expectations of the day it won't always be such a disappointment.

I just haven't figured out how to do that yet.

Until next year,
karajean

P.S.

Good Riddance 2009. You were the worst.

I Spend My Time Just Thinkin, Thinkin, Thinkin 'Bout You.

This was originally a post about how I’m not exactly a wedding type of girl. How I’m not the type of girl who has had her wedding colors, music, and theme picked out since junior high. But then I realized some things go without saying. Plus, my general lack of wedding knowhow kind of makes me apprehensive to post about weddings in the first place, mostly because I know the likelihood of it coming off as one big cliché is high. And I’m trying to avoid clichés like the plague.

This comes up because I spent most of yesterday wedding dress shopping with Sandy, who was probably even less of a wedding girl than I was before she got engaged.

Someone else who sadly may not be a wedding girl is the bride who was trying on a dress next to Sandy in the second store we visited. She just looked… awkward, for lack of a better word, in her gown. Now, it may be because her choice was fairly ugly, but we were all inclined to think she just isn’t suited to be in a wedding dress. {Sad and judgmental, I know.} At this point I started to wonder if I am a wedding dress type of girl. My mom insisted that I am, and told me to try on a dress for “fun,” but I could not quite bring myself to do it. Instead, I put on a veil and stood in front of a mirror.

And let me tell you, I looked awful.

Maybe it was the unattractive veil. Maybe it just clashed with my converse, my jeans, my flannel shirt, and my hoodie. Maybe it was my less than perfect hair or my extreme lack of makeup. Maybe it was the unpleasant expression on my face.

Or maybe I am just not a wedding girl.

And maybe the fact that this distressing revelation and the even more distressing reflection in the mirror worried me more than it should have {I’m writing about it, aren’t I?} is evidence to the fact that I am more of a wedding type of girl than I ever realized. It’s not like I haven’t thought about my wedding, because I definitely have. But it is always in the vague distant future, with nothing exactly defined. {Although still distinctly perfect.} Even when I visited Tucson this fall and ended up looking through bridal magazines with two friends of mine who are definitely wedding girls, the only preferences I could be persuaded to divulge include my love for brightly colored daises and the song Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley.

Admittedly, however, those are preferences. And they are things I have thought about. And if I am being honest with myself, I want to look good in a veil, dang it. {If, you know, I decide that veils are pretty, and not ridiculous.}

So just maybe I am a wedding girl. And maybe somewhere in the vague distant future that will come in handy.

{Oh my. Yesterday must have really done a number on me. For a post that was not supposed to be about weddings control+find tells me I have used the word wedding 16 times in this one short post.}

A Post About My Dad, and Still Somehow Mostly About Me

When I was in the sixth grade there was a teacher, who for the sake of anonymity I will refer to as Mrs. Smith, {not to be confused with the actual Mrs. Smith who taught at VVL} who was not my teacher.

She was, however, her son’s teacher.

And I always wondered if he called her “Mrs. Smith” or “Mom” in class. I mean, either sounds weird.

I bring this up because today in church when they called the new bishopric I realized I am in the same predicament.

Bishop Durkin?

Dad?

{Maybe Bishop Dad?}

This minor dilemma aside, today was an awesome day at church. It might be a little weird having my dad as my bishop, and I’m probably about to become a lot more involved in ward activities, but I guess that can only be a good thing. And he is going to be great. I am so excited for him. Just like I am so excited for his band to start providing entertainment for ward parties. {How cool would that be?}

Besides, hopefully now people will remember who I am and stop asking me if I’m new.

Maybe someone will even sit next to me in sacrament meeting.

A girl can dream, right?


Happy Bishoping Dad!

Embarrassment of Riches

If you are as lucky as I am, then you probably got to spend Christmas with people you love.

And Santa may have even recognized the {difficult?} year you had, bringing you something totally awesome. In my case, I was thrilled to find not one, but two books with my name on them under the tree this year. I told my friend how fortunate I was and received this response: “A book? Were you bad this year? I’d take the coal.”

Hardly. Santa knows me all too well. If I was meant to be punished, it certainly would not be in the form of a book.

And, as it turns out, my parents also know me all too well. I just think they like to take credit for my “big” gifts, which is why my new cell phone had their names on the outside, not Santa’s.

They’re thinkers.

So if you are as lucky as I am, you might have spent the entire day in your pajamas reading, dozing, eating Christmas cookies, listening to the Glee soundtrack, and talking to your friends on your fabulous new toy. Or you know, doing something that sounds equally as appealing to you.

If you are a little luckier than I am, then you probably didn’t have to spend Christmas with freezing feet, a sore throat, and a stuffy nose.

But we all have to be humbled somehow. It’s the only thing grounding me in this embarrassment of riches.

It’s a tradeoff I’m more than okay with.


Merry Christmas!

Even Scrooge Wasn't Really a Scrooge

I think I love my family most on Christmas Eve.

Or, at the very least, I realize just how much I love my family on Christmas Eve.

When I was younger my favorite tradition was the annual Christmas Eve bedtime story. Where lots of other family read Luke Chapter 2, the Durkin’s read The Polar Express. And we love it. More recently, however, my favorite tradition involves the entire family piling {illegally} into one car and driving around my grandma’s neighborhood to look at Christmas lights. We pass judgment on the houses that win the decorating awards, deciding which ones should have won and which ones should have been disqualified for loading their yards with tacky blowup decorations. We lovingly heckle the people in the hay rides. And we sing. The past few years Sister and I have almost miraculously turned this car ride into family caroling time, cajoling everyone {minus one too-cool-for-school 16 year old} into singing Christmas hymns at the tops of our lungs with the windows rolled down. The Durkin’s love music, but I would say we rarely sing out loud, because, well, we’re not the most vocally gifted family.

So as I sat in the car tonight, singing The First {and second, and third, and fourth} Noel with my family, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of appreciation. Appreciation for the fact that we’re all still together, and immense appreciation for the fact that I am lucky enough to have been blessed with a family I actually love spending time with. I couldn’t help but lean my head against the window, close my eyes, and bask in the moment, saying a quick prayer of thanks.

Tonight, after we finished looking at lights, however, my sister hopped into a car to drive down to Tucson to spend Christmas with her fiancé. And I thought about how Will was missing because he was spending his first Christmas with his wifey. And I don't mind telling you that I felt… lonely. Believe it or not, it was an unexpected feeling. I have heard more than one person grumble about the holidays this year because they have no one to spend it with and I have been counting myself lucky that I don’t fit into this category. I mean, I have my family. My fabulous family. See paragraphs 2 & 3 of you don’t believe me. So I thought I was immune to the Holiday Blues. But as I sat in the car tonight, I could not help but feel a little overwhelmed. I could not help but lean my head against the window, close my eyes, and think about him.

And I’m not talking about the most recent him, the one with the too good break up. {Although, if we’re being honest, I did think about him too.}

And I’m not talking about The Ex, the one who broke my heart in July and answered a year and a half long prayer this week by telling me he will be spending the next two years of his life serving the Lord in Des Moines. {Although, of course, I did think about him as well.}

I thought about the him I might be spending next Christmas with. Or the Christmas after that. And I thought about the him I will be with for all of the Christmas’s for the rest of my life. I thought about whether or not I have already met him. {My guess is that I have not.}

And then we arrived home, and read The Polar Express, and my mom cried, and my little brother wrote a note to Santa, and my Dad told us how much he loved the family.

And I felt happy again. And not so lonely. And now I am thinking about patience, and how it is my favorite day of the year, and how if I can’t be happy today than I don’t stand much of a chance any other time. And just like that, my minor case of the Holiday Blues is {mostly} gone. I have so much time to spend Christmas with numerous other hims.

I can wait.

I'm a Little Better on the Holidays

Christmas Eve is my favorite day of the year.

So even though I am sitting by myself in my bedroom listening to Jay-Z and waiting for my chronically late family when I could be listening to Christmas music on the way to my Grandmas's house, I am in a great mood.

Impatience doesn't exist on Christmas Eve.

Ironic, because as a kid this day was the longest one of the year.

Not anymore.

I would be okay with Christmas Eve stretching itself out as long as possible.

It's definitely the most magical day of the year, and I have always been a sucker for a little magic.

Even if I have to wait.

Brain Dead

Yesterday, the mall broke my brain.

There were too many people, and too many stores, and too much music, and too many things on the list, and not enough time. There might have been enough time, had Sister and I not spent more than 30 minutes staring at the earing rack at Forever 21 trying to figure out the best "ghetto gold" earrings to buy for ourselves. And then another 30 minutes at Hot Topic trying to throw together a present for little brother out of tacky t-shirts and awesome Alice in Wonderland memorabilia. Oh, and was the three times we drove up and down Main street attempting to find an antique store that may or may not exist. That was practical. As was the multiple times Sister and I got turned around and drove in the wrong direction on our way from one mall to another, as if we haven't lived in this city for the last 10 years. And finally, we spent entirely too long in Victoria's Secret trying to figure out which lip gloss we could purchase within the limits of our 10 dollar gift cards {also for ourselves}.

By the end of it our heads were aching and we had complained of nearly fainting several times. Sister pointed out that we were almost like characters in a Jane Austen novel. {A comparison which, by the way, I'll gladly accept. So long as I'm Elizabeth Bennett, of course, and no one else. Except maybe Marianne Dashwood.} We think it was Forever 21 that did us in, because before that our shopping was extremely efficient, but once we were stepped inside that trendy and inexpensive vortex without a clear idea of what we wanted we were hit with sensory overload and a huge case of shopping ADD, bouncing back and forth between the different jewelry racks too many times without the facility to focus on anything in particular.

It was all just too much.

And after that, we were done for. The list went straight out the window, as did all ability to use our brains and/or make a decision. I think we both remarked more than once that we felt like crazy people {standing inside Forever 21 for too long will do that to you} and we could not understand why other people in the mall did not seem to be bothered by the terribly loud music and generally frantic atmosphere.

After about 5 hours we got to go home for a break, but it didn't last. Less than an hour later we were back in the car with the little brothers on our way to do some more Christmas shopping. Luckily Target is quieter than Pac Sun, so it was not altogether awful, although by the time we got home from this trip, Sister and I were both reaching for the Tylenol bottle.

AND, even though I made the day sound like the.worst. it was the hilarious kind of awful, which I can fully appreciate and enjoy.

So, mission accomplished!

A Very Durkin Christmas

Christmas in the Durkin home means a lot of the same things it means for other families.

It means lights, shopping, baking, and family.

It also means staying up until 3 in the morning to watch terrible TV and drink sparkling cider out of champaign glasses with my sister {Our first, and hopefully not last, episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians}.

It means laughing {and some terrified screaming} at the absurdity of watching my parents race each other home from temple lights.

It means the "girl car" trying to compete with the AC/DC the boys were blasting on the way to the temple by simultaneously blasting Don McLean's American Pie.

It means making Elf Yourself videos with all of the members of the family {including Grandma} and laughing until my stomach hurts and my mascara is a little runny.

It means finally going to see New Moon because I have been waiting since November for Sandy to come home and see it with me and my mama.

It means spending too much time on the internet reading blogs and watching Subtle Sexuality.

It means having someone to sit with at church and laugh about everyone else in the building.

It means listening to Disney music and making plans to watch Mulan.

It means pictures, but silly embarrassing pictures, not perfectly posed ones fit to send out in a Christmas card. Because Christmas in the Durkin home does not mean Christmas cards. If it did, they would look something like this.


Merry Christmas!

Sometimes Even I'm Wrong.

It turns out I might not be as deathly ill as my fever {100.7!} and my sore throat {really, really sore!} had me believe yesterday.

Go figure.

My error in judgment aside, this is great news. Especially for the people I spent all last night serving food to, and the people I will spend about 10 hours serving today. Even as I type this my throat has started aching again, as if it knows working 3 shifts in a row is not the best idea for someone still recovering from a... mild fever and a tender throat. {I know what you're thinking. This sounds like a cold. And why didn't I realize it was just a cold yesterday? Because WedMd told me I had the mumps. That's why.}

On the bright side, there is always more Ibuprofen. I'm calling it a precautionary measure today. Precautionary medicine is allowed, right? I can't see how there could be anything wrong with that. Besides, I'm legitimately sick. I mean, I could have the mumps.

About My Illness & My Ego

I was right.

I knew I was getting sick last night while I was serving, and I knew I was getting sick while I was at the Red Robin Christmas party, I knew I was getting sick while I was doing laundry until a ridiculously late hour, and I definitely knew I was sick this morning when I woke up at 5:30 and could not get back to sleep.

So it turns out I was also right about how I was going to spend the day. Lying in bed in my pajamas. No running, no cleaning, no driving to Tempe to talk to me {cute} professor and finish selling back my books.

It also turns out that being right does precious little to make me feel better. But the Ibuprofen is stepping in where the vindication is failing. So that's something.

And mostly this post is the fruition of my extreme boredom and the fever reducer. So don't be surprised or alarmed if and when I spam my blog with pretty pictures and pointless stories over the next day or two.

And in order to make good on that promise, here's a story for you. Yesterday as I was leaving my house and walking to my car to go to work two boys {around 15 years old?} were riding by on their bicycles. As they rode by and I went to unlock my car they both looked up at me at the same time, and apparently were both so distracted by my beauty {or fabulous new sunglasses, or both} that they simultaneously forgot what they were doing and crashed right into each other. The result was two tangled up bikes and two very ashamed looking boys trying to free themselves from the mess. I mean, they actually fell over. Hard! They were lying in the street! It was great; a fabulous ego boost.

Totally made my day.

And I hope I totally made their day when I honked at them as I drove past. Either that, or they died of embarrassment. Either works for me.

Laundry Service

It's almost 1:30 am, so why wouldn't I be awake doing laundry? After all, last night I was awake until after 2 cleaning my room. And tomorrow night is reserved for the bathroom.


On my last post Kayla mentioned that cleaning is a way she sometimes makes herself feel better. Turns out she was pretty right on. Even though I tend to clean at night when I should be asleep at least it is a distraction, and once it is done everything just feels easier; less cluttered, less confusing. And I've had just about as much confusion as I can handle these days. I'll take any silver lining I can get.

Maybe tomorrow I'll try some other ways to continue making myself feel better; I could run, shop, and/or head down to Tempe. Or maybe I'll sleep in until 10, stay in bed until 11, and refuse to change out of my pajamas until I have to be in to work at 5. We'll see.

I sure do love Christmas break.

It's Not Rocket Science, Just Lady Gaga

I have, over the last several months, become pretty good at cheering myself up.

I know that sometimes all it takes is a little browse through blogger until I find a quote that makes me feel better. {thanks caitlin.}

Being single used to mean that nobody wanted you. Now it means you’re pretty sexy and you’re taking your time deciding how you want your life to be and who you want to spend it with.

-Sex and the City
And once I'm feeling single and fabulous, a quick stop by the mall for some retail therapy sounds about right. I love Christmas shopping for other people, but it is also pretty great when I find the perfect pair of sunglasses for myself.

And then I head home to take ridiculous pictures of myself in said glasses and dance around my house, by myself, to some insanely loud Lady Gaga. {I'm only sharing this last part because I know you are all way to kind to judge me for this. Right?}


And now I feel great, like I didn't even spend last night losing sleep over one lousy boy. It's as simple as that.

So how do you make yourself feel better?

Tonight

I cried over him for the first time.

A mini-broken heart is still a broken heart, you know?

Luckily it doesn't matter if I sleep tonight or not, because I don't have anything to do tomorrow, minus driving to Tempe to turn in a final at noon. But I think I can manage that.

"Now I Know What a Fool I've Been, But if You Kissed Me Now, I Know You'd Fool Me Again"

I think today is the first day I have really felt in the Christmas mood. The house smells like Christmas trees, we're putting up ornaments tonight (!), I get to enjoy my first Sunday in months without panicking about school tomorrow, Mom and I are holiday baking after dinner, we sang Christmas hymns at church, and I am listening to Taylor Swift's Christmas CD as I type this.

lalalala

I feel good. I bore my testimony at church today. It's been cloudy, rainy, and cold for days. I finally got my schedule for next semester just the way I want it, and two of my favorite people are coming home in 1 week!

The only thing that dampens my mood ever so slightly is when Taylor's Christmas music runs out, and Cold As You starts playing, which I love, but which is a little too relevant these days.

***
"You put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray.
And I stood there lovin' you and wished them all away.
And you come away with a great little story of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you."

***
That minor detail aside, however, things are pretty great, and I'm pretty happy! No wonder this is my favorite time of year. All it really takes is a pine scented candle to lift my spirits.

P.S. {For Santa}

I think I want this for Christmas this year. Maybe we can switch things up a little bit?

Love, Kara

A List of Things.

A few of things happened today.

I finished my Special Ed take home final, meaning I completely finished school for the semester. It does not even remotely feel real to me, partially because this semester has been one never-ending death trap, and partly because I had no finals to take, just a couple of papers to write. So I finished the last one today, on a Saturday, in my bed, and there was no “I’m finally done with school moment!” I tried to create one, but it didn’t really land. All the same, however, it is a relief to know that I’m done. And I think that despite all of my self-proclaimed collapsing my GPA will weather this semester just fine. It’s been through worse. {Ok, that might be a lie. I’ll have to see when grades are posted.}

I started Sense and Sensibility. I have spent my last several winter breaks with Jane Austen, so I decided it was only fitting to mark my return to pleasure reading with one of her novels. I have read Pride and Prejudice too many times to count, and will probably read it again within the next month, but for right now I am going to spend my time with the Dashwoods. I’m looking forward to it.

Today I went to work, and I realized that despite all of my complaining about them, I actually kind of like the people I work with, dang it. So now I kind of want to go to the silly Red Robin Christmas party, even though when I think about it I know I don’t really want to go. I knew I was better off not making friends. What a dilemma.

My fortune cookie told me that an attractive person has a special message for me. Still waiting for that one to happen.

And one very notable thing did not happen today.

I didn’t go to my ward Christmas party. After work I got all dressed up for said party, drove there, decided against going, turned around, and drove home. I realized there is no way I would ever have a good time. Ward parties are awful, Mormon dances are {by and large} awful, and all social gatherings are awful when you go specifically to see one person, unsure of whether or not they are even there.

So yeah, I stayed home. And I’m watching Saturday Night Live with my mom. At least Taylor Lautner is hot. Maybe he is the “attractive” one my fortune cookie was talking about? Let’s hope. Or rather, let’s not. I’m going to hold out for a real life attractive person, if that’s ok. New Years Eve is just around the corner, after all.

I Shoot the Lights & I Curse the Dark

"There ought to be a sideshow act for freaks like me
Yea I could be the star of the show
With my name on the marquee
In a room with a big red button that says 'danger do not touch'
And twice a day I'd mash it down
And you could watch me self-destruct"

-Chris Knight

From, My Professor

Kara-

Nice work. This is a twofold success. First, you explicate the poem insightfully. And second, you do a good job of defining modernism succinctly and accurately. I enjoyed this paper, and I learned from it. Good job.

I love the payoff.

:)

So, This Is Love?

It's 2:30 in the morning. But my paper is completed, coherent, and semi-proofread, so I finally get to call it a night.

I love this feeling.

The Difference

This is the kind of day that was created specifically we me in mind. The kind of perfect, December Sunday that is characterized by overcast skies and a chill in the air. The kind of lazy Sunday where church ends and noon and the rest of the day is begging to be spent in bed with a book, a pen, and a never ending cup of hot chocolate. If only I didn’t have this 6 page paper {due tomorrow morning} standing between and me and my Sunday.

In theory, it doesn’t sound so bad. Writing 6 pages isn’t really that many, and it’s not like writing isn’t one of my favorite things. Because it is. It is not even like I am uninterested in the paper topic, because I am. It is more like I quit reading a few weeks back, so I am not entirely sure what I am going to be writing about. And it’s the fact that it is my favorite month of the year and I would rather be watching Christmas movies. It’s the fact that my mind has been so distracted by other things this week I can’t even begin to tell you what went on in most of my classes. It’s the fact that while I have spent the last 15 years of my life being a model student, this semester I absolutely collapsed and would love nothing more than to put it all behind me. It’s the fact that I feel cheated out of my weekends when I have to spend them working and doing homework, and when I do go out, I don’t get to go out with the people {person?} I actually want to spend time with. Not to say that this weekend was all bad, however. If I look at it in separate chunks, it was actually pretty ok.

Friday night I went to a bonfire. I don’t think it was a planned YSA thing, but it definitely had the crowd of one. I generally had a good time, and I met some semi-interesting people, but it just cements the fact in my mind that YSA activities are not really my thing. I don’t expect to meet people there who I will actually want to spend time with. Besides, like I mentioned way back in August, making small talk is exhausting. And I don’t really care for it.

Saturday morning I was a missionary! And it turns out I was right about that experience. Knocking on doors is scary. Even when you have a companion nice enough to let you stand there nervously smiling while he does all of the talking. Will I go again next month? Maybe. Am I glad a dragged myself out of bed yesterday morning and actually went? Sure, why not. Does it increase my admiration for the young men who actually spend two years of their lives doing this? Absolutely.

Saturday evening I worked, and my shift was fine. Nothing spectacular, but I made money and people were friendly. You can’t ask for a lot more from a weekend shift waiting tables. I finished work about 9:30, and {briefly} considered going out, but in the end I opted for my pajamas, a movie on TV, and a bowl of captain crunch.

So that was my weekend, until today. And like I said, it was not bad. But it feels unsatisfactory for some reason. I think if I would have had things my way, it would have been completely different. And that’s the difference. That’s why I am writing this instead of my paper. Well that and I’m a glutton for punishment. {Apparently.}

I guess it’s time to get to work. I can only complain for so long before I get tired of myself.

Givens.

There are going to be some givens.

I am going to get my work done, but I am going to procrastinate until the very last possible second, complaining and dragging my feet the entire way.

I am going to change my mind. Especially when it comes to the opinions I espouse most confidently, most vehemently. I am going to ramble on about how I hate everything to do with poetry in a vaguely holier-than-thou attitude, and shortly thereafter find myself waxing poetic about my newfound love for T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” and for the title character.

I am going to refuse to let it bother me, and insist on enjoying the experience for what it was. Except for when it all comes crashing down on me, and I inexplicably wake up sad 5 days later, disappointed that not only did I not get what I wanted, but for all my mental preparation I was not at all prepared. Because I am going to do that too.

I am going to be confused. Confused when I find myself looking at the exact same situation as someone else, yet unable {or unwilling} to see it the same way they do. Confused when people act in a way different than I would, and yet cannot adequately explain their actions to me.

I am going to “Have the strength the force the moment to its crisis” one second, and know “there will be time… Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea” the next.

I am going to pray. A lot. I am going to pray while driving to school, pleading that I will somehow be able to make it through the week, even though the predicament I find myself in is 100 percent my fault. I am going to pray before tests I have not studied for, during shifts that I am too emotionally drained to finish, and before I fall asleep each night, when I am too exhausted to give the prayer the attention it requires.

I am, from time to time, going to fall apart a little bit. I am going to allow myself to wallow in self pity while simultaneously viewing the glass as half empty. I am probably going to cry, and heaven knows I am going to be stubborn. Stubborn enough to let myself collapse when I need to, and stubborn enough to pull myself back together when said collapsing ceases to be effective.

I am going to be selfish. I am going to write about myself instead of writing my English paper, because as much as I love T.S. Eliot, I love myself just a little but more.

I am going to be predictable. Chances are these things only surprise you if you don’t know me very well. I am going to be easy to read. I am going to show my emotions and my eyes are going to give me away.

every.single.time.