Normalcy

I tend to  be a creature of habit. Not to a point where I'm OCD about it, I just like things to stay the same. Usually. I remember one time when I was 11 or so I had burst into tears because I didn't want to grow up. I sobbed because I wanted to stay a little kid forever. The thought of becoming disinterested in playing house and playing toys and such was heartbreaking. But the inevitable did happen, and here I am 11 years later. I still wish I was little at times. Mainly when bills arise. And taxes. When you are 11 you don't have to figure out how on earth to come up with money for things. Such as the $1000 I had to pour into Max over the last year, or the seemingly endless hospital bills that came from June last year when I had a seizure and had to be taken to the hospital by ambulance and stay over night. Hospitals are expensive. Did you know it cost nearly $20 for two Tylenol? Plus, I wasn't even awake for the ambulance ride, and I have always wondered what it would be like to ride in an ambulance.  And though I never intend to have to be transported again in such a conveyance  It will always be a disappointment in my life that I wasn't awake to see what was like to ride in ambulance.

As far as normalcy goes, I am glad in many respects that I have indeed grown older. If I had stayed 11 my entire life I would have never been able to travel all over the world. I've been to Europe 3 times, Africa twice. I would not be interning as a youth director. I probably wouldn't have learned to play guitar, as I never learned that until I was 16. I wouldn't be able to drive. And I would always be stuck having to learn math. I loath math. But maybe there are more things I would have learned, such as "stick-to". I admit, that once starting a project I have trouble finishing it. My sisters are all super creative, they knit, sew ,crochet, make jewelry etc. I have finished crocheting exactly 1 wash cloth. And its really small and lopsided. Lopsided because I'm hopeless when it comes to crocheting, small because I got bored with it and wanted to be finished. In my room I have so many unfinished projects. I have all the pieces for an apron all cut out and ready to be sewn. However, I cut it out two years ago and its been sitting in a bag in my room ever since. I learned to knit back in September and I started a scarf. While I'm not quite so hopeless at knitting as I am at crocheting, it has been 6 months since I began it and it isn't even half finished. I have many started crocheting projects left in a basket to unravel itself and it has become a hopeless entanglement of colored yarns wrapped into one big knot. I used to be creative. I could draw, and paint and create. However, while I may have been good when I was 11, I never improved any. My drawings still look pretty much the same at 22 as they did at 11 or 12.

One thing I can do is write somewhat well. I have yet to discover a place in which to proceed advancing my literary efforts into something worth while, But I can write. I can write messages to teens for youth group. I get along tolerably well in blogging (though this is the fourth blog I have started). I'm sure I could write good stories. Or even real life. I admit that there is always much room for advancement, but isn't that what life is? I think life would be very dull indeed if we had grown to the top of everything we ever had attempted, and had nothing that needed improving.