I Promise

Those words sound so simple, don't they? I promise - they float off our tongues like little butterflies, with an ease unflattering to their content. We say them so freely, often not taking into consideration the sting they have when we don't follow through. Each and every one of us have been on the receiving end of a promise gone awry. Whether it was a best friend, parent, boyfriend or sibling, we all know how deep a broken promise can cut.

"Yes," you say with such gusto it's clear you've been hurt by someone who didn't keep their word. Before you get all flush faced and start drudging up all the times you were promised something you did not receive, think about whether you've ever been on the other side.

We all have, haven't we? We've said we'd do something we never ended up doing. I promise to make the bed. I promise to send your gift in the mail. I promise to clean the bathroom. I promise to pick that up from the post office. I promise I will never say that again. I promise to do better, try harder, be nicer. I promise. I promise. I promise.

Oh, and there are plenty of excuses, aren't there? I forgot. I didn't bring it with me. Time wasn't my friend. Was I suppose to do that today? I didn't mean to say that again.  I had to work late. What can I say? I suck. And these terrible excuses so often don't come with the two words needed to truly rectify the situation. I'm sorry. Those words seem to be the two hardest in the entire English language, followed swiftly by 'I was wrong'.

And it truly feels awful to have a promise broken, even if they are tiny things that seem so inconsequential. But for me, it feels worse to do the breaking. I never mean to break my promises, but sometimes it happens. Life gets busy. I get tired. And promises I once made can get forgotten. There is no reasonable excuse for this, but I do feel terrible when it happens. Maybe that's worth something. A little forgiveness, perhaps? When there is genuine remorse involved and a desire to not let it happen again, then moving past a broken promise is possible. It can be done.

What happens when that remorse and determination to do better isn't there? What happens when there is no apology and no chance to forgive? I suppose that's when it is time to move along. I try very hard not to make promises I have no intention of keeping, even promises I know will be hard for me to keep - like anything with a time frame, or if saving a piece of cake is involved. That being said, I think of the cliched promises people make and cringe.

I promise to love you forever. I promise to be with you until I die. I promise things will never change.

Talk about promises that are going to be hard to keep. Romantic, maybe. But also stupid. Here's the thing, I don't believe promises are intentionally broken, but end up being so due to a lack of consideration for the other person and an inability to time manage appropriately. They are only two little words, I promise, but they are important ones. And perhaps saying them without thought should be avoided. Maybe this calls for a promise not to promise so flippantly. Or maybe we should strike the words from our vocabularies and simply exist instead and give what we can when we can without anyone holding us hostage to promises we made on the fly without forethought.

Even more, don't ask people to promise unrealistic things. Or anything at all for that matter. I think I lost the point to this somewhere near the second paragraph.

Restlessness

Every once in awhile I get this this nagging feel of uneasiness. Restlessness. Not being sure if I want to sit, stand, dance, walk, laugh, cry or sit like a blob and do nothing. Chances are, I'll do the later. Mostly because it's almost eleven at night and the town went to bed four hours ago. It isn't safe to go for a walk. A bear might eat me. Or a cougar. These aren't real fears. Just excuses.

These bouts of restlessness bring with it the ability to make me uncomfortable in my own skin. This happens once in awhile. I look in the mirror and am not too sure I'm pro the girl looking back at me. All I see are cons.

Don't get me wrong, I love myself, I'm relatively happy, life is fine, I'm okay and blah, blah, blah. Do not jump to any 'oh, she must be depressed' conclusions. Not everything is so dramatic. Actually, most things aren't.

Hormones. Can I blame them? It feels like a cop out.

Whenever these moods creep up on me, I end up disenchanted. With life, myself, writing, where I'm going to be in five years. The last year was a roller coaster ride, and not in the good way. The valleys out numbered the peaks about two to one. Some days, three to one. Then again, it's all perspective, isn't it? Through it all, I kept myself together. I reasoned. I kept a smile in place.

For the most part, I remain positive, looking to the bright side, being thankful, and walking around with the knowing smirk of a person who has most of it, if not it all, figured out. For the most part, see, that's the key. We cannot be positive, upbeat, happy, go-lucky, things are coming up roses people every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every...you get the point. It's just not humanly possible. Not without drugs, at least. And, frankly, it's annoying.

People are allowed to have bad days. Hell, people are allowed to have bad weeks. We are allowed to be in bad moods. Just don't let it take control and consume your whole being and smash apart your common sense or rationalization because...well, because that's bad. But it's almost as though, on my path to finding love and light and happiness, I forgot that there are downs. Oops.

In the end, the simple truth is, I feel sloth-like. And there is nothing wrong with a sloth. Actually, on any normal day, I'd embrace being sloth-like. I mean, those guys get to eat and sleep a lot, like up to twenty hours a day. Not to mention they only have three toes and are the slowest moving creatures on earth, so slow and sedentary algae actually grows on their fur. I mean, come on. How cool are these mammals.

Now I feel bad for comparing myself to these beings in a negative fashion.

The anxiousness is worse than thinking I look terrible or being agitated with everything I come in contact with. Sitting, bouncing my knee, and trying to think of a way to bring myself out of this state is most frustrating. Nothing really helps. Except, sleep. (See, sloth-like) And maybe cake. It's touch and go in these scenarios because I might end up feel like an even chubbier bunny after divulging in a cakey goodness with icing and some sort of jammy filling.

That said, I haven't had cake in like two months.

Oh, I think I just figured out what the problem is.

And here's a baby sloth, just because: