First of all, I present to you an adorable picture of my dog: See how ridiculously happy she is?

Truth be told, I haven’t updated this blog in awhile because, well, I have not been ridiculously happy. Or happy at all, for that matter, and I would hate to let people know that I get sad sometimes. It’s silly, but still, I wanted to preserve the image of a cheerful girl who always smiles and finds magic in life. Well, whatever. The truth is I was miserable for the last few weeks because it seemed like my life had come crashing to a standstill. There was nothing exciting going on, nothing new, nothing magical, and I couldn’t find anything magical to make out of the mundane, boring, bland situation I was in of just trudging along day by day waiting for the sky to give me a sign.

But one day a few weeks ago I woke up and realized it’s not all that bad. Maybe it was the calming bookstore I was in, full of the smell of incense and the sounds of soft music, maybe it was my ginger tea, maybe, maybe, maybe. Whatever it was, something in my brain clicked into place.

see we learn in psych class that nondepressed people actually have an overexpectation of how much they can control and that depressed people are actually the right ones–that they see a situation for what it is and how little control they actually have. But having an illusion of control keeps us happier. Because when we think we can control a situation we have more of an incentive to get what we want. And sometimes I think all these studies are just made up. I get into a mood where I question how real everything is, and ultimately the conclusion I always draw is I don’t know, and who cares, as long as I make the best of things, of where I am, of what I’m doing, then whether I really have control or not is irrelevant. Paint a big fat red “Whatever” on everything. Yet I haven’t stopped caring. Maybe not caring to the point where I’m always putting myself in an existential crisis, but just going with the flow.

I don’t know. I guess I should apologize for neglecting my blog for so long, but I don’t feel that way. I didn’t want this blog to become an online chronicle of everything I would say to a psychologist of HOW I REALLY FEEL ABOUT THINGS OKAY because let’s face it we always say things through filters. See me one way, see me another, nose pierced, not pierced, either way I’m still Wendy. I’m done bemoaning the fact that nobody understands, because people understand. It’s not that hard to understand another person, is it? All you really have to do is listen. Not hear, listen.

I’ve written a lot of letters lately, both in my head and out. Postcards to friends across the sea, silent monologues in letter form of HOW I REALLY FEEL ABOUT THINGS OKAY to a boy. That boy. Hey goat boy, you know who you are. If you’re reading this (betcha you’re not) here’s HOW I REALLY FEEL ABOUT THINGS OKAY: that even though I’ve heard it a thousand billion trillion times I finally realized it. I can’t save you. You don’t want to be saved. I’d wager that you’re either content where you are or too ambivalent to change your situation. You certainly don’t want a nosy girl in the way of whatever. Also, I don’t think you listened to that mix IĀ  made you, nor will you probably ever, and that’s also okay. I’ll let myself have the occasional thoughts of wouldn’t-it-be-nice-if-we-were-closer but as each day passes those thoughts become less and less frequent and someday they’ll be an echo. You’re just a boy I loved, part of my college memories. I can tell you you’re a stupid goat boy all I want and it would still be like sliding down a window. I can see A and B and C about you that would be so so so wonderful if you would just rethink and reconsider, but that’s not my place to decide, nor will it ever be. it’s okay though, fate has funny ways of working, doesn’t it?

you said life is hard and you’ve certainly seen lots of hardness in life. After, I would think about how hard life was, too, especially when I was depressed and sad, when someone elbowed me on the street and knocked me down and I would have to get back up and dust myself off, I would fight back tears and think God I hate people. When I saw how vapid and shallow girls could be in my classes I thought God I hate people, and when I heard boys bragging about their sexual exploits I thought God I hate people. After awhile of thinking God I hate people I realized there was no point. What’s that going to change? It’s commonsensical, of course. So I’m going to stop trying to change people, to fix them. They’re not jalopies. They’re people.

And then I cheered up, and now I’m happy. Just like that. Of course the situation changed because I wanted it to change–you have to want it bad enough. A few weeks ago I wanted to leave all of it behind, college, and finish everything as fast as possible and move on, move on, move on. Well, I am moving on, but slowly, one step at a time, and it’s not an easy process, but it’ll happen eventually. I just have to be patient with myself, and so should you. You should all be patient with yourselves. Patient and gentle. When your body doesn’t react the way you want it to, be gentle, please. Say, “That’s okay,” and walk on, and keep walking. You’ll get there, I promise.