Laissez les bons temps rouler.

Do you really want to live forever?

 

 

Joyeux Mardi Gras, toute le monde. It's Mardi Gras, it's fat Tuesday, everyone indulge and laugh and do crazy things because it's a beautiful night in the life, and it won't last forever. Tomorrow's Lent, and tonight, you not only have to give up the day but something about you that you want to change. You have to give it up until Easter, in what Madame says is 41 days (but I'm confused because from now until Easter is 47 days. But it's okay). Maybe at that point you'll be more grateful when you get it back, or maybe by that point you'll have broken the habit. Either way, 'tis the season for change. Forget New Year's Resolutions, half baked wishes that don't make it past March or April if you're dedicated. This is the real deal, a real tradition that people in cultures completely foreign to us prepare for and put a lot of stock in. Why doesn't America follow this? The inventors of Lent even thought through the fact that everyone gives up trying to be better at some point and learns to love themselves; they just made their "resolutions" 41 (47?) days long. Then you can eat chocolate on Easter again and life is good.

Okay, well, I'm giving up sugar, mostly. I mean there's sugar in everything but I'm not gonna drink soda or eat ice cream or even worse, chocolate. That's right; I finished off my entire stash of reesees and heart shaped york patties tonight in preparation for my hiatus. This will be good. Maybe some healthy eating will stick with me.

But here's the thing; that's not all I'm giving up for Lent. I'm officially, finally, permanently giving up you; God knows it's been long enough. But not just you, I'm giving up a couple other "you"s too because they're people that aren't gonna do me any good. I can wish and I can hope and I've certainly been dreaming about a different life, a more glamorous one, one where I'm twitterpated over a guy that pays attention to me or one where cute boys come up and ask for my number. You guys, it isn't me. I might want it to be, but it's not me, and that will never be me. Leave all that short cuteness to the Justyns and Matties of the world. I'm not short. And I don't have pretty hair, either, so don't even pretend like you like playing with it.

Anyway. No matter how many times I have to say it to myself, I will keep on saying it until I'm happier with my love life: It doesn't matter who I'm not, it matters who I am. Maybe we are all made out of mice, but we're all made out of lions, too, and I will punch you in the face if you tell me there's no owl in me too. It's not like we're all the same, it's not like we're supposed to have been. And it's not like we're always going to be the same, either; we have to let ourselves move on internally before it can happen externally, too. So this Lent, I'm giving up on that me, the me of the past and the me of my dreams, I'm giving up on you and you and you and him, and I'm also giving up on sugar. Wish me luck or good Karma or something.

love always, laura elizabeth.