One blood donation can help save up to three lives, according to the American Red Cross.
I’ve donated blood twice in my life. In both instances, I was in my late teens.
Why did I do it? Because I could. I was old enough, and healthy enough, to do something as “grown up” as give blood.
Of course, my altruism wasn’t without an ulterior motive. The first time I donated, I was in high school. My school was hosting a blood drive during class hours. Between a needle and Trig/Pre-Calc, the needle was the lesser of two evils.
And then there was the promise of refreshments — cookies and juice! I rarely turn down free snacks. Especially cookies.
Over the years, I would see advertisements for local blood drives taking place in my area, yet I wouldn’t go to them. Why not? I’m busy. I’m not interested at the moment. I don’t feel well enough to give blood. I had my excuses.
Perhaps I figured that I had given blood
once twice already, and that sufficiently fulfilled any Bucket List quota.
But this week, I rolled up my sleeve, ready and willing to endure the prick of a needle in order to help save the life of a loved one.
My biggest writing obstacle right now
I’ve hit a wall.
When I first started this blog, I was an idea magnet. About 85% of my life experiences were classified as, “Hey, I could write about this!” I followed through on most of those self-promises.
But here I am in my fourth (!) month of blogging and I’ve finally reached that point where I’m racking my brain for something to talk about.
Recently, I experienced my first feeling of dread at being in my thirties.
The moment was short-lived, but profound. Typically, I’m not one who obsesses over age. Hell, I still look like I’m in my early twenties. </HUMBLEBRAG>
But that’s a farce. Mentally and biologically speaking, I’m not in my twenties. I can no longer stave off hangovers with a simple combo of greasy food and Gatorade. (I don’t even drink much anymore.) I’m out of that stage where I can get away with making some stupid mistakes because I’m still learning what it means to be an adult, but let’s be real, I’ve never been a fan of making mistakes.
In my twenties, I was a grown-up, but not too grown. I was still free to be capricious and playful as I gradually evolved into a full-blown adult.
Now that I’m in my thirties, the time for trying-and-failing (and consuming copious amounts of booze) is over. I have to have it all figured out now. I have to be an adult. That’s what society says, right?
Apologies for such a late post this Monday.
Since last Wednesday evening, I have been battling The Cold from Hell. Over the weekend, I haven’t had the ability do much of anything, not even sleep. (Hard to do that sufficiently when you can’t breathe.)
I certainly couldn’t enjoy being snowed in, either. Sure, I had plans to hunker down and do next-to-nothing because of this East Coast Snowblizzardzillagasmthing, but doing next-to-nothing because you’re crippled by illness isn’t quite as fun as indulging in voluntarily laziness.
The good news? Today is the best I’ve felt in days. I can sleep — and breathe — again, and do more than watch Netflix, pop cold meds, and burn through boxes of Kleenex…figuratively speaking, of course.
Ah, Netflix, my trusty companion during this lost weekend.
Is it possible to “have it all”?
Is there anyone on this planet who can truly say that, at this moment, they have everything they could ever want in life?
Maybe, but I’m willing to bet that it’s a small percentage, and that the moment is fleeting.
While driving home the other night, I had a thought about this concept of “having it all” and if it truly exists. In my life, I don’t think I’ve ever had a moment in which I believed I had everything.
That sounds harsh, and even a little ungrateful, but it’s the truth. There’s always something else I’m working toward, a situation that needs improvement, or a dream that must be deferred — hopefully, temporarily — for a larger cause. In my life, many people have entered; few will remain for the long haul, yet all must eventually say goodbye.
As someone who typically demands everything in an instant, I’m learning to be okay with the truth that I can’t have it all…at once.
Let’s talk about positivity.
The closing moments of 2015, for the most part, weren’t great for me. Unfortunately, I responded to these events by being a perpetually sullen brat.
What good did that do me? Absolutely zilch. Anything that could go wrong, did, and it only made me increasingly bitter.
It was a vicious cycle. I was reacting to negative events with a negative approach, which only fueled more negativity, both from myself and the universe.
Then…I snapped out of it.
Well. This is a nice early birthday present.
I’ve been nominated for a Liebster Award by Breanne of His First Mate. Thank you so much for considering my blog for such an honor. (And please, check out Breanne’s site, especially if you’re a MILSO.)
Now, what is a Liebster Award?
Every year, I make a promise to myself to read more books. Like those who sign up for gym memberships on January 1, I lose sight of my goal and fail to see it through. That’s what happened in 2015. And 2014. And…you get the point.
This year, to make sure I don’t lose momentum again, I’m creating a 2016 reading list.
Apologies to The Simpsons.
I’m ready to push 2015 right out the damn door!
I repeated the above mantra to myself for most of December.
The last several weeks haven’t been kind to me, and I haven’t shown my best self throughout most of them, either. Based on those events, I had convinced myself that 2015 was a dud.
After I took the time to reflect on the year that was, I realized that I was being, for lack of a better term, idiotic. Sure, I’ve hit a bit of a rough patch, but overall? This has been a year that was all too kind to me.
So what positive things happened for me in 2015? Let’s take it from the top:
Warning: This post may contain mild spoilers.
Last year, I discovered Hatoful Boyfriend, the infamous Japanese bird-dating sim. You can read my thoughts on it at the old blog.
This year, it was time to take on Hatoful Boyfriend: Holiday Star.