New Year’s: Cleaning Out My Room, Longing for a Social Life

Six days into 2016, everybody is out delivering the promises they have made for the new year–committing to intense physical activity (the most common New Year’s resolution), smoking cessation, alcohol sobriety, financial responsibility, travel, the works. Meanwhile, I’m just freeing my closet space by giving away clothes that I haven’t worn for what seems like eons. My definition of eons in this case means over seven years since I moved to a neighborhood minutes away from my friends but, in my mind, very far from me because of my inability to drive and the lack of means to do so.

I have a lot of clothes for someone who doesn’t go out as much as the average young adult, and it’s sad to see that I’ve taken advantage of my mother’s kindness by not wearing some of the old clothes she bought me years ago that look brand new and have been worn at least twice, if not less. I try my best to wear some of the recent outfits, like the white denim hoodie vest from Guess with a black camisole top, shredded jeans and black booties that make me look like an action movie star. Otherwise, I just wear graphic t-shirts from Hot Topic, the Disney Store, Macy’s and Walmart with black or gray sweatpants.

I told my mom that I want to be able to give away the clothes I want to give away no questions asked. One of the reasons I don’t take the time to go through my closet for clothes to give away even when I want to is because Mom inquires to no end, “Does that fit you?” and “How come you never wear that cute top?” I couldn’t conjure up a better answer other than, “I have worn that [top] at least a couple times.”

Maybe the better answer should’ve been, “I haven’t been as much of a social butterfly since Jack broke up with me, that’s why my closet’s so damn full.”

I want to be more sociable from this year forward. I saw a movie on Netflix the other night called Stuck in Love about a family of writers in which the patriarch, Bill Borgens, obsesses over his ex-wife after she cheats on him with a younger guy, an experience the eldest daughter, Sam, based her first novel on. When the youngest son, Rusty, catches his father reading his journal, Bill tells Rusty that he needs to really experience life in order to be a better writer. I’ve kept diaries and journals–even typed one–since the 3rd Grade, and although my entries were mostly about my experiences in school, I believe I have honed my writing skills by writing in those diaries on a daily basis (or at least every two days since it sometimes took me forever to finish one entry at a time).

Now that I have finished my associates program at Broward College, I can focus on finishing the novel that I have been working on since the summer of 2014. Since I’m going to be a novelist, I need to do two things: read novels as voraciously as possible, and get out of my house more. The latter is as equally important as the former because without any actual life experience, the life of a writer will have no value.

What can I do to better myself as a writer?
Apply for a job at some of my favorite stores? Possibly. Find a new boyfriend? Maybe. Hang out with some girlfriends I haven’t gotten to see for ages? Definitely.

Whatever I do, I’ll be able to take in all the experiences in order to inspire my future novels. I really don’t want to be a hermit and be stuck with a mountain of old clothes the rest of my life.

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College: My Experience So Far

I’m currently in my fourth semester of college, and it’s been quite a roller coaster ride in terms of my academic and social lives.

Let me start with the academic side of college life. When I first entered community college, I went with the intention of majoring in Mass Communications. I was originally going to major in English–most of the authors I read have graduated from university with English degrees (Bachelors or Masters)–but some idiot at my vocational rehab center HIGHLY recommended that I go into the Mass Communications program because I would be better off with that degree financially. Because I want to be novelist, I thought that I was going to take at least ONE math class, which would’ve given me some relief if not for one problem: the Gordon Rule. According to the Gordon Rule, college students must take at least TWO mathematics courses in order to obtain an Associate of Arts (AA) degree. Future novelists like myself are no exception, so I had to take College Algebra the first semester and Statistics the second. The first portion of Algebra was hell because of my learning preference: taking notes in class before opening up the textbook and working from there. Some of my classmates suggested I look into the textbook before the lecture, but I was too stubborn to listen, and that resulted in a “D” on the first test. After that failure, I finally took on that advice to review the textbook before each lecture–along with tutoring sessions at my local library–and my test grades improved.
In Statistics the next semester it was the same thing, only I had a permanent substitute professor after the first test. After all the hard work of trying to complete my only two math credits, I managed to pass both of those classes with a “B.”

Socially, it’s been a big mess on my brain. I’m good friends with my mom and two girls who are daughters of my mom’s friend, but my love life? I haven’t had one for nearly a year now.
Five days before my flight to California last May, my boyfriend–let’s call him Jack–broke up with me because he said he was going through some sort of an identity crisis (at least from what I understood when he said, “I just don’t know who I am anymore.”).
Jack has Asperger’s syndrome, like me, and is one freakin’ genius–encyclopedic knowledge on video games, a penchant for computer repair, and an avid cosplayer. However, he was going through a lot of emotional trouble because his employment training program was coming to end, and he didn’t know how that was going to affect his job at the hotel he was working at. Luckily, Jack kept his job, but I haven’t seen him at all since that night. Although we still kept in touch with each other through text messaging and Twitter, my life was never the same without him.
Within months after the breakup, I went from happily-in-love Céline Dion to love-lost Toni Braxton. I felt like my brain was losing some of the greatest gifts Asperger’s gave me–photographic memory, quick reaction time, etc. I even flunked my learner’s permit exam thrice because all I was thinking about was how to get Jack back into my life. He always made me feel confident in all my pursuits, so I felt that if Jack didn’t break up with me and further distance himself from me I would be driving right now in lieu of being stuck in my own home.

Well, I would love to talk more about my college life, but I’m just gonna leave it here. I feel like I have explained enough.