Nobody puts baillee in the corner

For my whole blogging life, I’ve always written out how I feel. But what do you do when the words won’t come?

For once, I don’t know exactly  what to say. I keep trying and trying to write something that adequately sums up my feelings, but nothing looks or sounds right. It’s like there’s a giant elephant in the room, but I can’t describe it to you for the life of me. I’ve never not been able to say how I feel (at least in a Baillee, running out of my own house, leaving a handwritten, grade school note, kind of way), so I’m kind of scaring myself here. 
I hate being cryptic, but I promise I’m not doing this intentionally. I wish I could be bolder (I’ll take things I never thought I would say for $1000, Alex) and explain things more, but for the first time in my young life, I got nothing. I can’t figure out how to act or what to say, so here I am at 2AM on a Sunday morning, with a hyper intelligent Boxer lying right beside me, one of us unable to sleep (spoiler: it isn’t Vander). 
I feel like I’ve done something wrong, so I keep replaying so many things in my head, looking for some moment to circle and highlight as the cause of everything (a la The Emperor’s New Groove), but it won’t come. The words to describe things won’t come either, so instead, I’m having to write this bizarre little vignette (if you will) that no one is going to understand but me. Quite frankly, I don’t even really understand it. 

Basically, I have more emotion[s] than Carly Rae Jepsen right now (Those B Sides are pure fire, and you should actually go listen to them before reading any further. I’ll wait), and it’s getting harder and harder to not say something (and with that, I got A Great Big World stuck back in my head after just getting it out a couple of hours ago). The best/most contradictory part is I can barely choke out a word. I can’t write my usual little note because my hand shakes when I bring a pen to paper. Hell, if it isn’t apparent, I can’t even write a normal blog post about it. 

I thought I had made the right choice a few weeks ago about what was right for me, but I realize now I didn’t know what I was doing, and I was scared, so out of fear (dibs on that as a band name), I wanted to take the easy way out because I’m impatient, and I’ve dealt with some real doozies the past few years.  I also chose something familiar because I didn’t want to admit my deep rooted fear of change, and I should have never betrayed David Bowie like that and picked something old instead of what felt right. I’m also really sorry if I’ve been confusing or moody or weird. (I have a real knack for doing this super cool thing where I run as soon as something good happens. Well, that and unwrapping Starbursts in my mouth.) 

The problem is I feel as though I’ve backed myself into a real Blair Witch Project corner, and I’m writing this too late. I’m afraid I’ve already lost something great. I’m scared of being told to get out (leave, a la JoJo). I obviously didn’t learn anything from 8 Mile (I feel the need to explain this, but Lorelai Gilmore never explains her references, so if you get it, you get it, and if you don’t, you don’t), so everyone can stop calling me B-Rabbit (aka I can stop calling myself that in my head on occasion). All I know is I hope I haven’t gotten another self-sabotaging trophy because I’m running out of shelf space here, and I’ll soon have to ask Leo if I can use some of the room reserved for his Oscars. 

It’s just so weird (God, I miss that show) to not be able to properly articulate how I feel. I’ve always been able to spit it out in some capacity or another (I’ll say that’s what she said to solidify I’m a 12-year-old boy, and I never learned how to properly deal with emotions), but this is the best I can do. I won’t make any cutesy jokes about being an ice queen because it isn’t true. I won’t post any songs regarding my feelings (especially “(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To by Weezer) on social media without context, hoping my message is received. I won’t hope a specific song comes on my shuffle as a sign something good will happen that day. I’ll only post this blog post and hope for the best. 

(This may read like a total “monkey, monkey, underpants” moment, but I hope I somehow got the point across.)