Sunday Evening

I am thoroughly tired.  And yet I force myself to do something with my Sunday evening besides sacrificing my time upon the altar of television.  And so I find myself writing while listening to Brazilian love songs off Pandora, in an attempt to see past this mental block into a clearer space.  I do not, as of yet, speak Portuguese; but the harmonies and melodies and hypnotic tempo need no translation to my soul.  It is, in this way, I grieve (note: it is always better to whine with wine) .  Though surrounded with an abundance of blessings (good friends, meaningful volunteer work & as much music as my ears can drink in), I feel a mild disappointment as I scroll through my social media outlets to find many comrades abroad and myself not with them.  In a poor girl's attempt to also appear worldly, I scour Pinterest for pictures of exotic locales to "post" on my timeline; see, I too am a knowledgeable traveler, see, I too am awesome...right?  RIGHT?!?!  Ah, validation, why do you elude me so?  Did I miss that course in Adriene 101?  Or maybe I'm still in class.  Yes, that's it, I'm still in that unit in class.  One thing I have learned, that validation I seek just isn't going to come from an outside Male force.  I have to find this myself.  And as much as I'd like to believe it; Validation is not tanning on a beach in St Tropez or skimming the slopes in Aspen.  Validation starts here.

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