It’s two thirty in the rainy morning and I’m home because that’s where I feel like I should be. I’m achy and sniffley and I keep thinking about two things: my interview tomorrow and a song I heard while driving tonight. Sidestepping the details of the interview because, you know, que sera, sera, the lyrics are something I can’t get out of my head. It’s some random country song I’ve heard a million times, and the general premise is that the dude is about to die but then he doesn’t, so he is singing about living life as though every moment could be your last. Very “make it count.” Anyway, the line I continue to replay is “I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter.” This is especially sound advice for me because of the general disposability of my relationships as well as my lack of control over my rather sharp tongue.

The long and the short of it is that I’ve had to change my entire group of friends quite a few times in my life, usually because my boyfriend’s friends become my own and when we break up, I tend to lose them in the division of assets. (I do always keep my dignity, though, which is much more important, I feel.) Because I’ve had to make new friends on so many occasions, my mentality has become that if I lose my friends (by horrible error on my part, elimination due to character flaws on their part, or merely circumstance), I’ll simply make new ones. This leads to very little attachment and prevents me from forming deep, loyal relationships.

The speaking sweeter concept is one to which I am foreign. I tend to be hardened, blunt; conveying my truth whether warranted or not. Compliments effortlessly escape my lips but are easily lost in my quest for perfection and propensity for casual judgment. As a rule I am overly kind to those I am fond of in my life but show little compassion for those whom I have already dismissed. In addition, my personality can be dreadfully intense, and therefore I often speak sternly and zip right pass sweet.

The world would be better if I amended my ways. I mean, not so much the world at large, but MY world, which is the thing I am to concern myself with anyway. Perhaps with unfathomable love and pleasant remarks, I wouldn’t be frustrated, furrow-browed and fully awake in the middle of the night.