It was during last night's four-hour BlogTV show (what? What were YOU doing on your Friday night that qualifies you to judge me, Blog Reader?) that I, surprisingly, came to a conclusion.
If I had the ability to travel back in time and talk to my eighth grade self, I would positively hate myself.* Fourteen-Year-Old Hayley wouldn't understand the ironic significance of Current Hayley's acceptance of Disney Channel culture, nor would she be able to tolerate Current Hayley's ditzy nail polish obsession. And if Fourteen-Year-Old Hayley were to see Current Hayley's tweets, she'd think, first, What is a tweet? and second, Your positivity and I-love-the-worldness makes me want to puke.
I'm not going to be so pretentious as to say my newfound optimism is a product of maturity, because I'm currently sporting a side-ponytail and there's a poster of prepubescent Dan Radcliffe on my wall. But whether this cheerfulness is a product of having grown up... or just due to circumstances... I'm happy. Much to the chagrin of the fourteen-year-old inside of me, I thoroughly believe that people are primarily good. I've lost the majority of the cynicism that used to make me feel holier-than-thou, but I think I'm probably better off now, with my sunny disposition and my Miley Cyrus and my nauseatingly effervescent blogs.
Anyway, this has been one extremely long-winded way to make a simple statement: My friends and family are spectacular.
It's not that I often forget this fact, but there are times when I'm so consumed with love for them that I need to puke my soul all over the internet, for the whole world to see. The kindness and character and depth of the people who love me is ridiculous. I'm so grateful and so freaking lucky. The end.
Sexy: Elizabethtown. I'm watching it with my roommates right now, and I am, once again, astounded by how much it touches me. Without a doubt, my favorite movie of all time. (Unrelated note: My friend Heather has officially moved in with Erin, who lives two doors down, so I have three roommates far more often than I have one. Just for future reference.)
Unsexy: Distance, when it's keeping you from important people.
Chipotle burritos this year: 1
Nail color: "You Don't Know Jacques," OPI
*Or I'd tackle myself. Don't even act like that situation wouldn't be terrifying. I'd also probably demand that the older version of myself take me to Hogwarts, because-- let's be honest-- if time travel exists and Hogwarts doesn't, the universe doesn't have its priorities in order.