Familial Roles

I have got to start this blog by saying that I love my family. I love them a ton. I really do. I love them so much.
Ok, glad I got that off of my chest; this concept of my love needs to be remembered as I take on one dear topic that has been on my mind. But, in case you didnt infer it from before, here it is one more time: I love my family. But man, do they just rub me the wrong way sometimes!
Now before this becomes reminiscent of a prepubescent girl's tear-stained diary in which there is nothing but rants and bucket loads of generalizations (not to generalize those lovely, mosquito-bitten young ladies) I need to start over by just explaining my reputation. (If for some reason you have been too dense to know it, everyone in a family has a reputation. Guarantee you have one. Suck on that.)
They call me the joke. No, scratch that. They would never call me the joke, I am just known as one. It is implied and everybody knows it, even without talking about it. Not like they don't talk about it; they do. I bring you a situation that took place sometime in the last 48 hours:

(Robyn leaves something out and its now really bugging her family that she didn't put it away...or she spilled something...or she forgot to do something...or she did it but didn't do it as thorough as she should...something happened)
"Robyn, why did you leave that there? You know dad-," Holly stops abruptly. "Sorry, we are trying to not lecture you so much."
"Wait, its a family endeavor to not lecture me so much?" I asked in disgust.
She smiled and chuckled. "Don't take it personally. We are just trying."

Now I ask myself how it is that I missed the family addressing this important endeavor. Did they just wait around all day until I finally took a shower and then discussed how they can deal with "my problem." Did they wake up Christmas morning while I was asleep and previewed the presents while discussing how they can assist me in my times of trial (AKA the last 7,625 days- I just checked how many days I have lived. Try it out: http://www.beatcanvas.com/daysalive.asp)
Well I guess that's nice. On the one hand, its cool they like me. On the other hand it is frustrating to live by myself and take care of myself and deal with my struggles of unthoroughness ( I just made that up!!) and then come home and fall into those same situations where everything that can go wrong does go wrong. And the biggest problem of it all: I do it to myself.
I do not know why. But as soon as I come home, I become lazy around the house. I forget to feed myself. I am reminded of all the ways in which I didn't take care of my money. And perhaps I am like this when I am away at school. But because it is expected of me to make a mess of myself, it becomes very apparent that I do just make messes.

"The inherent factors that screw us up in priorities: A philosophy"

I chose to make this my second post; I want to fool "my readers" into thinking I am just going to publish only really, really short posts. Believe what you want.
As I meant to explain in my last post, before I realized how much I love writing (and how I love it, world!), there are some automatic ironies that are part of prioritizing. For example, if one, let's call give her the name of my overly candid sister, Holly, decides to make sleep the thing that matters most, then everything else, let's say snoring dogs, do not matter. If Holly is asleep and the dogs snore, then she must throw the dogs out and lock them up. But what happens when they scratch on a door so that Robyn is left wide awake? In taking care of her priorities of gaining sleep, this blessed soul named Robyn lost sleep. Luckily, Holly isn't overlyu heartless Holly, but overly candid Holly. Meaning that she tried to take care of a wide awake Robyn. But she was so upset that they were not going to get any sleep that she complained of symptoms of a heart attack and Robyn's lack of sleep came as a result of Holly's insufficient blood supply to the heart, not the dogs. In summary, the one who meant to get sleep ruined it for herself and everyone else in attempt to getting that sleep.
I use this example of this make-belief story to illustrate that oftentimes when we prioritize things, we end up missing our goal all together. Think of our dear friend Hamlet who in his attempt of killing his uncle-father killed himself. Call it irony. Call it tragedy. Call it "The inherent factors that screw us up in priorities: A philosophy"

An attempt at priorities...or perhaps it is my priority

To start up this blog, I decided to confront the very nature of deciding what matters and what does not. The first thing that comes to mind is how I could be making money by simply signing out and walking downstairs and get sewing for my mom's business. But then again, hasn't my soul been craving a creative outlet and I just updated my facebook status as, "Man. Its crazy how I forget how much I love writing...well, world, I love it!"? Which is really my priority at this particular moment?...
I chose sustenance for the soul. I love just being able to type out words and not know exactly where my thoughts are going to go. I love knowing that perhaps no one will read this but it feels so good to me that that is all that really matters. I love hearing myself thinking this because if sounds like an old bird that I love and admire. I love the pace at which I type and the errors that I make because I can not help but type out with such frivolity that I just mess up in my excitement. I love the fact that this blog has taken a turn as I realize that I am completely going off topic and not addressing what I meant to? Should I make "The inherent factors that screw us up in priorities: A philosophy" my second post instead of the rest of this post?