On Not Being Enough

Or, "all of my fears are completely justifiable and I hate it".

I have a grand total of four conscious fears - heights (I am too tall for that problem and yet--), small spaces (mostly elevators but someone nearly accidentally shut me into a dark supply closet at work a few months ago and that's the most traumatic thing that's happened to me all year), getting hit by a car in the parking lot at work (very specific I know but I swear to god, that parking lot is the convergence of every bad driver in the Tri-State and I do not want to die there), aaaand never being good enough for anyone. There's a pattern here, I swear. Heights - the defining moment was on a vacation to Washington D.C. the summer I turned fifteen, in the Washington Monument because I swear that thing was designed to help people consciously realise their fears. Small spaces - series of things, the closet incident at work being the most recent (I'm not that tiny and unnoticeable, and the other person did apologize, but still). Getting hit by a car in the parking lot at work - people around here can't fricking drive, I have seen less idiots in locations that are supposedly hell in that regard (Chicago suburbs, totally overrated as far as asshole drivers), and yet for some reason it is just that one particular parking lot where I've nearly gotten hit on multiple occasions. Never being good enough for anyone... well, that's a bit more complicated.

I'm pretty sure the origin of this fear is that my dad comes from a long line of perfectionists. As far as we know, this is a genetic defect, which means I'm safe because being adopted does have a few perks, but... yeah. Not only that, but even the family members who don't have that personality flaw are musically gifted. And, to top that off, my dad has a comparatively tame version of what I've come to refer to as Military Personality Type. (My mom and I didn't know this was the tame version until I was about 14, but that is another post.) Military Personality Type is... well, if you don't know someone who has it, I can't really explain it to you but I swear it's a thing. And sufficient to say, that combination of personality traits was not exactly the best thing for a young kid to grow up around. I mean, my dad's a decent person. I learned my driving habits and my full repertoire of profanity from him (often at the same time), and he genuinely tries. Just... not a good pressurey situation. But, as with everything else in my life, it got worse when I turned 14.

Switching homeschool groups based on location is probably the weirdest thing my mother has ever done, and that includes the time when I was nine and what was supposed to be a ten-minute drive home turned into an hour-and-a-half detour because Mom made one wrong turn, didn't know she'd made a wrong turn, and by the time we did figure this out, we were a county north of where we'd started. For those of you who don't know, Hamilton County is pretty big, so this was an accomplishment. This led to my parents getting cell phones for Christmas that year, and a few years later we got a GPS with my dad's airline miles (which is another story, srsly), and... yeah. Rambling. Sufficient to say, this one little decision five years later had about the same fallout - one little mistake leading to a bunch of weird, unexpected, and generally awful consequences. Except that this time, not for the person who made said decision.

The amount of elitists one runs into in homeschool circles is amazing. I did speech comp for three years - trust me on this, you will never find a higher concentration of pretentious teenagers who are going to get hit hard by the normal world in a couple of years and deserve every bit of that. But speech comp, at least, mostly involved people who could learn from their mistakes. The local co-op we were involved in? Not so much. I still know all of the girls of my era, and I at least keep tabs on the boys via Facebook (it's amusing okay?), and they have all just intensified from where they were in high school. More often than not, this is not a compliment.

So what does this have to do with my insecurities, you ask? Very simple - because nothing will ruin a teenage girl like primarily being around other teenage girls who are all very good at something she is not good at. In this case, unsurprisingly, that thing was music. I cannot play an instrument. Several rounds of piano lessons were attempted over the years, and I tried clarinet for about a year until orthodontia killswitched that idea. The other girls of my era either played multiple instruments or just did one but were exceptionally good at it to compensate. Presumably, I could've compensated for this if my singing voice was good, but that also did not happen. I am very solidly an alto. For those of you who are not musically inclined, religious music is not written for altos. Choir music is definitely not written for altos. Take, say, "Carol Of The Bells" - let's use that example because I've had that on the brain lately (mainly because of a TV ep I watched a few weeks ago that used it interestingly, but that is not a story I am posting here) and because it's a fairly simple four-part song. (Also, because it's a yearly ritual in the community choir I was in.) The sopranos and the tenors get the interesting parts, as per usual. The basses do what they always do, for better or for worse. The altos... are just there. Completely normal. And what were the rest of the girls of my era? Second sopranos. Aka, y'know, the most obnoxious group in any choir. Just... trust me.

And here's the thing - nobody ever told me I wasn't good enough. They didn't need to. It was implied in ways more damaging than words could ever be.

It was implied in all of the activities I was "accidentally" left out of in high school.

It was implied in my mother's constant insecurities about the fact that I wasn't boy-crazy (the fact that she knew darn well what boys I knew and still thought it was weird I wasn't flinging myself at anyone remains one of the great mysteries of my teenage years).

It was implied in all the condescending comments whenever I said that I didn't want to get married or have kids (this has changed but the scars remain).

It was implied in all of the people who told me I'd prolly get married young as cosmic payback for everything (yet here I am, no nearer to that fate than I was five years ago when they thought it was so cute).

It's been implied in all of the times my mother has had to be "creative" when talking with her friends about what everyone's adult children are up to, because "she quit college and works in a shop and is supposedly working on several novels" just doesn't sound acceptable.

No one ever had to tell me I was good enough. I just knew. And at this point, it's in my blood.

I haven't had a lot of genuine friendships and I dunno how to change that. I've never been in functional reciprocated love. But someday these will change. Someday I will be good enough. And someday, someday I will stick it to everyone who ever made me think I wasn't. It's going to be a journey, but so help me, I will get there. I have to. It's either that or death, and I'm not at the cute age to be a tragedy.

On What I Want To Do In 2015

Or, "I know two week can still change a lot but screw this, I have FEELINGS".

Last week I did my masterpost of how 2014 was... maybe not great for me, but more good than bad and a lot of steps forward. And here, for the first time ever, I'm doing another post I said I'd do - my list of goals and projects for 2015. I hate to use the term "New Year's Resolutions" because the moment you apply that term is the moment the universe starts doing everything in its power to make sure you don't get stuff done, but... this is definitely in that vein. It's a mix of things that I need to get off my tail and work for and things that, although my behavior will help, are not mine to control. And, hopefully, I'll be able to look back at this in a year and see how far I've come.

• I want to continue disconnecting from people I don't need. I know way too many people who are condescending, have superiority complexes, and generally have no sense of how to be a decent human (before you ask, this isn't aimed at anyone specific, but if you know me and you're feeling guilt right here, it's a sign). I need to not know those people anymore. They're not worth my time. I'm clearly not worth theirs. Time for me to cut my losses and move forward.

• I want to continue finding media that helps me in unexpected ways. I have a way clearer sense of what I'm into and how to actually use TV as a coping mech (assuming I don't get sucked into fandom babysitting again, srsly, I know one of my main ones runs young but I had to explain promo bait to way too many people last week!!). The goal now is to maintain a healthy disconnect, use things for my purposes, and... not get pulled into any more online drama than I have to. (And maybe at some point write a "Things Done In Genre TV" essay that I can link the adorable fourteen-year-olds to because I am not doing that again.)

• I want to continue exploring the concept of parallel girls and, hopefully, latch onto one who's older than me and functional. That'd be a start, yeah? And maybe if said latching also involves relationship troubles as a base? There are a lot of new things coming out in 2015. Totally plausible.

• I want to get writing stuff done. The way my systems work, I'm not sure if finishing one of the books is a totally realistic plan, but a girl can hope. (It'll probably be Scarlett. I need to get that done so I can write about her here, because one of the formative influences in my life is a fictional character I created and it's pretty darn awesome.) And new short pieces. A lot of them. That'd be a nice step.

• I want to continue structuring my life so I can work around my issues. I am dealing with them, but it's a process and I need in-between mechs. The usual stuff doesn't work for my depressive episodes anymore and I need to find a way through that. Dunno what yet, but that's part of the fun.

• I want to continue writing songs and exploring that creative process more.

• I want to find somewhere I belong. Step one is to find a church that doesn't make me want to end myself. Step two... I'll figure out what that is when I get to it.

• I want to meet people who are actually good for me. I dunno how to actually do that but I'm sure it can be done.

• I want to check off firsts. And yes, that means exactly what you think it means. (Not that I'd rush into anything, but y'know, if the situation were to occur...)

• I want to get to a point where I don't have to remind myself every damn day that I am strong and brave and I can get through things.

• I want to continue becoming someone worth being.

Song of the day - "Yellow Flicker Beat", Lorde.

On Being Alone & Hating It

Or, "it's the middle of December and hormones are kicking my tail and is it REALLY too much to just want someone to kiss me??".

The older I get, the more I realize that being single sucks. This might not actually be age so much as the fact that I live with a sixteen-year-old who has the body of a supermodel and knows it and is on Victim #4, but still. Even without the walking reminder of what I'm not, the fact still remains that this is the bad time of year for women like me. From now until Valentine's Day - two full months of suck - we hopelessly single twentysomethings are in hell, and this year it stings more than ever.

I guess it's one thing if you're consciously choosing not to date anyone - I have a friend who's in that category, and given her tendency to date idiots, I'm fine with her staying there for a while. And it's another thing if you're on the asexual spectrum - again, I have friends there, and this is the time of year when I get jealous of them because at least they have reasons for their status. I... don't. I am reasonably attractive and I have a decent personality and comparatively low standards. And yet... nothing.

I guess part of the problem is that I have no real ways of meeting people. Online dating did not work out for me (I am one of those rare mostly-straight girls who's immune to even the weird people, let alone anyone decent). What few friends I have do not have cute older brothers or extended family members for me to pounce on. Considering that I'm currently drifting, church isn't a concrete option, and part of the reason I left the Vortex is because there was no chance I would ever meet someone there who might even see me with kindness, let alone romantic love. What few hobbies I have do not require human interaction. I really don't leave my house except for work (no chance in hell) and little errands (to places almost exclusively frequented and worked by middle-aged women). At this point, if a decent-looking functional unattached twentysomething guy turns up in my life, I'm almost sure they will be my Person because it'd be that much of a shock if it happened!!

This gets even more sucky if you consider that I thought I'd be married by now. I really did, and if I remember correctly, so did a lot of other people. I was very against the idea in high school (mostly because little baby me hated everything), and openly stating that I was never going to get married was a nice way to tick off various Bubble types. Their most common response? Just. Wait. As far as everyone was concerned, I would be the first girl of my era to get married simply because of how unlikely it was. And, on some level, I believed them. If I were to get married at 19, it would be the perfect way to stick it to so many people.

Obviously, that did not happen.

Three girls of my era got married within the last year. One of the two who remain single is drowning alive in grad school, and the other is too busy with work and her own quiet rebellion to even think about getting fluttery for someone. I... do not have such an excuse for my status.

I could be good for someone. I'm affectionate. Guys like that, right? I haven't Done Things - my idealistic goal of at least getting kissed by the time I turned 21 has obviously not happened - but I want to. I can be domestic -- I want to be, dunno if I'd be any good at it but I learn things quickly. I'm pretty enough (not compared to some people, but I've accepted my body as it is and there's more good than bad there). And, most importantly, I'm realistic.

I'm not asking for a fairytale. That sort of thing doesn't happen to women like me, and I've accepted it. I just want someone who sees me as I am, flaws and beauty entwined, and still wants to be with me. I don't want to be idealized. I just want to be held, told I matter, and kissed a lot. And if a life develops out of that... great. But I'm not asking for much here. I know being with someone won't fix me. I don't think I need to be fixed. I just need to be loved and wanted. And oh, yeah, physical stuff would be really nice too. I'm a hormonal disaster and, because my physical and emotional wirings are so interconnected, DIY'ing it doesn't solve a damn thing.

Please, future Person, come find me. I am a risk worth taking.

Song of the day - "This Love", Taylor Swift (yes, still, I have clearly not cried enough over this song today).

On What I Did In 2014

Or, "someday I will look back and this will be one of the good years".

I know it's a little early to be doing a year-end reflection post. 2014 doesn't technically end for another two and a half weeks, and it's entirely plausible that something could happen in that time that will change everything. Key word there, though, is "plausible". I've been through enough this year, and if by some chance I have to retcon half of this... so be it. That doesn't change that this year has been important for me. I've done a lot of things, I've made trackable progress, and I can solidly say that I am a much better person now than I was this time a year ago. 2014 was the year I started doing things for me and finding symbolism in little things, and it is important. So, without further adieu, here's what I did this year:

• I got my second-ever "proper" job and, almost a year later, I still like working there. Not that it's an ideal situation, but it's something that fits what I need and that I can make work for me. If I need to go hide in the bathroom for a little while because I'm episoding or because I feel physically sick, I can do that and no one gives a damn (I'm pretty sure no one even notices but I could be wrong). I'm around enough people for my depression to feed off, but genuine instances of human stupidity are comparatively rare. I'm pretty sure I'm going to stick around there for a while.

• I shaved my head on New Year's Eve because I make bad life choices when it's late at night and I'm bored (another example: roughly half of the fanfic I've written this year) and it was one of the most freeing things I've ever done. I put my hair into a good ponytail today for the first time since then, which I guess confirms that my hair grows fast. I got rid of it as a symbol of this being my rebirth year, and I'm growing it long now because I can. I want to be able to do pretty braids and updos, and I'm absolutely going to as soon as I have the material for 'em.

• I learned to shamelessly like things without overthinking them. I don't always need to have big reasons for my preferred media choices, especially music. I can like things just because they're fun or because they're good writing inspo. I can sing along to the trashier side of Lana Del Rey's repertoire and not feel bad about myself. It's pretty awesome.

• I made friends with a lot of awesome people online and started cutting ties with a lot of awful people in the face-to-face world. It's a slow process and one that's definitely continuing into 2015, but I'm finally drawing my lines and not allowing space in my life for toxic people, no matter how good their intentions may be. I don't need to be around people who make me feel worthless or deficient because of things that are beyond my control. I'm a better person than that, and I'm starting to act like it.

• I fluttered for someone and, once again, got my little heart broken. But this time, it's all too easy to see why it was a bad idea. We could've been good friends, were for a little while, but the other person let their stubbornness win and that's their problem, not mine. They're still unfairly pretty (and highly unlikely to read this so I regret nothing), but thank you, darling, for confirming why I don't trust pretty people. They'll only ever hurt me, and this one was no exception. Bright side, I handled this heartbreak really well and didn't have any major episodes because of it. I don't think I even really cried over them. I'm getting better at reconciling my hopeless-romantic inclinations with what actually happens to me.

• I quit taking antidepressants and decided I like myself a lot better when I'm not on them. I was medicated for nearly three years and that was good for me, but I get less headaches now and I'm more passionate. I fully approve of anyone who does choose to be on meds, but at this point in my life, that's not what I need. I have enough coping mechs right now. Not sure how long it'll last, but I'm trying.

• I watched a lot of TV, prolly too much in hindsight, but three shows impacted me in important ways. One helped me make sense of my relationship with my mother, one shaped my sense of what community ought to be, and one inspired me to start letting go of my past and become something better. The effects of the last one in particular are also likely to be a theme in 2015, and I'm probably going to write another post on the parallel-girl thing there in about a week (once my brain processes the midseason finale).

• As mentioned above, I developed the concept of parallel girls - fictional ladies I identify with way more than I should. The two I currently have each came from one of the shows mentioned above, and it's been a pretty awesome coping mech. If my parallel girls could get through their challenges - and both of 'em had those in spades - then I can get through mine.

• I went to six weddings and had crying breakdowns at five of them. Weddings just screw with my emotional state, and I imagine it'll be a lot worse in the future when people I actually care about start getting married. As it was... I can't help being jealous, especially of the two girls who got married this year who are younger than me, but I did behave myself. I looked cute at all of them, although the only people who noticed were middle-aged women (seriously, whomever said weddings are great for single people can burn in hell because that does not work). I didn't pick fights with anyone (came really close at one but I do not take any responsibility for that person's issues). I was fine.

• I got one story published this year, which I know isn't great but hey, it's my second earned credit and I need those. Funny thing is how that one originated... out of all the stuff I've written, it figures that the piece that originated with a friend and I having a convo about what we thought really happened after a particular TV show ended is the one that found a home this year. The world is weird like that.

• I listened to a lot of music -- like, that's almost an understatement, 2014 was a good year for stuff I like. If I had to pick one song to define this year, Brooke Fraser's "Je Suis Pret" would be it. Deciding that I adore her music despite how I first heard of her was a good life choice. Other contenders are Sia's "Chandelier" (I love that Sia is a Major Thing now 'cause I've been listening to her for years and she's fascinating and 1000 Forms Of Fear is fascinating and you should go listen to it if you haven't) and Mary Lambert's "Heart On My Sleeve" (Mary Lambert is a gift to humanity and I am jealous of how darn cute she is). And not to mention a bunch of stuff that doesn't necessarily fit where I am but is still really, really good.

• I did a lot of self-eval, mainly on why certain fictional things appeal to me, and learned a lot about myself and how my brain works and how I handle things. I function in patterns, and that's not a bad thing.

• I embraced my vulnerabilities and my flaws and began learning how to function around them. I cry too much, I have no verbal filter (and even less of one when my fingers are on the keyboard), I'm a hopeless romantic and an idealist at times despite my natural pessimism, I have nonexistent tolerance for human stupidity, and none of that is inherently bad. The problem is whether or not I put up enough effort to use those things to my benefit, and that's one of the things I need to work on in 2015.

• I started reclaiming my voice. Compared to the other girls of my era, my musical abilities suck, and for a long time I let that stop me. Not anymore. I've been writing songs and finding a lot of strength in that, in my quiet defiance. I can't sing irritating church music, because it's written for women with borderline-canine vocal ranges, but I can do my stuff. I can do things that mean something to me. Now, what I'm gonna do with that remains to be seen, but... I'll figure something out.

Overall, there was more good than bad this year. I made progress. I am brave and I am becoming a better person and here's to 2015 being more of the same. (In a few days, I'll try to do a goals post, but... we'll see. Fingers crossed I don't eff that up?)

Song of the day - "This Love", Taylor Swift.

On First Love

Or, "if I'm gonna set everything on fire, I might as well reveal the series of events that first pushed me in that direction".

December is one of those months for me. Y'know, that sacred time of year when absolutely nothing goes right no matter what I do, when all hell breaks loose on a regular basis and I have no control over any of it. This pattern was first established during the two years in which the holiday season was clouded by death (thankfully my birthmum's funeral wasn't until January and all of that was handled very well; my aunt, a year later... not so much). But the event that sealed December as my yearly month of horrors happened when I was seventeen. I fell in love for the first time, and four years later, I'm still not totally over it. Every year around this time, I forget that the person I generally refer to as the Vulcan isn't just a prick, he's a whole darn cactus of issues. Even though I still consciously know that. Well, hopefully writing out that story - properly, in a place and form that people who were on the fringes and can guess who he was will be able to see - will prevent that from happening this year. Fingers crossed.

I'd actually met him a year earlier than that, under interesting circumstances. I did speech and debate competitions in high school - no, scratch that, I did speech comp exclusively except for one practice tournament my junior year when my friend's brother had a scheduling conflict and she needed a debate partner and I am easily talked into things. Enter the Vulcan (it would be years before he got this codename, but let's use it from the beginning here for consistency). Our first round was against him and one of the little mouse-boys that were half of our region. Mouse-boy didn't matter, didn't do much, I can't even remember who he was anymore. The Vulcan, on the other hand... sixteen-year-old me took one look at him and decided he was going to die. I didn't even know his name at that point and I wanted to end him. The closest I got was nearly hitting him several hours later, completely by accident because badly designed hallways and I talk with my hands and he just happened to be walking by. (He thought it was intentional and spent the entire weekend wondering what he'd done to annoy me. Answer - he existed. That was enough.)

A year passed. If anything, I became a worse person over said year. But then, first tournament of senior year, I saw him again and I woke up. He was nice to me, which in hindsight was exactly how this became a problem. In general, guys were not nice to me at that point in my life - most of 'em were either terrified or just flat ignored me. This one, for some reason that I still do not understand four years later, did neither of those things. He offered advice on how to do a content warning on one of my pieces (I completely ignored this and continued to perform said piece without telling anyone in advance that it ended with me miming self-harm), he looked at me like I existed and was valid, and... I was utterly done for by the time I added him on FB two days later.

At this point, I would not have described myself as a romantic. Oh, fictional love stories were the best thing ever and I'd already done quite a bit of fluffy fanfic, but real life was a different beastie. I was pretty sure I'd never seen a functional relationship. I was even more sure that marriage and children were the exact opposite of what I wanted. (Quiet rebellion against the Bubble, in hindsight, but also where I was as a person.) I had not consciously crushed on anyone before, and my one attempt at flirting with someone had ended in me learning exactly how far and fast I could run in heels because I'd lost all ability to speak. I was not fated to fall in love. But then I did, and it remains the singular most questionable decision of my little life.

My knowledge of how attraction worked verged on the nonexistent. My mother, who I would later learn had a range of experiences to back up this belief, gave me the "girls and boys can never be just friends" and "boys will only ever take advantage of you" speeches and that was about it. I'd watched the scenario play out a year previously, when one of my least favorite people in the world had a relationship with another friend's brother, ended it suddenly and dramatically, and caused the poor darling to have what we are all still pretty sure was a minor emotional breakdown. So, being the misinformed innocent that I was, I believed that the reason the Vulcan was playing nice with me was because he wanted me. Which was admittedly confusing because he had status within our mutual circle and I didn't, but hey, sexual attraction is weird right?? It was a totally plausible explanation, and one that impacted the development of that friendship.

I fell for him. To this day, I don't know why other than that he saw me, not the little rebel girl or someone who needed to be fixed but the valid-albeit-lost young woman I was blossoming into. I don't understand that either. He had no reason to be nice to me, but he was. How was I not supposed to develop my very first fluffy feelings?

I waited and waited for months for him to say something. He had to be into me, right? There was no other reason someone would put up with all of the crazy I flung at him, and oh was there ever a lot of that -- I have a tendency to reveal way too much (this whole blog is an example of that) and I made sure that boy knew exactly what he was getting into. It didn't affect him. I would later learn this was because he has the emotional comprehension abilities of a gerbil, but at the time I thought it was cute. But on the other hand, he didn't say anything. We were both technically old enough for feelings to blossom. He lived roughly half an hour from me. So... what was the problem?

Answer - he didn't see me that way. He never had. I found that out when I finally told him where my heart was almost a year into this mess. He shot me down in the most emotionless logical fashion possible (which is where his nickname originates, if anyone hasn't figured it out). I, in turn, went into a depressive spiral, listened to too much Adele, went even deeper into the spiral, and eventually hit a point of self-destruction that even my mother couldn't ignore. I was eighteen. No one had ever taught me how to deal with this, because good Bubble girls were only ever supposed to love once. This wasn't supposed to happen. He'd been my Person, I'd been so sure of it, but... nope, I never even had a chance.

There's more to the story, of course. There were a lot of little moments that year - my second accidental near-death experience, for one - and a few things that happened after. I tried to be friends with him again, still fluttered for him, but again I was shot down - that time the day before Valentine's Day (see what I said about emotional comprehension abilities of a gerbil?) - because he had a girlfriend. (Apparently she broke his heart two months later. By that point, I couldn't have cared less.) I realised that I could, in fact, do a lot better than the golden boy who prolly just put up with me because I was everything the girls of our world were not supposed to be. And once that realisation hit, I became softer, less ambitious, less terrifying. Less like the person he thought I was and more like the person I wanted to be. For the most part, I've moved on.

But I still wonder. What if things had been different? What if he'd known the chance he had and taken it? Where might we be if my feelings had been reciprocated? I'll never know. It's been years since I've felt anything other than frustration (and not the fun kind either) towards him. We talk about every six months, which is to say that he remembers I exists and messages me and asks what I'm doing and I pretend I care. It normally happens right after I've gotten home from a wedding, though he has no way of knowing that. I passive-aggressively messaged him several bitey Taylor Swift songs about this time two years ago; he didn't react. That chapter's over. But there's still a little corner of my heart consumed by the first time I wanted someone, and sometimes that want rears its ugly head.

So, this is me saying that I am not the girl you thought I was. I am not ambitious and terrifying; I have no plans to change the world, and I'm starting to get bored with the thought of just burning it all down. I can still run in scary heels, but otherwise I am so different from who I was four years ago. I'm not happy yet, but I'm a damn lot closer than I was then. I do things for me now. I am working towards a quiet life, and someday, hopefully any day now, I will meet someone who will love me like you never could. Someday, I will look back and it won't hurt to think of you. Someday, I will be whole.

(Oh, and you mentally ruined a whole flock of fictional characters and three very good albums for me, and I'm not over it. That, I am not moving on from.)

But thank you, you hopeless idiot, for starting me on this journey. If you hadn't been such a prick, I wouldn't know that the things inside my head are bad and need to be dealt with. If you hadn't broken me without even knowing, I would still think that boys like you are the best I can do. They're not. I can do so much better and someday I will. Just watch me.

Song of the day - "Wildest Dreams", Taylor Swift.