August 28, 2013
feed & greed

"You can’t just chop up the aspects of a relationship into discrete parts and select the ones you want, like a buffet." — Ben Wyatt, Parks and Recreation

Found this quote in an email draft and forgot how much I loved it when I first heard it.

August 25, 2013
like fingerprints

This is Day 4.

By Day 7, I’ll have celebrated the birth of my father, mourned the loss of my uncle’s, and congratulated my cousin for his entrance into life as a new dad. Needless to say, the end of August has been anything but lacking emotion and anxieties.


August 7, 2013
that time I had trouble getting out of bed

"You never know what you have until it’s gone." OK, sure. I’ll buy it.

What I really think is that you never know you love sleep until you’re forced to wake up.

This morning I swear if I were chained to my bed, I would not have been upset in the slightest. For the record, I wasn’t actually chained to my bed nor have I ever been chained to any bed in my life, but the bed I woke up in this morning felt oddly more comfortable than the bed it was when I slept in it the hours before.


July 23, 2013
burning imagination

The other night I asked my friend for a cigarette. Four girls at a local bar unofficially dubbed for townies set out for a Sad Kids Club meeting where we talked about our problems while getting drunk. Drunk enough to talk without mental filters, but not enough to be the embarrassing whiney women sitting at the bar patio. After my second whiskey sour, and noticing my friend was on her second cigarette, I decided to ask her for one despite my reputation as a nonsmoker. The American Spirit rested between my lips as my fingertips pressed on the ridges of her lighter until the flame turned the edge of the cigarette a burning red. Inhaling, the smoke was set free to explore the insides of my body until I exhaled and watched its cloudy remains escape my mouth as if I’d dodged a demon. But I hadn’t. I was only dodging those next few minutes to not feel like myself as that cigarette gently sat perched between my two fingers.

July 22, 2013
on letting go of maybe

This morning (OK, more like this afternoon if we’re being honest about when I woke up today), I told myself to write. Something. Anything. Just write since it has been awhile since I’ve written anything aside from an email about why someone should hire me to write for them. Irony, I believe this is called. Irony, or just the post-grad consequence of searching for a job that exercises creative writing skills.

But unfortunately today, as most days when I’ve tried convincing myself to write, I spent my time mostly thinking about what to write. Then my sister came home. Now I’m going to turn on Netflix. Suddenly it’ll become midnight and my mom will finally come home. Before I know it, I’ll be sleepy. This cycle will likely happen tomorrow when I wake in the morning—OK, afternoon.

Falling out of touch with writing definitely makes a girl feel disgusting, and what has been holding me back as of late is the fear that my writing has lost a point. Maybe I drink too much. Maybe I tune out certain levels of introspection so that I don’t have to deal with the pains of truth. Maybe all those warnings about having a life crisis in your 20s illustrated in Thought Catalog are starting to catch up with me.

And maybe I can fix all this, since a rut isn’t exactly defeat and I never really liked the uncertainty of maybe. Whatever may be the case, here’s to finally listening to myself.

July 13, 2013

Can I just say I am incredibly ecstatic tonight?

I baked an apple pie for the first time. Actually, I baked two. From scratch. On my own. Using elements from three or four different recipes. 

I realize I’m not in the running for blue ribbons at any county fair’s Best Pie competition, but the amount of joy I feel when I look at these pies is nasty. So nasty, in fact, that I am pretty sure I might shit myself when I cut them into slices and give them to my friends while waiting to assess if they’re being polite or if I actually successfully made a delicious apple pie. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, though. But for tonight, as these pies cool down from being freshly pulled out of the oven, I am relaxing in the fact that I did it. And I feel wonderful tonight.

My business with making meals from scratch stems from an old bucket list entry to bake cookies from bare ingredients. My boyfriend at the time was fully supportive of my endeavor and, despite knowing my past of horrible baking encounters (ie. brick brownies), he joined me the night I decided to check off that component from my bucket list. As a rather more experienced cook and chef himself, he was very helpful to have around that night to make sure I wasn’t completing any fatal baking no-nos. But the best part was how he left me alone to do everything myself. From whisking the baking powder to mixing in chocolate chips and pulling the cookies out from the oven, I made every mistake, tiny success, and good story happen with my own hands. I loved a man who was determined to help me love myself.

To this day baking different meals from scratch has given me a type of joy that can only be best understood when tasted. I love doing it on my own without any help. I’m glad I’ve continued to try creating different dishes from scratch.

"I made you something" sometimes expresses a more accurate depiction of what I want to say when "I love you" doesn’t quite sound powerful enough.

July 3, 2013

"Go after her. Fuck, don’t sit there and wait for her to call, go after her because that’s what you should do if you love someone, don’t wait for them to give you a sign cause it might never come, don’t let people happen to you, don’t let me happen to you, or her, she’s not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this and I always thought I’d be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest and making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3000 miles on four days notice because you can’t just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone’s idea of love but it is the way I can recognize it because that is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is generous and that is what loving someone is, that is raw and that is unguarded, and that is all that is worth anything, really."

— Harvey Milk, The Harvey Milk Interviews: In His Own Words

July 3, 2013
If Your Boyfriend Tells You Your Vagina Is Repulsive, BREAK UP WITH HIM


by Lindy West

(The title says it all.)

June 27, 2013
words of wisdom
Me (while watching "Freaks and Geeks"): Friendship makes me feel lonely. This show makes me feel lonely. I'm lonely.
My mom: my laundry if you feel lonely.
June 26, 2013
black box

Sorted through and cleaned a bunch of bins and drawers in my room this week. I found a bunch of drawings, letters, notes, and random reminders of things that mattered once before, still do, and never did despite all the convincing I tried to do for myself.

It was a nice awakening albeit a rude one. It’s safe to say I don’t know shit about my emotions. Or the concept of forever. Everything is one huge grab bag.

Sometimes it’s like some of those things never even happened since I can’t accurately recall every single memory. One would think forgetting is like a sort of freedom, but I miss those moments just as if they were remembered in colorful detail.

Sitting at the kitchen table. Picking up a feather. Slicing carrots with a shitty knife. New glasses. Fake parking tickets. Oaths to not plagiarize. Biweekly stipends. Volunteer badges. Christmas cards.

How strange it is that we try desperately to be happy when only through intense loneliness do we feel, and possibly act, most human.

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