I’m stuck in a maze.

I’m stuck in a maze.

Okay, I’m not literally stuck in a maze. If I were, I probably wouldn’t be writing about it here right now. Unless it had Internet and I had my computer with me. But then I would probably be Googling “how to get out of a maze,” instead of writing about it here… Maybe.

I spent all morning trying to write a decent blog post, but I kept editing and deleting parts of it until I finally started over again and again. I wanted to mention the writing block I have been in, but I wasn’t satisfied with anything I wrote. Basically, if you looked up “writer’s block” in the dictionary an unflattering photo of me with mismatched pajamas sitting on the couch while facepalming would most likely pop up.

My recent hit of writer’s block is not from a lack of ideas or topics to write about – I just haven’t been feeling like writing. I haven’t been feeling like doing much of anything even though I have a lot of things I need and want to do. I just can’t bring myself to do them.

Lately I have been in a (certainly not severe, just irritable) depression that keeps coming and going for weeks at a time. It wouldn’t be so bad if my anxiety wasn’t acting up so much, too. Actually, the anxiety is what has been bothering me the most. The depression is just a mild add-on. So now I am stuck in a figurative maze of anxiety and depression.

I was originally comparing it to the talk Simba and Mufasa had in The Lion King about the circle of life because sometimes it’s like a circle that never really ends. Except it’s less fucked up because it’s not a circle about you dying and becoming grass. Or antelope eating your grassy remains. But it’s still fucked up because you suddenly overthink everything until you become oversensitive, or you’re already oversensitive and the overthinking just makes it worse. (Or at least that’s how it has been for me.)

But life isn’t like a circle at all. Like anxiety and depression, life is bumpy rather than smooth. So I started to compare them to octagons because they’re bumpy as hell. But, aside from the shapes of life, anxiety and depression aren’t like octagons at all. They’re more like a huge maze that’s hard to escape.

You often become lost while aimlessly trying to escape. Maybe you find hints or try tips that seem to be working until you realize they’re leading you to another dead-end. So you re-trace your steps and try another path until you hopefully and eventually find your way out of it. Sometimes you’re wary and worried, but sometimes you deny that you’re lost. Sometimes you might not even realize you’re lost until you pass the same statue for the fourth damn time.

Everyone experiences the maze differently, and that’s okay because no matter what there is always a way out of it. You might not always see the maze’s exit, but it’s there waiting on you. And when you do find it, you will know that everything was okay even when you didn’t feel it.

I might be lost in an odd maze right now, but I’ll find my way out. I’m just glad it isn’t a cornfield maze with creepy scarecrows around. Or the ghosts from Pac Man.




Bedside drabbles.

Bedside drabbles.

Beside my bed is a nightstand that holds many things: A TV remote, jewelry that I was too lazy to put back in my case, pens, a charger for my phone, the current book I am reading, a journal that has been barely started on but already holds my present innermost thoughts and feelings that I keep to myself, and a small notepad full of drabbles that I jot down as they come to me.

The drabbles are short and personal; sometimes they are just thoughts inspired by a song that evoked a lot of emotions out of me, and sometimes they are like pep talks for when I need it most. Lately, I have been giving myself a lot of pep talks because I start to overthink things or worry myself about the future, or maybe I just feel sad and jot things down. I’ve noticed that a lot of people have been pretty down lately as well, so I wanted to share some of these with you guys.

Let’s make a wish and dream of stars that shine brighter than the moon in a sea of clouds. Let’s escape to a world so beautiful it can only exist in our hearts. Let’s pretend that it doesn’t hurt when the ones we care for stops caring about us because we know that if we have room to hurt then we have room to love, too. Let’s pretend that everything is okay because soon enough everything really will be okay.

I wrote this after listening to Lana Del Rey’s rendition of Once Upon a Dream. I thought it was a nice twist to the classic, and the tone to it was something that reminded me of the dreary (but not quite dark) feeling that had been lingering around me off and on recently.

Right now might be tough, but it’ll get better… And tougher. But the tough moments always pass eventually, and that is when we can appreciate the better times. So instead of dwelling on the negatives, let’s get through this and look forward to the positives. They will be coming around the moment before she does. And who is this she, anyways? The song never specified that, but I bet she was also going through rough times and trying to move forward. Maybe the song is actually symbolic for when someone is going through a rough time (the mountains) and the train is actually moving forward to better times. Maybe it’s just a goofy song. It’s up to us to interpret it, right?

I got carried away on this one, but it was very late when I wrote it. I was feeling down and then, out of nowhere, that song came to mind so my exhausted brain started dissecting it. You’re welcome, English professors.

When you plan things, it never really works out the way you expected or initially wanted it to. That’s okay, because it’s the unexpected turns and twists that can make the best memories (and anecdotes for awkward situations). Rather than getting disappointed, we should embrace these moments and look for the positive light shining in whatever plans fell through. For now, let’s just plan the unexpected. That way we are always right and always surprised.

Almost everything I plan on doesn’t really happen and I can never seem to prevent it or get things back on track. A lot of times I get disappointed, but I still try to remain positive because I know that whatever will happen will happen if it’s meant to be – even if I have to give it a little nudge. If not, then that’s okay, too. Because life is full of surprises and we can either run from them or embrace the inevitable. (This was meant to be a commentary, but apparently I am in drabble-mode. Oops.)

Sometimes we feel as if we are diamonds: Unbreakable, beautiful, and loved. Most of the time, however, we probably feel like dirt clumps: Easily broken, ugly, and as if our presence is desired by no one. But not everyone likes diamonds, and not everyone hates dirt clumps. Maybe, rather than a dirt clump or a diamond, we are most like coal; Indifferent and a mix of smoothness and roughness. Maybe someday we will become the diamonds we sometimes wish we were, but if not then we’re still okay.

There are days when I feel happy and positive, but then there are days when I feel down and negative. That’s when I need to remind myself that I am like coal. Also, I should not be used or else it might screw up the world. (Side note: Why are we still not using renewable resources to save the planet?)

Maybe these drabbles will sound silly or weird – they might not even make much sense to some people. But they make sense to me (and hopefully to you guys, too), and that is what matters most. Also, I know they are not quite “drabbles,” but “drabbles” seemed like a good word to use instead of “random-crap-I-was-too-tired-to-100%-think-through.”

And what did YOU learn today?

And what did YOU learn today?

I started writing in a journal this past week after over a month of contemplating on whether or not it would end up as cringe-worthy (and abandoned) as the last one I tried to keep. I finally talked myself into it because, hey, at least it would be funny or interesting (or cringe-worthy, most likely) to read it when I am older. It’s already full of personal shit and things too personal even for here, but today’s entry is something I feel like you guys deserve to read. Enjoy!

Dear Diary,

I learned three four five new things today.

  1. Never, ever, ever leave anything you actually care about and/or want to remain intact – like my Sharpie pen – on my bed unless you want to find Max chewing it because he thinks it’s a new toy.
  2. Don’t try to put the cap on the bottom of said Sharpie pen because it probably wouldn’t (aka didn’t) fit after being slightly deformed by a five-pound Yorkshire Terrier.
  3. The local bookstore opens at 12 PM sharp, so if you arrive less than 10 minutes early they will not unlock the doors to let you in even if all of their signs says they are open. Instead, you will have to decide on whether you should stay there and wait for 7 minutes while wasps (that which you might have an uncontrollable phobia of from that one horrifying experience that left you in tears all night while in pain) and passing cars fly by around you (I’m not even going to try to clarify that the cars aren’t actually flying and that they’re really just speeding… Oops.) or if you should head back to the van and leave with your increasingly impatient mother who is anxious about getting home.
  4. Girl Scout Thin Mint cake (the box said it was cupcake mix, but only monsters eat mini cakes) tastes surprisingly better than one might expect. It was the best spoonful of cake that I’ve had in forever.
  5. If you fall asleep while laying horizontally in your unmade bed with your lights on in your room with Max still being in the living room when it’s almost 1 AM while waiting for what feels like hours when it’s only been like 30 minutes (which is still a helluva long time) on Nick to get out of the bathroom so you can brush your teeth, your mom will most definitely barge in to wake you up so you can wake your dog up and bring him to your room because he’s supposed to stay in your room at night and there is a chance the bathroom will STILL be occupied by Nick (who is most likely watching YouTube videos on his phone because he hides away in the bathroom to watch videos in order to get out of having to do things around the house). Then you might start writing about this in your journal after nearly hissing at Nick to hurry just to keep you busy while you anxiously wait on the bathroom to free up only to be interrupted by your mom texting you to lock the doors EVEN THOUGH YOU HAD ALREADY LOCKED THEM because she forgot you had locked them, which, after thinking about it, makes you start to feel less secure and you sigh inwardly because you realize that you have to make sure the house is locked up before bed from now on.

That last thing was a doozy. It literally happened just now, and as I write this I am a perfect medley of half-asleep and pissed off at how long Nick has been in the bathroom. I’m starting to wonder if Thin Mint cake can substitute toothpaste because that might be my only way of getting to brush my teeth tonight, but now that I read that again with a slightly more awake brain I realize that it would actually do the opposite and be a really bad plan. Also, someone needs to invent a cake that could take the place of toothpaste for situations just like this. It could be like Greenies, but for humans.

Suddenly I am getting off track and forgetting how angry I am. And how sleepy I am. If I don’t get to sleep soon, I’ll… I’ll.. Screw it, I’ll just probably fall asleep right here and end up drooling all over the pages. On the bright side, at least it would be like the perfect test to see just how well-made this journal is and if the Sharpie pens could withstand my saliva without smudging. Oh! He’s out! Gotta go make Chip Skylark proud!

Okay, I’m back. My teeth are clean and minty fresh (not from cake, I swear), and I may or may not have the song “Shiny Teeth and Me” stuck in my head. Okay, I do. Big deal. It’s not like anyone will ever find out about this. Although… This experience might have been bitter for me, it would make a great blog post…

Today was a learning experience and I’m hopeful there isn’t a review tomorrow for the test. I’m okay with flunking this shit. But, hey, at least I got to re-watch The Lion King with James today and eat a spoonful of cake.



I wonder if this post alone would be sufficient in my About Me page because you may never get a better idea of how I am than you would with this post. It even came straight from my diary.

Also, after brushing my teeth I am now wide awake. If not for this I would have just made a note on my phone to write this tomorrow. But now I’m starting to doze off, so I hope you guys can find some humor in my angry (and quite possibly passive-agresssive-ish) journal entry. Maybe tomorrow I will laugh about it, too, after I scold Nick for being a total bathroom hog.

Well, that Walmart adventure was full of poop.

Well, that Walmart adventure was full of poop.

Not real poop, just the word “poop.” And poop emojis, but I don’t have pictures of those.

I was going to use the word “poopy” in the title of this post, but when is that word ever really acceptable? You know, unless you’re potty training a kid or using that instead of “shitty” around the lil’ anklebiters. But since I already said it: Yesterday’s Walmart adventure was shitty poopy.

This was basically me the whole time.

The past couple of days have been pretty boring, so I wanted to do something to break the routine. Which… A trip to Walmart might not seem like such a big deal, but I just wanted out of the house. So when my mom was on her lunch break, I got dressed and headed out to Walmart with her. I was hoping it would be like my last Walmart adventure, but this adventure sucked. There wasn’t even penis-covered tablet cases anymore.

What was once penises have now turned to warm greetings.

It started off okay; I even saw Lilly Singh’s new book out, which totally excited me because I LOVE her YouTube videos. And then I bought it online from Barnes and Noble because their’s was cheaper AND signed. I’m going to swoon when it comes in. I also found a cute owl wax warmer for the Harry Potter wax melt that was gifted to me. From then on, it went down hill fast. Why? Because I’ve been to Walmart hundreds of times. I am always having to pick up groceries or my brother’s medication, so I am always looking around in there. I’ve pretty much seen it all so many times that the adventure becomes lackluster. Which, in retrospect, can you really expect more than that from a trip to Walmart?

I found my life motto. Now to get it on a shirt. Or tattooed on my butt. Probably just the shirt though.

After an hour, I decided to sit out in the van to be alone and charge my phone. I decided to message a friend to see if she wanted to talk on Skype, but after over an hour of waiting on a reply I deleted the message because I figured she was busy. And, honestly, didn’t think she has been interested in talking to me. It’s silly, but when it comes to friends I get really insecure. I start to feel annoying when I message them first or go on about things they might not care about, so I shut up. And then when I start to feel like they don’t really want to talk to me anymore or as if they have lost interest, I start to fade and shut them out. And sit in the van, alone and sad, while wishing I had stayed in bed.

When they go without talking to me, too, I switch between two thoughts:

  1. “I’m glad they’re not upset by me being quiet; I can be quiet as much as I need.” – As an insecure introvert with anxiety and depression, quiet time alone is like a sanctuary.
  2. “I wish they would actually talk to me, but what if they just don’t want to?” – However, instead of a sanctuary, sometimes it is more like a curse.

There are times when I want to be social and chat it up with everyone, but I can’t always bring myself to do so. I tend to rely on others to talk to me first – not to be petty, but to get that push. Sometimes, like yesterday and today, I give myself that push and try to talk to my friends, but after a while of them not reading my messages or trying to talk to me I just panic, delete the messages, and go back to my hiding place until I shake off the negative thoughts and feelings.

A few days ago, I woke up to Max sleeping on my head. It was the best thing to wake up to.

Sometimes we just have to dust off the negativity and look for the brighter things in life. But we should always remember that, as Jenny Lawson often says, depression lies. People do care about you, even when your brain tells you that they couldn’t care less.

What did you do with my Harry Potter books?!

What did you do with my Harry Potter books?!

Not that anyone actually did anything to my Harry Potter books; they are still safely on my bookshelf. I had a dream last night that wasn’t quite a nightmare because it wasn’t scary, but it did rattle me emotionally. I guess it was more of a confusing and bad dream than a full blown nightmare.

I don’t remember much from it other than, for some reason, I was living in a large house with my family and shared a room with my friend. Aaand there was a group of old, devout Christian women living in the rooms upstairs (not that it’s a bad thing, I am a Christian, too). Why? Because they wanted to be closer to Heaven. Because I have no idea, that’s why.

The room my friend and I shared was small and messy compared to the rest of the house. It was big enough for two twin sized beds at each wall with barely enough room for us to lay beside each other in the floor between the beds. And there were art supplies EVERYWHERE on the floor. Colored pencils, sketchbooks, gel pens, oil pastels, and even paint. I want to assume that most of these things were mine for coloring books considering she seems to prefer arting  (spellcheck says that arting isn’t a word which is silly because it is definitely a real word) digitally. She was laying down, sketching an anthro (apparently anthro isn’t a real word either, but I’m still using it. SUCK IT, SPELLCHECK) poodle character she had apparently been wanting to use as a mascot for her art sales.

It reminded me that I wanted to show her something I made, so I sat next to her and turned on my tablet. Just as I entered the password, there were shouts and crashes coming from upstairs. My friend didn’t seem to hear it or care, and instead said she wanted to draw old cartoon characters as animals to see how they would turn out. I was beyond confused as to how she could ignore (or maybe not even hear) the noises, but I shrugged it aside and ran to see what was going on. That’s when I saw it.

My bookcase was laying at the bottom of the stairs, broken with my books barely surviving the fall. I started to pick everything up and getting the bookcase out of the way when I noticed something: All of my Harry Potter books, bookmarks, and buttons were gone. They weren’t on the floor, hanging off the shelves, or even laying on the steps. They were nowhere to be found, and I wanted to know why. I walked up the stairs, still picking up books as I went along. When I finally made it to the top of the stairs, I smelt smoke coming from the rooms that the women were staying in.

Just as I was about to knock on the door, a woman (who looked like Ethel from Parks and Recreation) opened the door and started screaming at me. More and more of the women ran behind her, all bickering and yelling about how they “took care of the book problems.” I didn’t understand what was going on, but having five or six little old ladies screaming at me after they destroyed my books and bookcase was enough to make my anxiety go through the roof. I panicked and slammed the door before running (and half-falling) down the stairs.

Ethel doesn’t take no shit.

My immediate response to what happened was to tell my family about it so someone else could deal with the situation. Which would have been great if not for the fact that I couldn’t find any of my family. I looked in every room, still hearing the yelling from upstairs, but no one could be found. It wasn’t until I was about to give up and hide in my room that I nearly walked into my mom. I tried telling her about what happened, but she didn’t seem to care. She just told me to mind my elders and to behave (as if I was a child acting up). It frustrated me, but I didn’t say anything about it. Instead I took to my room to hide from the craziness.

I tried telling my friend about what happened, but she didn’t really seem to care. She just kept drawing and asking me to hand her the pencil sharpener and eraser. The yelling only got louder as I sat in my bed, almost in tears. It wasn’t like anything big or horrific was happening, but it was enough to have me wanting to scream and cry. It was enough for me to wake up while still feeling like I needed to scream and cry (and even confused as to why I wasn’t already).

But I didn’t, and I did manage to get back to sleep a little bit afterward. The dream afterward was still kind of weird, but not in the stressful and holy-shit-what-is-happening-I-need-to-hide way. It was about an old friend that I tried to contact suddenly. The weird part is that she replied to me in French. Yeah, dafuq, right? It confused me a little, but instead of asking her about it I started scrambling on my phone to send her the lyrics to Cindy Daniel’s song Sous Une Pluie D’étoiles. Not the English translation, no, the French lyrics. And she doesn’t even know French (I BARELY know any).

I don’t understand why she sent me something in French or especially why I chose to send her those lyrics, but dreams are meant to not make sense, right? And at least it wasn’t about screaming old ladies who burnt my Harry Potter books, RIGHT? Those questions aside, I think I know why I had these dreams (for the most part).

Before bed I was looking on Barnes & Noble for Harry Potter merchandise when I saw that there was a book about how Christians should deal with Harry Potter. I rolled my eyes and laughed about it for a moment. For the more emotional stuff, however, I think it was because I have recently started talking to a friend about things that have been on my mind for the past couple of weeks. It was nice to get it out and to talk with someone who has been through the same sort of situations (and have similar reactions to these situations) as me. The only thing is that instead of ignoring these things like usual, I am left thinking about them before bed after having ice cream and a shot of Buttery Nipple (don’t judge me).

All in all, it’s safe to say that my Harry Potter books are safe and sound.

Let’s make a wish together.

Let’s make a wish together.

When some people see dandelions, they see pesky weeds that are “ruining” their lawn. Others might see allergies or bees (the latter is actually a good thing and we should totally try to save our bees), which bums them out. When I see dandelions, part of me still sees wishes ready to be blown.

A few weeks ago, I was reading Nova’s (I really recommend reading her blog; she is so funny and insightful as she writes about her trips around the world) blog post about treating yourself when it made me think of how often I treat my own self. Other than a trip to Louisville to meet Jenny Lawson and getting a new journal for writing on my Walmart adventure, I almost never treat myself to anything. In fact, I am one of those people that almost rarely treats themselves. I’d rather get things for other people – whether they need it or not – and if I do treat myself I usually feel guilty about it immediately after because the funds could have gone to something more important. Don’t even get me started on when people gift me things.

“If dandelions only bloomed in rare places they’d be more valuable than orchids.”

While that is mostly because I’d rather be practical and save for the future, there is a part of me deep down that doesn’t really feel like I deserve to treat myself to jewelry or handbags or anything special. Why? I don’t know. No one has ever tried to talk me out of treating myself except myself. My family and friends have always urged me to self-gift when they know something has caught my eye, but I almost never do. When they ask why not I never have a good answer to give so I usually change the subject or act like I didn’t really want or need whatever it is even though I did. Then I will think about getting the item and guilt immediately washes over me before I even decide to get it.

Yes, those are Brontosaurus stickers from a Wonder Ball. Don’t judge me.

So, after reflecting on my lack of self-kindness (or self-esteem?), I decided to look for something that I always wanted: A moon locket. I found a beautiful one, but then I thought about something I would treasure even more: A terrarium necklace. And that led me to finding this window locket with three dandelion seeds preserved inside. I’d like to think of it as wishes kept close to my heart for when I really need them, which is more often than I would like to admit.

It might seem childlike or silly, but I still like to make wishes. Sometimes I wish on the first star I see at night and any meteorites passing through. I wish on dandelions, fallen eyelashes, and broken turkey wishbones. Sometimes when 11:11 rolls around and I happen to see the time, part of me remembers elementary school when the kids would say, “It’s 11:11, let’s make a wish!” And I wish on that, too. A lot of it is because of habits from when I was a kid that are hard to break, but part of it is because there are a lot of things that I would wish for if wishes were real.

I’m not big on jewelry, but I am happy to wear this around.

For a moment, let’s pretend that wishes are real and we could have that one thing we want with all our hearts and make a wish together. Let’s close our eyes, picture whatever it is, and smile as we think our wishes (because obviously if we say it the wish might not come true). It might not come true just yet, or even at all, but at least you wished for it, right?

Now let’s start treating ourselves better, be it with self-gifts or simply taking better care of ourselves. We might make wishes, but we don’t need them to be kind to ourselves.

The situation has been assessed and cracked.

The situation has been assessed and cracked.

Now we can finally put it behind us.

I was browsing Facebook and my friend shared this article about how the “Texas Butthole Tickling Bandit” was finally caught. AND THEN I DIED OF LAUGHTER, RIP ME.

I don’t care if it’s real or fake, this made my day. No, it made my life. I’M STILL DYING OF LAUGHTER. It only got better when I looked it up and found this other article about it, too, from last year. It’s anustonishing. The best line? Right here:

We spoke we Richard Nays who lives near 3 of the “B*oty ticklers” victims homes and he told us “Fam I slept on my back everyday, I can finally sleep on my stomach again”.

We can now rest easy and unclench.


***EDIT: I THINK I KNOW THE IDENTITY OF THE TRUE BUTT TICKLING BANDIT. That or there are a ton of butt pirates after the booty. In Texas.

I’m a sentimental time traveler.

I’m a sentimental time traveler.

Okay, so, I didn’t technically travel through time. That’s impossible. And if it weren’t I would have changed a shit ton of things that has happened or I would have accidentally screwed it all worse. But I didn’t, I promise. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could though? (Travelling through time, not accidentally screw everything up.)

Look away, it’s naked!

A few days ago, I purchased a new bookcase because my old one just wasn’t doing its job. My books have been stacked on my computer desk and my laptops have been sitting on my ottoman. I probably should have gotten a new bookcase forever ago, but my laziness if my greatest quality. But now that I finally got a bigger one I have been going through my boxes for books to fill it with, except I didn’t just find books and journals. I found memories from my childhood that I have saved for what feels like ages.

THIS IS OLD AS BALLS. How do I still have this??

First I found this old, beat up book about Rain – the female horse from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron – and was brought back to a time when I was, like any little girl, obsessed about horses. I had books on horse facts, a ton of the Breyer figures, and a ton of Spirit merchandise. I never left home without my Spirit and Rain backpack and I always had to bring my VHS tape. It was one of my favorite movies (in other words, I watched it over and over again until it was conveniently “lost,” according to the grownups), until I moved on to The Lion King.

The first (and last) watch I ever wore. I wonder if I can get it a new battery and find a new identical band…

I actually remember the night I ordered this watch. My birthday was coming up, so I picked out this watch and a Cradlin’ Cub Nala from the Internet back when it was still a toddler (the Internet, not me). I loved The Lion King more than I loved any movie. I would play with my plush cubby Simba and Nala’s as if they were going on epic adventures across the savanna; my bed would be covered in stuffed animals and figurines until it was time for bed. I’d watch the movie and its sequel over and over – and I didn’t even like a lot of things about the sequel, so that’s how you know I was dedicated. I knew all of the songs by heart and kept a Hakuna Matata spirit (until puberty hit and worries were EVERYWHERE). It’s still my favorite Disney movie of all time. The Lion King is what led me to finding out fanfiction existed and meeting one of my best friends (hi Sian).

This drawing has seen better days. And can we pretend I didn’t write my name like that all over everything? AND YEAH, THAT’S A HEART WITH WINGS AND A HALO. I WAS A DUMB KID AND THOUGHT IT LOOKED CUTE BADASS.

I asked my youngest brother to draw an alien or a monster for me about 11 or 12 years ago, some time after he was diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. I don’t know why I had suddenly asked him to draw something for me – I just knew that I wanted it. And then I put it inside my Disney princess photo album, which it where it has remained ever since. Now it is old and torn (and dirty from being old and torn and thanks to glue and dust), but I still wouldn’t throw it out for anything in the world.

Can you believe that he only signed the “From” side? He told me to write my own name on the “To” side. And then he laughed at me when I asked him to write my name, too.

I also kept this Valentine he had given me when we were little, too. I’m 97% sure that our mom made him give us each a card, 3% sure he just wanted to act like he was a little celebrity signing autographs. He’s still as stubborn and sassy as ever.

A girl once tried to steal this from me at elementary school even after explaining where it came from. What the hell? Actually, it was the same girl from my podiatrist dream. Holy shit.

I found this necklace, too. It was given to me when I was about 9 or 10 by my great-aunt. I vaguely remember her telling me that it was given to her by a woman with cancer, so I kept it safe and sound. I’m not sure if I’m remembering correctly though, but that’s what I have vaguely remembered since she gave it to me. Even if I’m wrong and she had just made it herself I’ll still take care of it and it’ll still be important to me.

Is there even a point in saving an un-sharpened pencil simply because of its logo and place of purchase? If so, I’m doing something right (but probably not).

These were also in my box full of memories and junk. They were from my first vacation ever – a very traumatizing vacation full of Jesus posters, deer getting punched in the nose, and a trip to the emergency room. Seriously. It was what taught me that vacations aren’t as glamorous as the movies made them out to be. Also, we technically kidnapped our grandfather – and by kidnapped, I mean tricked him into thinking we were going on a short drive and ending up in North Carolina; at least he enjoyed himself –  but that’s a story long enough to be its own post. Maybe I will write about it next week. Maybe not all the memories were so great, but they certainly give good stories to tell.

Here’s how it looks so far. It isn’t perfect, and I certainly want the physical copies of the books that are missing from my collections, but it’s getting there.Also, if you look very closely you can see my “Shit Happens” button.

I’ve kept a lot of things throughout the years even though they were just pieces of memories that have since passed. They’re full of moments that I will always cherish – moments I’d like to share someday as I create new memories.




Well, he wasn’t wrong… Kind of.

Well, he wasn’t wrong… Kind of.

I recently got a new SIM card so that I could go back to using my iPhone instead of the prepaid phone I have been hating with a passion using. Since I’m totally against wasting anything, especially food or electronics, I gave the prepaid phone to my brother because he didn’t have one. He finally set it up and received a shit ton of late text messages that were meant for me, so I guess y’all might know where this is going…

Most of them were just confirmation texts, but one that stood out was a text from a number containing nothing more than a silent video of gel pens. This led to an interesting conversation:

Brother: What the crap? Who texted me? *checks texts* It says it was sent on the 18th. So who texted you, your girlfriend?

Me: Wait, what? What’s the message? *still not exactly out and still unsure if he saw my coming out post, but I knew it wasn’t one of those types of messages (AND BY THAT I MEAN IT WASN’T A ROMANTIC MESSAGE, you perverts)*

Brother: *hands me the phone* It’s either your mother, one of your little Internet buddies, or your girlfriend. I bet it’s probably your girlfriend. I don’t know who it is, but I know it’s some type of woman in your life!

Me: … Shut up.

Brother: See? You’re not denying it. Hurry and text her your new number so I don’t get lovey messages from your girlfriend!

… And then I hit him with a pillow.

By the way, it was our mom who sent the video. I asked her to check what gel pens were in stock. So technically he was right when he said it was our mom/a woman in my life. But then he went on about it being a girlfriend and he lost the guessing game.


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