Random Channel Surfing

My sisters are both here for the holidays. So is Connie. And my beautifully adorable niece Juliana. But we're missing Patrick, Claire, and Brad and, to be honest, we can feel their absence. These holidays have been incredible, though! I've spent a ridiculous amount of time with my family and I've been able to snooze as much as I want. It's all felt so  good . I'm feeling energized and happy and I just know that 2015 will be worthwhile in that naively innocent way I feel when I'm at the cusp of finishing something big. And for the first time in months, after arguing with my mom and Mel about the varied reasons I felt the way that I do and after having Tasha reassure me that the way I felt isn't criminal or wrong, I'm hopeful . I'm not angry or frustrated or confused, but hopeful to the point of delusion! And it's wonderful. When I visited Mel in October, I was content in my self-righteous anger, basking in it and breathing it all in. But e

When we were in high school, Nicole and I were pretty obsessed with a Canadian band called Swollen Members. Now, one would think, "How is it that these two angelic girls would like a band with such a salacious name?" And the answer is simple, really. Nicole and I were hooked on their hit "Fuel Injected". Like, we were pretty much rapping geniuses whenever we rocked out to the song. And we were committed fans. Like, we went to autograph signings and begged our parents to let us stay out way past our curfews whenever they rolled through town (because Swollen Members concerts never end at a reasonable time. No, Nicole and I -- underage and virginal and innocent -- would stumble out of Red's at 4:00 AM or later on nights we'd go to a Swollen Members concert. And the reason for our stumbling? Second-hand weed inhalation. I kid you not. That shit was strong .) Anyway, the last time Nicole and I went to a Swollen concert was back in 2004, but tonight we are goi

So I've decided that I'm not going to Guatemala this year. I know I hadn't announced it on here, but for my own sake, I am doing it now. And there's several reasons why going now wouldn't be a good thing for me: I want to buy my own place, so I want to save up; I want to take shorter trips to visit family and friends; I wanted to go to Guatemala for an extended period and I hadn't really made any plans to go this year; and, most importantly, going back to Guatemala could lead to a relapse of my eating fears. Let's face it, as much as I love my family, they're wont to make comments on my body and size and it's often led to me doing one of two things: I binge-eat and gain weight or I stop eating. Ever since December 2012, I've had this fear that I'm slowly reverting back to my anorexia and my fluctuating weight is a good indicator. Since 2012, I've lost 20 pounds and some people have noticed. I've noticed, too, because thoughts

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 (A list for those times when I'm feeling weak in front of the person who wronged me. Why, yes. I am still angry and hurt. What gave that away?) -Bubbles -Grammar rules -Spelling rules -Whether or not Dumbledore deserves all the hero worship (Spoiler alert: He doesn't.) -Multiplication table -Disney movie synopses -Plan out your outgoing message for your voicemail -Kesha -Rihanna -Possible new hairstyles -Food -Past concerts -Future concerts -Past trips -Future trips -Favourite words -Exit strategy Don't ever , ever , ever ,  ever  think about them. Don't acknowledge their existence. Don't remember the happy times. Don't reminisce about how cute they are. Just... don't. Because when you do any of these things, you're sure to cry and that's never a good outcome.

At the risk of sounding like a person who's miserable and surly all the time, I have to say that I am in the most happiest of happy good moods. Little things that usually crawl and fester under my skin -- mistyping a word ("teh" is a common one for me), or chipping my nail polish -- make me giggle. I laugh at every little thing. It is impossible to irritate me today. Again, I am not a miserable or surly person. I'm usually in a pretty good (to mild) mood. But today... oh my gosh. Today, I feel a happiness from within me that's radiating out from my smile and infecting everyone around me. I'm excited. I'm smiley. I'm dancing in my chair! This is the kind of happiness I really feel only on rainy days or when I know something incredible is going to happen to me (the day of a party or when I know that I have plans with someone I really like). And it's not a matter of me questioning the good fortune of being this ecstatic on a day like today, but

Maybe it's a post-Montreal-awesome-trip-time kind of funk. Maybe it's a writer's-block-is-the-worst-mind-fuck-in-the-world kind of funk. Maybe it's an I'm-sick-and-have-been-fighting-something --  headaches, colds, body ails galore -- kind of funk. Maybe it's another funk altogether -- a funk I don't really want to delve into because doing so would force me to admit something I don't want to acknowledge. Whatever it is, I'm feeling blue and I don't know how to fix it. *pterodactyl noises*

Sometime year last year, I listed all the movies and tv shows I thought I needed to watch . It's been one year, and... WELP. I kind of suck at watching tv, I guess. I've crossed-out the ones I've watched and just look at how many of them I've yet to watch. I blame it on the fact that I keep re-watching the shows I like best over-and-over-and-over again... How can I be so unproductive when I'm trying to be unproductive? Television Shows -Orphan Black -Firefly -Chuck -Parks and Rec -The IT Crowd -Les Revenants -Veronica Mars -Sherlock -Some Girls -Castle -Teen Wolf -The Newsroom* -Damages* -Call the Midwife Movies -Ruby Sparks* -Brief Interviews with Hideous Men* -Devil* -Thor -Captain America -Hulk -Crazy Stupid Love -Friends with Benefits -No Strings Attached -The Giant Mechanical Man* *Stupid Chris Messina.

So I haven't written anything in a long while. Well, technically I have written some things; I've written texts, emails, tweets, tags, and the occasional re-written sentence at work, but I haven't written anything of real (artistic) significance since I left Montreal. I'll admit it: I'm sad. I'm disappointed. I'm frustrated. I'm confused. I'm angry. I'm heartbroken. I'm melancholic. In short, I'm at another impasse in my life, one where the song "Should I Stay or Should I Go" is on loop. An impasse where so many conflicting emotions are at war--and frankly, I'm exhausted . I met with Char yesterday and I almost said, "my dreams are dying" when she asked how I felt post-Montreal. And yeah, I have a tendency to over-dramatize everything in my life, but I do feel that my changing -- sorry, evolving aspirations and dreams signals that something's wrong. It's awful and scary and I'm confused. I'm an

I'm currently waiting to board my flight back to Edmonton. I'm comfortable; picked a prime spot right next to the phone/electronics charging station; I ate a large brunch with Janny and Wyatt just before coming to the airport; I feel like I did everything I had planned on doing on my trip. But I'm so so so sad. Leaving Montreal for the fourth time, you'd think I'd be ready for the heavy feeling in my heart, the prickling of tears in my eyes. This was an amazing trip, but I don't want to leave. I don't want to! And I feel a sense of loss and longing and dread right now that I attribute to the fact that every time I come to this city, I am forced to leave it.  And I'll be honest: after this last trip, I know I'd be extremely lonely in Montreal. This realization makes me equal parts frustrated and sad. Because I know that leaving Edmonton for Montreal will not be easy. I know that when I finally move here, I really would be all alone and fuck.

Tonight's the night before I fly out to Montreal with the girls and their fellas. Half of me is restless and anxious and fighting the hiccups, while the other is blissfully aware of how blessed I am to be going on this mini vacation. Seven days of mischief and laughter. Seven days of music and feasting. Seven days in the one other place on the planet where I truly feel at home. I can already smell the rain on the pavement and I can already imagine how wonderful our time there will be. How did I ever get so lucky?

My dad always says that you have twice the number of problems if you get angry with someone. Problem one is that someone wronged you. Problem two is that you chose to get angry or upset with this person. For the most part, this piece of fatherly advice is easy to follow. But there are days -- my god there are days -- when anger is the only emotion I can feel after someone unintentionally or intentionally does something to cause me harm. And I don't know what's worse in these instances; would I rather someone harm me on purpose, or would it be easier if they did it without any intent to hurt me? No one on the planet is 100% pure goodness, or 100% pure evil. It's harder for some of us to be kind and tolerant and good sometimes, while it's some people's default. The same can be said about those of us who find it harder to be cranky and intolerant and mean -- no one is all faults and no good traits. And I think that's why it's hard for me to understand

Wearing red lipstick does make you more visible. The correct terminology to use here is probably "noticeable", but for a shy girl like me, you definitely feel visible . I mean, let's be honest: you can't hide when you're sporting a bright, bold colour on your lips. People point it out sometimes and those who don't see you often may just say, "You're wearing more makeup than usual!" as though wearing lipstick is the same as slapping on three coats of foundation. [Cue eye roll] Wearing red lipstick teaches you how to properly apply lipstick. When you commit to wearing red lipstick every day for a full year, you need to learn how to properly apply it. That means that I learned the importance of investing in lip liner and actually used it. I learned how to apply lipstick so that it was long-lasting, so that the colour was bright, so that it was as bold as I was pretending to feel. (I only half-kid.) I also learned how many coats to apply, where

I don't like giving people the satisfaction of knowing how much they hurt me, so when I act angry or distant, act apathetic or annoyed, it means that I'm hurt. So hurt, I'm embarrassed -- and the shame that I feel for being so wounded, is what makes me behave this way. I just thought you all should know.

Summer 2013, I was obsessed with this song. Now every time I hear it, I feel a really weird sense of sadness. It's not that last summer was sad -- not in the slightest. I actually have really happy memories of it. Rather, it's that I miss last summer so so so so so so much, that listening to this song makes me ache with a weird sense of longing. Nostalgia is a powerful drug, my friends.

I've written my first short story for my 2014 challenge. You can read it here . And I'm writing this, basically, to express the discomfort I feel for having written it. Most of what I write is at least partially based on events that happened to me; I'm not used to writing things from someone else's perspective. I've done it in the past, sure (several times on this blog, even!), but I'm more at ease when I'm writing about things that have actually -- physically and truly -- happened to me. So it was weird when I started about a dude who was literally dumped the day before his wedding. And it's not that I take issue with the subject matter, but it all felt so f   u       c           k               i                  n                      g forced . All that to say, I'm really happy that I'm challenging myself this year. I can only hope that with time, I'll feel more inspired and less... well, phony when I'm writing about t

He supposes he should be grateful to her; after all, if she hadn't called off the wedding, they might be on their way to an unfulfilling life where he loved her exponentially more than she could ever love him. Right? Because the fact is this: He always loved her more than she could ever love him. And it's true what they say, love is never equal. One person will always ( always ) love more. And he was happy being that person; she deserves that level of devotion; she deserves that kind of commitment. And she seemed to agree up until 13 hours ago. Thirteen. Unlucky number 13. If she hadn't confronted him on the eve of their wedding, he would have continued assuming that she was happy and sated. But no amount of love he feels for her will ever be enough. No matter how fiercely committed he remained to her, it never measured up. The imbalance was too great and she felt the enormity of it all on her slender tan shoulders. She knew, much sooner than he did, that they w

Seeing as my oldest sister is married to an American gentleman, I've celebrated the Fourth of July in the US more than once. It's an amazing  holiday; people wake up early, head over to the parade and (publicly) drink beer at 7 in the morning sans judgment! I mean, what's not to like about it? But, other than the few times I've spent the Fourth in the US, I don't have much cause to partake. Canada's own birthday is three days earlier and, well, I'm not an American. All that to say, despite the fact it's a "Party in the USA", I will not be celebrating the U-S-of-A, but will  be celebrating Brazil's victory over Colombia! Yes, dear reader. Today is the start of the World Cup's Quarter Finals; Germany will face France and Brazil will face Colombia. I'm terrified to see who will come out as victor in the Brazil/Colombia match, but I'm loyal to the Yellow and Green, so a large part of me is convinced that Brazil will come out on

I read somewhere -- probably on pinterest (I'm hyper-addicted to that site) -- that if a writer were to write a story a week, the likelihood of him/her writing 52 bad stories is very low. So I've decided that starting next week, I'm going to write one story per week. Now, this is the part where I warn you all that these stories will likely be random, romantical, and awkward -- just like me. But a challenge is a challenge and I'm determined to write a story a week until July 13, 2015. (I picked that date at random; it just seems like as good a place as any to end my 52 story challenge.) Also, seeing as June 16, 2014 marked the end of last year's challenge ( wearing red lipstick every day for a year ), I will update this blog with a post on my feelings regarding my year of brightly coloured lips. Oh la la. Poisson rouge, indeed. Now that summer has finally decided to make its stay permanent, I feel a lot lighter. Summer is usually a happy time for me, despite the

It's pretty much guaranteed that I'll be doing volunteer work at an orphanage in Guatemala later this year. And it's slightly terrifying to think that I'm going to realize this wish so quickly. It's slightly terrifying to think that I'm going to leave Canada for x amount of time and that I won't see any of my friends for this whole time. It's slightly terrifying to know that this is something I want. But at the same time, I'm bursting with excitement at the prospect of leaving Canada and immersing myself in Guatemalan culture. I'm delighted to think that I'll be spending time with my cousins, aunts, uncles, family . I cannot wait to help the people of Guatemala, my people, for this time; I'm looking forward to it. And who knows, really. I might decide to stay. I might fall in love with that city the same way I fell in love with Montreal. I might decide that staying there is what is best for me in the long run. I need a break from Cana

I'm so happy I live in a time where cameras are fairly standard; I mean, some people have a fancy camera that they use for documenting travels or family holidays, but the majority of cell phone users have another, more easy-to-use camera on their mobile phones. And the quality of the shots you take on your camera phone is improving with every new smartphone that comes out. I document my outings with friends so that we can have a small glimpse of those happy moments preserved for time. I photograph my nieces and nephew so that they can remember how happy their childhood was. The reason I document those moments when I'm most happy, is so I can re-live those happy occasions time and again. Photographs are frozen memories; how I long to live in one, re-living the happiness I felt day in and out. Thirteen years ago, I came to the realization that my parents have only a handful pictures of me as a baby. I was hurt, to be honest, because it seemed as though my parents couldn't

Tamara and Sean had a beautiful wedding yesterday. It was teeny tiny (we counted less than 50 people in attendance), intimate, sweet, loving, and unforgettable. And what struck me most is that my two friends are incredibly well-suited for one another. Like my other coupled friends, their temperaments complement and balance each other out. I loved being a part of this intimate affair and am so incredibly excited for the two of them. I hope their lives together are as full of love and happiness as their wedding day was.

I live for weighing the pros against the cons and don't really see the point of doing things unless I'm 100% committed to seeing them through. Trips take  months  of deliberation and then months of planning. Even when I'm out shopping, I know what I want before entering the store and if  I don't find the specific item I'm looking for, I won't purchase anything. When things are out of my control, my movements are stilted and awkward and I radiate unease. I need to plan and organize and control. (Really, I'm a nightmare for the impulsive people in my life.) And don't get me wrong; I love spontaneity and am a spontaneous person, but rash decisions and flights of whimsy? That's not my style. The few times I've acted impulsively in the past have hurt me, so I shy away from acting on my impulses. 2012 was supposed to be the year I moved back to Montreal. I did plan for it and I definitely anticipated it, but I didn't realize this plan -- a fa

Most years we quietly celebrate Jenn's birthday; it's just us seven, we have some dinner, and then we go home. For her birthday this year, she asked one of her fellow nurses, Milly, to read our handwriting and interpret our personalities. Milly's interpretation of me was not that far off-base; she inferred that I'm reserved, prideful, loyal, hard-working, stubborn, and creative --- but she also told me that I can come off as "cold". Now, it's interesting to me that what stuck with me most is the fact she called me cold. Not the fact she correctly guessed that I like to feel people out before baring my thoughts to them. Not the fact she told me I'm creative, but am wasting my talents. Nope. What affected me most about her reading is that I can come off as cold to certain people. I've been called so many things in my life (haven't we all?), but the things I've been called in the past have always had a more... well, a positive spin. I

A few weekends ago, my friend Anna married Rodrigo. In two short days, my friend Tamara will be marrying Sean. And in July, two more of my coupled friends will be tying the knot (Pasquale with Carmella, and Jen with Mark). It's a change for me; last year, I went to only one wedding, my cousin Quena's, and attended two funerals. And before Quena, I hadn't gone to a wedding since my sister Pily's in 2011. So you could say that this is a year for new beginnings and, while totally cliche, it's a thought that makes me smile. All around me people are falling in love and wanting to share their lives with the one they love most; it's inspiring and oh so sweet. I guess 2014 is officially the year of the happy couples. And that's a thought that makes me smile.

Camping is not my first choice when I'm planning a short trip. No. I usually think about going to St. Louis to visit my sis and her family, or about going to Calgary to see a concert, or about going to see Mel in Toronto. Camping is never my go-to and it's especially not ever on my list of trips I'd like to take. Like, ever. And it's not that I don't like camping, or that I've never done it, but rather that when I think of taking trips, I envision myself touring museums, or seeing a band live. I never really think about campfire and woodsmoke. I never consider sleeping on the cold soil. I never think about spending an entire day in the sun. But this May long weekend, the three ladies, their fellas, Dustin, and I met at Pigeon Lake for one of the most loved-up weekends I've had in a long time. Our days consisted of snacking and chatting and we passed the time enjoying ourselves by the fire at night. Our last night, the coldest night, we picked each othe

document the moments you feel most in love with yourself - what you're wearing, who you're around, what you're doing. recreate and repeat — warsan shire (@warsan_shire) May 16, 2014 I've yet to feel this kind of devotion to myself, but it's an emotion I will try to notice in the future. It's a feeling I will strive for. I want to be able to look back on my life and say, "I was happiest and most at peace with myself when..." without hesitation.

This year's SONiC Boom has quite the lineup. Jack White. Death Cab for Cutie. The Arctic Monkeys. Tegan and Sara. DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE. Foster the People. The New Pornographers. Stars. MS MR. July Talk. Oh. And DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE. There are more bands (obvi), but the amount of sheer excitement I feel over the bands I listed (one in particular... not sure you can figure which one I'm referring to...) is ridiculous! I thought going to Montreal for Osheaga would be enough, but no. Sonic had to go and book THE ARCTIC MONKEYS, FOSTER THE PEOPLE, AND DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE. I feel like I'm going to be thinking in caps for the rest of the week.

There's too much I don't understand about my heritage; too much I want to understand about my heritage. And this seed has been germinating since my entire family (sisters, brother-in-law, parents, and niblings) went to Guatemala in December 2009, where Cristiane's best friend Ceci and her husband explained to me how you can rent bungalows in Flores, near the Mayan pyramids, for a pretty fair price; has been germinating since I realized that so much about the way I behave -- polite to the extreme -- is a mix of my two cultural identities. Canadians are known for their polite, over-apologetic nature, but Guatemalans are the same way. So when you think about it, my behaviour is an effect of those  two cultures. I am  two times more likely to go out of my way to help a stranger; two times more likely to over-thank someone for a favour. And it's not that I don't want to be in Edmonton. It's not that I've given up on my idea of moving to Montreal. It's not

There's a look you get and it makes me fall in love with you. Sometimes, it's the face you make when you're embarrassed. When the rosy hue in your cheeks darkens and your eyes adopt a vulnerable quality that betrays the tender soul you have. When it's clear you feel naked and exposed; when I can see who you really are before you hide behind your sarcasm or wit, your charm or your grace. That's the face I see before I fall asleep and dream of you. Other times, it's the face you make before you say whatever it is you want to say. When you motion with your hands; clawing, grasping, trying to pull the elusive words from thin air, your speech stuttering because the thought you want to express fills you with so much passion, you don't know how to vocalize it. When you gently bite your lip, your eyes to the sky as you try to articulate the point as best you can. When your inability to make yourself understood helps me read you better than I ever have before.

I've been toying with the idea of loneliness these last few months. How people can be fulfilled in almost every aspect of their lives, but still yearn and pine after an experience they've lost or someone they've never had. How people can obsess and pore over the potential they never saw through to the end or the memories they turn to every night before they fall asleep. It's part of the human experience, this loneliness. We are social creatures; we rely on other people; we are none of us an island. We feel loneliness so that we are pushed to connect with others around us. We feel loneliness so we can survive and to survive, we need other people. Every disaster movie has one common element: no one survives on their own. In every one of those movies, there's a channel of people who work together to kill the zombies, destroy the aliens, survive against the elements, make it out alive. We need to believe that we are never alone; that someone is always with us. We ar

So after a long search for someone to go to concerts with, my friend Lucina is officially my concert buddy. This is the same girl that I would see every time Nix and I would go to a show. She and her sister Fabiana are as music obsessed as we were back in the day and it's nice to know that Lucina is still trying to keep going to shows, despite the fact her sister moved away to Toronto this past year. Last night Lucina and I met at The Artery to support Bedouin Soundclash's front man's new project: Jay Malinowski and the Deadcoast. I got there earlier than we'd agreed (social anxiety makes me overly punctual) and I settled in, ruminating over the fact that the majority of Edmonton's population are hipsters in flannel and beanie hats. Or, at least that's what the audience last night would have you believe. The Artery is a fairly small venue and I'd been there previously for my friend Sean's band's CD release party last February. It had been packed

And it's not because I don't feel anything for you anymore. In the quiet of the night, I can still admit that I care for you. I deny my feelings only when a mutual friend asks me if I still care for you. Deny deny deny. Deny it so well that I convince myself that all I felt for you is gone. That no remnants of you remain in my heart. And it's not because all of my questions have been answered. I still wonder what was going through your head all along. I still wonder what I did to push you away, or if you ever pulled away at all. I sometimes self-sabotage. Did I do it again with you? Self-sabotage is a funny thing, isn't it? I've done it so many times it's a reflex now. And it's not because my issues with how things played out have been resolved. I fantasize about what would have happened if I'd stayed away from you from the get-go. I still wonder what might have happened if I'd acted braver, or if I'd been more honest with myself. I admit tha

I was right about Outkast, Lorde, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Foster the People, Haim, Arctic Monkeys, Cut Copy, and the 1975. Kinda bummed that none of France's "biggest acts" are on the board. *whomp whomp* So. We gotta wait 140 days before we leave on July 30. Soon .

Predictions Outkast Seeing as they're slated to play ~40 festivals this year, it makes sense to assume that Big Boi and André 3000 would make an appearance at Osheaga. Not to mention the fact that Big Boi played last year and, per Nix's reasoning, he did it so he could scout out the place in case he and André decided to reunite. Logic. I know for a fact that both Janny and Nix would delight if they did! Lorde Seeing as she's playing Coachella, I just figure she'll be at Osheaga. I don't see why she wouldn't. Besides, she hasn't announced any dates past April for her world tour and the fact she's keeping those dates under wraps/unconfirmed makes me think she's not allowed to publicize them until the festival lineups come out. Make sense? I know I'd be S-T-O-K-E-D right the fuck out if I saw her live. Chick is awesome. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds I think that Rylan is going to see them with Dustin when they're in town this year, but I f

I didn't think I would celebrate my birthday this year. I thought March 4th would be a quiet day; no work, all sleep, some reading, a lot of vegging. I am happy to say that my expectations were 100% off. Originally, I thought I was meeting with Nicole, Rylan, and Char and her new guy for drinks after 7:00. That was the plan. Nicole would pick me up on her way home and we'd meet Char's new boo. So she picks me up and we meet with Rylan and all the while Nix is freaking out because we're late, but I keep reminding her that it will all be okay. That Char knew she had a late meeting. It never occurred to me that she was freaking out because of me. So we find parking and the three of us walk into the Pour House on Whyte and, lo and behold: My friends are all there! Jenn, Dave, Dustin, Wyatt, Janis, Tasha, and my dearest Char. When I turned around, Nix was smiling and it never once crossed my mind that my friends would go to all that trouble of throwing me a birthday

Promise me that this coming year will be a year of accomplishments and an abundance of happiness. Swear that you will be open and let love, in all its forms, into your life. That you will not cower in fear of the unknown, but will meet it head-on. Dear heart, please don't be a chicken. Don't play it safe. Don't lock people out. Don't jump to conclusions. Don't self-sabotage. Don't build castles in the sky. Don't put him on a pedestal. Don't read into anything. Don't get ahead of yourself. Don't expect things to play out a certain way. Admit when you are happy. Admit when you feel loved-up. Admit to those secret dreams you say you're too cynical to want. Admit that certain aspects of your life are wanting. Admit that you have work to do. Admit that you are fallible. Admit that things don't always pan out the way we planned, and that's okay. That's okay. Dear heart, please accept things as they come. Please be braver. Pleas

I turn 28 next Tuesday. That's two years closer to 30 and 10 years further away from the age I was when I graduated high school. What this tells me is that I'm old. And not a cool old like 87 or 110, but the "responsible" old. The old that should have her shit together. The past few birthdays have been really good. Gone are the days when I would fret over the fact I was turning a year older. Gone are the days when I would miss my youth. I don't miss my youth. I feel grateful that I got to live another year; feel grateful that I got to experience a few really amazing things my 27th year; feel grateful that I got to meet some incredible people; feel grateful that I got to befriend people who taught me about myself and helped me see things in a fresh perspective. I know what you're thinking; you're probably reading this and shaking your head, saying, "But Marcela, you just wrote that you don't have your shit together. That implies that you'

I think I project a very innocent and young persona. Short. Fresh-faced. Sweet voice. More people mistake me for a teenager than an adult. I'm pushing thirty and I continue getting carded at bars, theatres, liquor stores, etc. It would be flattering if it wasn't for the fact that people usually assume I am teenager (teenagers included) and have been making this awful assumption for years . I've even had people at restaurants ask me if I wanted a kid's menu (granted, this happened when I was in my early 20s, but still !). So I'm excited because I think getting a tattoo will be like chipping away at some of the varnish or polish I have; I won't  be  as innocent; I won't project such a young persona. I'll feel like I do those days I wear lacy underwear and a matching bra: bold . I'm excited to get this visual representation of me: a typewriter with the quote, Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. I'm excited because I've wa

I can pretend that you love me. I can imagine you walking next to me. I can picture you kissing our children goodnight. I can see, in my mind’s eye, the expression in your eyes when you propose. I have a very vivid imagination. So vivid. So vivid it often tricks me into believing — nay, assuming — that what I dream in my wake state is my reality. I have a very vivid imagination. I wish I could pretend it away. I wish I preferred reality to my own imaginings. I wish I wasn’t haunted by what I picture before I fall asleep. I wish I couldn’t visualize the way I do. But I can and I do. I have a very vivid imagination. It’s something I have to contend with.

Foolish because I've yet to learn how to temper my expectations and hopes. Exposed because I know everyone can see how earnestly I feel. I don't half-ass my feelings and, while I'm (mostly) proud of this trait, moments like this one make me feel naked. Every blemish, every scar, every curve, every ripple exposed. And it all makes sense now, more than it did a few months ago, at least. The foolish girl with the foolish heart -- so naive and inexperienced -- never saw it coming. I'm about to lose more than I gambled and I'm terrified because I don't have a winning hand. I can't bluff. I have a huge tell. This is why I don't play cards! I felt the resistance so keenly and, yet, I pushed. Like the delusional fool I am, I convinced myself that this was it. That I was ready. And that's what hurts the most: the realization that I don't know myself well enough in the end.

I'm reading this book by Rainbow Rowell called Attachments and it's about this guy who works at a newspaper and monitors the journalists' emails and through the process of monitoring email, he inadvertently falls in love with a film critic who works there because he thinks she's charming and nice and funny, and he accidentally learns (by reading her email...) that she finds him physically attractive and that she refers to him as "My Cute Guy" (McG for short) whenever she talks about him to her bestie, and, as I'm reading this novel, I'm seeing so much of my relationship with Nicole on paper. Because the film critic, Beth, and her best friend, Jennifer, are loyal to one another and are candid and loving and respectful, and it's making me appreciate my friendship with my own best friend all the more. It's making me giggle at the ridiculous names we would give to the cute boys we'd regularly see (but never had the guts to actually talk to...),

Answer: No. Especially when you have not made any plans and are, therefore, free as a bird to do as you wish! I can sleep, people. SLEEP. Maybe I'll do some reading. Or I might binge-watch Parks and Recreation , Almost Human , or the last few episodes of Suits. Hell, I can get a little crazy and do some bar-hopping --- nah. That doesn't sound as fun. Anyway, the weekend is at my disposal to do whatever I choose. I can organize my closet! I can alphabetize my books! I can finally get around do doing that DIY project I pinned a few months ago! I can do whatever I want and I am not obligated to get out of my PJs and interact with other humans. Life is good. (Though admittedly a bit boring.)

The plumber came by yesterday and fixed the leaky faucet in my bathroom. I used to lie awake in bed, listening to the drip -- drip -- drip . I obsessed over it. Knew its rhythm. Allowed it to lull me to sleep every night. The faucet wasn't always broken; it took months for it to break. I could see that it was weakening over time, yes, but it broke all at once one day and, really, there was nothing I could do to fix it. It was a nuisance. Constant, unavoidable, and a pain. It was audible; it kept me up. How could I sleep when there was a constant noise not even one room away? I tried to ignore it most nights, cranked up the music as I read, or put in a movie to drown out the drip -- drip -- drip . Nothing worked; it always made it through somehow and it always kept me up. It became part of my routine, this noise. I anticipated hearing it at night, needed it to go to sleep. I started worrying that if I were to get it fixed, sleep would be impossible for me. I resisted for months,

Those moments where something obscure and hidden finally comes to light? Where something is as crystal as a drop of water? I'm having one of those. And you know what I'm realizing? That everything that has led me to this point just proves how I've let some pretty awful, problematic, and poisonous opinions from outside influences poison my own perceptions of self. Now that I've realized this, I'm finding it easier to let go. I don't need that kind of negativity in my life.