By the time this post goes up we will already be ten days into the New Year. Fortunately, there's no one grading me on my submission of goals or I would have failed this year by default. At the end of 2013, I decided I didn't like the idea of resolutions. I then came up… Continue reading New Year, Vaguely Same Me. (Also, some goals)
If I could find a way to put the last few months into paragraphs, I would, but right now I am faced with a washing machine full of words. If I open it now everything will spill out, tangled in soap and dirty water, and I will be swamped. I’ve searched everywhere I can think… Continue reading Washing Machine Prayers
It's 1:34 pm on a Wednesday afternoon. I am still wearing the clothes I slept in under the oversized shirt I wear when I paint. Six weeks ago I would have been preparing for my psychology class, annotating notes on Erickson and Maslow and psycho-social development. Probably anxiously picking at my nails, simultaneously overwhelmed and… Continue reading Paint and Completed Essays.
I caught myself kicking off again today. I don't know why my brain does this to me, maybe it's just part of the process of detangling myself, but for some reason my first reaction to a difficult time™ is to completely self destruct. Engaging in conversations that can only go badly. Running 5kms on an… Continue reading Protest//Forget
When I was a kid, my siblings and I used to get sent down the local park by my mother whenever she got sick of us all. This happened often. We made good use of this time by finding other local kids to fight. Though I spent the majority of my childhood devising ways to avoid… Continue reading I have had the wind kicked out of me.
I've had a pretty good few months writing wise. I'd go as far as to say I've been on a creative high. Like, I didn't mean to blog multiple times a week, I didn't plan on my posts consistently surpassing one thousand words. I was proof reading my writing back and actually enjoying the process.… Continue reading A kind of writers block that isn’t quite writers block.
I accidentally reached the point where who I am as a person is synonymous with being stressed, which was entirely unintentional and not the dazzling personality trait I'd hoped for. Maybe we all should have seen it coming when my Mother used to say I had frog fingers thanks to my bitten away nails making… Continue reading A Bell Jar of Stress and Trying to Leave it.