A ball of raw and open nerves in the shape of a young woman.

I'm going to tell you my reality, in hopes of showing you where the flesh opens up and the shiny,  bullshitting mechanics really end.

It's hard and it's ridiculous because I'm going to tell you what I'm made of.

The first thing I'm burdened with really isn't considered a negative in most circles. It's unconditional love. I have unconditional love for all of the people in my life.

But unconditional love turns into worry (the worry that the people you would give up everything for would likely never do the same), and worrying turns into stress (stress that you're spending too much time worrying about the thoughts and actions of others), and stress makes you bitter (bitter that you have this burden of a personality trait, bitter that everything about you is sensitive).

How so neatly some people can fold up their thoughts, their dreams, their fears, and after topping them with a bow and curling the ribbon, professionally slam dunk them into a trash bin. My thoughts permeate straight through to every cell in my body. Even the genes that lay dormant. And they're not flushed out until some utter cliched enlightenment comes into tremendous realization. And even then, their half-life remains. There's never really any waste.

I also own a brain that never stops transmitting new and unusual ways to either upset or excite me.

I liken myself to a small planet that has a million different satellites orbiting around its atmosphere. They're always switched on and connected, but raw, unencrypted data doesn't flow through until someone on the ground hurriedly types in the algorithms into some master command center. That happens a few thousand times a day, though. And I'm pretty sure that the guy typing in the codes has sore, exhausted fingers and severe Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. I'm just waiting for him to type in the nuclear launch codes. Lord knows that satellite was the first launched into orbit.

The only time my brain stops working through the 1,000,000,000 channels and fucking wormholes of thoughts that it has are when I'm asleep. 

Oh, anxiety. You are the third, yet the 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th-200th thing that I am made of.

Fuck you. Fuck you for ending friendships, for destroying relationships, for getting in the way, for screwing with the work I really love, and for always making me feel that I'm never quite good enough. For not letting me put my hands around life's neck and command that, "YOU HAVE TO GROW UP, AND YOU HAVE TO DO IT NOW. YOU'RE A QUARTER OF A CENTURY OLD, AND YOU'VE GOT NOTHING TO SHOW FOR YOURSELF. MAKE SOMETHING. MAKE ANYTHING. GIVE A SHIT." But I'm never anything. I am only ever a ball of raw and open nerves in the shape of a young woman. I am ball lightning, I am unexplainable. I am the phenomena of not giving a shit, yet always giving a fuck.

But I am also hope.

I am full of so much hope that it's brimming to the top-wait, it's already splashed over, and I'm begging for it to drown me. Fill my lungs with this hope, let me feel it with every breath that I take. The residue is candy-coating my insides. Only when the fire that burns within me gets hot enough does it melt, and only then can I set myself on fire.

In the meantime, I'll be here.
Waiting for that flood of hope.
Reading a good novel in bed.
Drinking through my huge assortment of coffee and teas.
Dissecting film after film.
And being.

Digital Neosporin.

I managed to avoid the Facebook bubble for years. Never had one when I lived in NY/NJ, never had one when I was going to college near my hometown. I signed up upon my roommates insistence, but deactivated after exactly 24 hours.  I didn't want to be so accessible, I didn't want to be so on the grid, and I really really didn't want to have to hear and see all of the girls that were much cooler than me on my ex-boyfriend's profile. I didn't want the burden. I didn't want the worry, and the anxiety that would come after.

I declared to the world that I was mysterious.

I couldn't be tagged
I couldn't be mentioned
I didn't have a wall
I wasn't searchable
I wasn't aware of "How totally great that bagel from Einstein's was that morning!"
 No one could poke me
My status updates were kept in my head as thoughts
I couldn't be unfriended on a whim
There weren't 1,000 different engagement photo sessions for me to peruse of bubbly people in love
No pictures of shiny new cars
No photos of weddings, of babies, of new jobs, of trips around the world
Nothing that could possibly contribute positively to my everyday life


Well, that ended in (approximately) the end of 2010.

What I've ultimately learned through social media is that happiness actually feels 10,000x happier when you've gotten 76 Facebook likes and 52 comments.

You really do feel special when your phone beeps incessantly throughout your birthday, each time alerting you that a new 'friend' has written their polite sentiments of congratulations for turning another year older. I sometimes wonder if any of them are actually happy about it.
 

Having 40 different Twitter followers @you with words of encouragement after tweeting about something you wanted but didn't work out makes the bitter sour of the real world taste a lot more sweet. 

It speeds up the healing process.  It's the digital Neosporin. 

Now I have to deal with this bullshit everyday. Because it's the easiest way to communicate, to network, to interact.

CAUTION: When the time comes I am going to post 10,000 engagement pictures, you fucks.

022 glitter pumpkins and coming to terms with my obsession with halloween.

What do you do with a rainy day and a plethora of delicious pumpkin coffee?

You slather paint, glitter, and Mod Podge all over those mini pumpkins.

 

These are my major contributions to Halloween decorations.

It is still yet to be seen what kind of impact the impending Christmas holidays will have on my desire to obsessively craft, but I foresee myself crafting obsessively. 

 

0021 in case there was any confusion.

In case there was any confusion of who I support, love, and am voting for.

"

My neighborhood doesn't allow any political signs.

I found a way to get around that.

Let's ROCK THE VOTE, ladies.

xx

0020 sontag on love.

0019 how to ruin your life.

How to Ruin Your Life

Get stuck. Stay in one place your whole life. Always order vanilla even though the menu is four pages long. Become the type of person who sends back lattes. Save up your money for a plasma TV instead of a plane ticket. Talk a lot about things you know nothing about. Have an affair with someone you don’t even find attractive.

Refuse to forget your ex. Make it impossible for yourself to do anything without remembering that you used to do it with them. Hug your knees under the sheets and think about how safe you felt when they held you at night. Remind yourself daily of how empty you feel. Find new ways to make yourself sad.

Get drunk all the time. Consider no Saturday night, national holiday or extended happy hour complete without a vodka-induced breakdown. Graduate college but keep drinking like you’re still in it. Notice that cheap beer tastes watery and stale when you drink it alone but drink it anyway. Look at old Facebook photos wasted and wonder where everyone went.

Never drink. Never do anything that could potentially be “bad” for you. Treat your body like the temple it is and say no to carbs, yes to wheatgrass, go to bed at ten sharp and turn down cake on your birthday. Take fifteen different dietary supplements. Monitor carefully. Succumb to nothing. Miss out on everything.

Compare yourself constantly, to everyone. Allow the standards of image-obsessed, age-obsessed culture to make you feel decrepit at 25. Scroll through skinny girls on the internet feeling wistful and inadequate. Pull at the skin on your hipbones, stomach, and underarms in the mirror. Sigh a lot. Sigh all the time.

Don’t fall in love with anyone or anything. Put an impenetrable wall between yourself and other people. Add a fire-breathing dragon and eight yards of barbed wire. Be suspicious of everyone’s motives. Hold grudges long after you’ve forgotten what for.

Fall in love with everyone and everything. Run after the next best thing like it’s a bus you’re perpetually late for. Throw your heart into every other stranger’s hands and be genuinely surprised to be hurt. Refuse to learn. Refuse to ever learn.

VIA

0017 transformation.

"I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me."

Anais Nin