“I get worried for young girls sometimes; I want them to feel that they can be sassy and full and weird and geeky and smart and independent, and not so withered and shriveled.”—Amy Poehler (via lipstick-feminists)
Why is it that when there is one person I very much wish to not think about, everyone in the world seems to bring him up? And when no one is talking about him I run into him. And when I’m alone and at home and completely safe, he creeps into my thoughts. Only to later creep into my dreams.
I can’t make heads or tails about how I feel, because all I feel is flustered. And I like to be put together and sure of myself all the time. Dissatisfactory.
I’d say this Halloween weekend is easily 6000 times better than last year when I was dying of mono. I’m mostly just super pleased I got a chance to use my Esmerelda costume again. I’d say I embody a gypsy pretty well, :)
Honey, I feel absolutely honored to have positively influenced your life in any way. I think you are amazing and opionated and independent and demand the treatment you deserve, and I am very proud of you for that. But what you never seem to give yourseslf credit for is how much you’ve taught me. You’ve made me accept that vulnerabilty is not a display of weakness, and you’ve shown me that my feelings are vaild. I admire your charisma immensly. And I am so greatful to have you around to push me to share my thoughts and not deny them. And most of all, I love you for being more patient with me than I am with myself, and telling me to stop being frustrated when I am still bitching about the same things months later. I cannot thank you enough dear.
Spazzy afternoon. Good lord Melissa, we need to make plans for like 5 different senarios next time we hang out. But maybe not; I haven’t laughed as hard as I did today in ages. Thank you so much for driving us all over on our adventure and roaming through like 6 different parking lots so I could creep. T’was a good day.
6. Spontaneous visit from Kathy. Hearing her DI. Loving it. Catching up. Making a mess frosting cookies. Reading old diary entries of mine about how hot Connor Clark was before he got fat. God babe, this is why you’re my best friend.
At the point when I’m lonely, ready for a relationship, tired of everyone I know, and not willing to lower my standards. What an unrectifiable situation. This is why I can’t wait for high school to be over.
“I wonder why I don’t go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip on hour more of sleep and live.”—Sylvia Plath (via misswallflower)
I have this very strict image in my mind of the kind of woman I want to be. Independent. Powerful. Indimidating. Comfortable with my sexuality. Rising to the top without denying my feminity, but also not using it as a tool. Inherantly being the kind of person I want to be, a person who just happens to be a woman.
Yet along with this goal, I have developed an aversion to vulnerability. To weakness. But the reality is, I need someone to take care of me. And of course, I am far too damn stubborn to ask for this nurture. I am so used to taking care of the people I am close to, I think they assume I’ve got it taken care of. That I’m put-together. And really, when I talk about being upset or stuggling or confused, I treat it with a humorous tone, adding the disclaimer “Because I’m a crazy person…”
So now here I am. Feeling confused, as the boy who broke my heart, without even ever having it, waltzes back into my life. And I know I must stand up to him. Tell him that I understand my personal value. My self-worth. I wont let him do that to me anymore. Another thing I do know, is that I want, I need, to yell at him. I need to tell him why I am a person of value and why he can’t get away with his nonsense anymore. I’m not accepting his excuses anymore. Everyone has a dysfunctional family and insecurities. I need to be the one who is strong enough to reject the treatment. To make him see it as a serious issue. And I have nothing to lose, because I’m not putting forth any effort to be on good terms with him. I don’t need him.
“If you get embarrassed every time you drop a pad or tampon—and it will happen—or every time a dude looks through your bag for a pen and finds one of these items instead, he gets to pretend that he is ignorant and that you are yucky for one more day. And that’s a day none of us can afford. Sooner or later, he’s going to be 53, and in Congress, and saying that he just doesn’t understand why people NEED birth control, all because no one had the decency to sit him down and tell him to stop pretending he doesn’t know about vaginas.”—Rookie Mag (via filigrees)
So, t’is me, over there yonder. I’m pretty much a hot mess. All the time. And I am basically just going to use this medium as a diary, a place for random thoughts and observations, and things I like. And I’ll probably be on here entirely too often, because I like being unproductive. Also, I’m not really sure if this introduction is necessary, but I am not the kind of person to just jump into things.