It's Beginning To Feel...

I put up my tiny wee tree yesterday! And by put up I mean take out of the antique trunk I keep all my holiday decor in. It was my grandma's little tree. There are little felt santas, and little angels made out of netting and plastic. I'm pretty sure the ornaments are painted with lead paint, because they have this sheen to them now that they're over 30 years old. My ornaments are older then me.
It's my birthday in about a week!
24. Twenty four! Years old.
That is not so long. Sometimes it astounds me how not very long I have existed. Comparatively. Sometimes I like to make lists of things that are older then me.
Like the building I live in!
The car that's parked outside (It's a '72)
This neighborhood!
The space needle!
My Christmas tree!

I wonder if you ever wake up and feel like a grown up. I'll keep you in the loop; if I wake up on the 16th and want to do my taxes and not order Pagliaccis (cheese pizza with gorgonzola cheese on top) every Sunday at 11:00 PM, I'll let you know.
I get to watch my baby niece tomorrow while my sister takes my other two nieces to the Nutcracker.
God I love her. I love all three of them. I remember the night my oldest niece was born; I cried like my heart was breaking because I didn't even know her, but I knew I couldn't live without her. She was the tiniest, ugliest little thing I had ever seen, and I was overwhelmed with love for the tiny stranger.
It was so strange.
And I wonder if it's nature doing that; just to make sure that our little babies survive. Instilling a dramatic, instant love in the hearts of their relations.  I think I saw how tiny her hand was, wrapped around my thumb, and I knew I was responsible for her, in a way.

Now I make her pancakes in the shapes of 'L's and throw her in the air even though it's freaking killing my back. But I remember when people stopped throwing me in the air and it broke my heart, thinking that something had changed and coming to the conclusion that it was me.
So I will never stop throwing her in the air.
That will be awkward on prom night.

I think I'm going to paint a self portrait today. It seems appropriate at this point in my life. I have one from when i was about 16. I'll have to find that. It will probably be embarrassing, but what isn't from when I was 16?

It's just so wee! 

And Then He...

We sat across from each other in the bright restaurant. There were so many things to say, and so many things that had already been said. Everything was robotic and sterile and serious and wrong. Technology had stunted the healing of the relationship; facebook and text messaging made it to easy to proclaim 'i'm sorries' and 'i miss you's.' And now we were left with the real physical fact of our bodies that used to move closely and with familarity, now moved jerkily around one another's, not sure where to rest. Even walking to the restaurant had been tense with unfamiliar movements: a nod when there should have been a kiss, hands held inches apart when walking that used to clasp warmly and with confidence.
So we sipped water and watched others in the place smile warmly and woodenly. We hoped to do the same, but time was not on our side, and neither were words. Sentiments easily voiced through the vessel of a computer or a phone are so hard to work through the lips. Lips and tongues are easily hurt; to bite ones tongue, to bite your lip: to take back what you wish you hadn't said. Harder without a delete button.  We sat there and it felt like hours when it had only been minutes.
It was fucking uncomfortable.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" I wanted to go somewhere else. I didn't know how to exist here. I felt like smiling crazily, which is always a sign I am uncomfortable. I have the weird tic of smiling with teeth when something horrible happens.  "Like... a bar? Somewhere... Not here."
Here was bright and clean and neat and somewhere a couple would go if they had a celebration. If they wanted to drink a clean white wine with their quince.
"I don't want quince."
"What?"
"I mean...We can stay here if you want. But I... Um. We should go to the bar next door. And drink."
"Okay."

We ordered a pitcher in a dark bar and it felt the way I felt. Guilty and worse for wear. Dark and frequented by dark people and dark thoughts. But comfortable. The bar didn't put on airs; it fucked up and it regretted things. But it existed and woke up every day and started again.
I am the bar in this metaphor.

We drank a lot, we talked less then I thought. We didn't need to talk as much as I thought we would. There was not really anything left to say. He held my hand and it felt perfect.
Later when he kissed me, I would hear music.

It's Sunday

How To Be Alone

[Tanya Davis]

If you are at first lonely, be patient.

If you’ve not been alone much, or if when you were, you weren’t okay with it, then just wait. 

You’ll find it’s fine to be alone once you’re embracing it.

We can start with the acceptable places, the bathroom, the coffee shop, the library, where you can stall and read the paper, where you can get your caffeine fix and sit and stay there. Where you can browse the stacks and smell the books; you’re not supposed to talk much anyway so it’s safe there.

There is also the gym, if you’re shy, you can hang out with yourself and mirrors, you can put headphones in.

Then there’s public transportation, because we all gotta go places.

And there’s prayer and mediation, no one will think less if your hanging with your breath seeking peace and salvation.

...

The rest of this awesome poem can be found here: http://lybio.net/tanya-davis-how-to-be-alone/poem/ or the awesome reading of the poem (Which is also incredibly beautiful): http://youtu.be/k7X7sZzSXYs

I think it's really amazing. And I wanna learn from it. 

Welcome To the Roller Coaster That Is My Emotions

Wheeeeeeeeeee!
I'm sure someday they'll use this blog as a textbook example of crazy girl disease PMS. Literally, in a textbook. I'm not sure what class they'll be teaching in the future (Robot... Class...?), but yes. I will go down in history as that crazy girl whose emotions ranged from Ecstatic ("I'm okay! I'm okay! And I go running and stuff!") to Completely Despondent ("I hate holidays. I used to have a boyfriend. And we had a christmas tree.").
I googled "PMS rollercoaster graph" because I can only assume that if I haven't drawn a picture of this, some crazy bitch on the internet has.
Sho' nuff! :

Accurate representation of what I like to call:

Rage Time

I probably should not have googled "roller coaster" because not only is that redundant when paired with "PMS" it turned up a lot of these:

Also induces nausea, coincidentally.

And then, in a sweet merging of the two:

I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. 

Okay, so this has officially become the most girly posting EVER. Let's talk about pap smears next. (Yes, I went there. Please guys, you don't even know what it even entails. Stop crying.)

Ah, no. Sorry. It's been a hard couple of weeks. 

I can't help but type: First world problems...

I'm so tired of myself. 

Happy Thanksgiving Ya'll

This Thanksgiving my mother and I decided to stray away from the traditional menu of gigantic turkey, sopping 'tatos with gravy and delicious rolls and try something... A little more classy.
But now that the day has arrived and I am stuffing tiny cornish game hens with wild rice and pomegranate seeds, I think, "Why the hell am I doing this? I LOVE GRAVY."
It's going to be good, you'll see. The only thing I'm hanging on to at this point in my life is my job and the fact that I'm losing weight like a mofo.
So Thanksgiving (aka The Eating Holiday) does not hold very much joy for me at the moment.
Don't get me wrong, the whole spending time with family thing is wonderful and I love them dearly...
But Thanksgiving and Christmas were always very couple-y holidays for me. I was shopping for my boyfriend like, months before Christmas. Collecting socks and dress shirts and fun novelty gifts to stow away in our closet (But down below where he wouldn't see). And this year...
Well this year I'm going to be spending a lot less money.
So that's nice.
SEEING THE SILVER LINING.
Ugh. I am so tired of being cheerful. (I know, you're like, when were you being cheerful? I missed this.) I just want to wallow in my little pond of depression and discontent over here. But my mom is making rolls and telling me how much she missed me, and my dog is next to me on the couch (Occasionally leaning over and licking my keyboard) and I just feel like a Grinch.
I guess the reason why we're making a new menu, new everything, is because everything is different this year.
My grandma is gone, my cousins are married, my sister and her family never come over for thanksgiving (She goes to her mom's; half sister you know.) and so it's just us. Mom, Dad, Katie and Brother. And Brother's Girlfriend. Who is incredibly silent, but very nice. Probably. Also include the random orphan assortment of neighbors that come over, awkwardly bringing boardgames without knowing that our family has almost NEVER played games involving boards (or tiny metal dogs, or wrenches or games involving apples). It's a good old time.
I don't sleep very well anymore. I had a dream the other night that I was in the house of my childhood, running door to door trying to lock them against the wolves and SHARKS that were gathered outside. According to a dream dictionary (Ugh, I know) that I was reading, wolves represent financial ruin, sharks represent an adversary and closed doors represent a missed opportunity. Though since I was closing the doors against the wolves and sharks, am I avoiding these things?
Or am I having crazy dreams that just mean I watch too much animal planet?

At the beginning of the summer when I was incredibly depressed and tired (I know, I've made such a leap forward!) I wrote a list of things that would make my life better.
1. Job
2. My own place
3. Boyfriend

Now I'm here, 2/3 and I feel ten times better then I did this summer, but I still don't feel great. I don't think those things are the things that will make me happy. (No comment on #3) I don't think changing the Thanksgiving menu will change my life (Except for the lack of weight gain).
I think I need a different list.

1. A Sense Of Purpose

I'm really hoping this is going to be our "end result" photo...

Right now they look like tiny, naked, baby heads and 

they're making me question my mortality. 

All Aloney

In an attempt to be completely honest, but not be cryptic or hurt anyone's feelings, I will say this:

(And this took about 15 attempts to get right)

I know I did the right thing, because I am not ready to have a boyfriend or commit fully to a relationship...

but. 

Man.

It sucks a lot.

Because you get to know people, right? And then you like so many things about them, and you get them. And they get you! And then suddenly they're not there, and you turn to say something funny to them, or you look at your phone every five minutes and... shit. 

You're a tiny little teenage girl again. Go put on My Chemical Romance and eat some cheetos to drown your sorrow you little bitch!

Well that wasn't cryptic at all! I'm sorry! I have very little patience for cryptic people so I try not to be myself. I guess long story short, which you may have already guessed: Seth and I are not so much with the dating anymore. My choice. Which was a good choice. But a hard, grown up choice that I'm finding hard not to regret. I'm just not ready to be a good girlfriend, and that was what he wanted. 

I thought when you made grown up choices, everyone was happier.

Or at least you got to have some like, some self satisfaction with making a better choice for everyone's feelings.

No. It just sucks. There is no satisfaction. 

There is only eating tacos alone at midnight. I'm going to resist the urge to post some poignant, sappy music video about regret and love and stuff. You're welcome. 

At least I'm not waiting in line for Twilight!

Thank. God. 

Draw Something Every Day

My new goal. No excuses, nothing special. Just draw something. I stayed up until 3 last night reading this book about Bill Watterson, the creator of Calvin and Hobbes. The book was so incredibly inspiring, and the funniest thing about it was that the author never even spoke to Bill Watterson. He's a complete recluse. He doesn't see any reason people should be interested in him as a person. He changed millions of lives with Calvin and Hobbes, a kid and his tiger, and he has no idea why people want to know him.
I hope that my art changes like, one person's life. Someday.

It's easy to draw a picture of my outfits. 

Today I am very autumnal, eating pho. It's that kind of day.