Five things I’m grateful for:
1. A loving, supportive mom. I couldn’t dream of better.
2. Friends who think of me when they travel and pop a postcard in the mail.
3. Long (or getting there) hair.
4. Snuggly cats.
5. Morning coffee. Mornings in general.
I’m still in a crappy mood, but I’m making an effort!
Oh, oh, 30 Rock. I feel much better about any impending day when I get my Lemon on in the morning.
Even so, I find that lately I have to sternly talk myself into showering. (I DO shower eventually, calm down) Good gravy I just HATE the getting ready for society process. It has a lot to do with my poor, sad body image, I know. When I was smaller, I was the queen of scruff. Rarely brushed my hair. Wore little makeup. Picked up clothes off the floor, inspected them for unsightly food stains and went about my business. LIVED MY DAMN LIFE.
I am trying to get back there, in more ways than one. Physically and especially, emotionally. I’m making slow, steady progress and it’s…real nice.
I am one of those people who loses any potential shred of talent, motivation, ANYTHING related to writing when I am HAPPY.
But I’m just gonna do it, quality be damned.
I’m watching Giada at Home. I’ve developed a mild love for cooking shows. I’m still a messy, disorganized cook. Thanks for nothin’, Giada.
Here, things I like a whole lot lately: Rising early. Grey’s Anatomy. Keeping up with my emails. (WHOA WHAT) My starred playlist on Spotify. Clementines, and any other fruits for that matter. Tidiness. Spring. Making mix CDs for those I love. Salads. Spongebob Squarepants. Local events. McDonald’s Grilled Onion Cheddar burgers. (SO. GOOD.) Spicy Nacho Doritos. (Listen, I listed fruit, too.) Chick-Fil-A. Diet Coke. (Or, what has surely replaced my blood.)
You asked what you should do and here is my unequivocal answer: Find a man you like a lot and fuck him until your legs are so weak and wobbly you can hardly stand up. Then do it again the next day. Tell him what turns you on. Ask him what turns him on. Teach him how to touch you so that you have really good orgasms. Stay up ridiculously late telling each other the long stories of your lives. Meet him for pie and walks at spontaneous hours of the afternoon. Purchase a book of poems for him and write something inside in a coded, erotically tender language that only the two of you know the meaning of. If he says, “You’re so beautiful” don’t say, “Thank you.” Say, “What makes you think that?” And then watch his face very carefully while he answers. This will be excruciatingly fun. It will be interesting and hot and sweet and bloody terrifying. You’ll be having sex! With someone capable of absolutely obliterating your heart!
These words. THESE WORDS.
I feel like feeling warm and fuzzy.
I’m grateful for being born into a family that loves and supports me (quite literally on the latter part.) I’m grateful for my kind papa/roommate. I’m grateful for the many chances I’ve had at education. I’m grateful to be tall enough to locate people easily in department stores. I’m grateful for wonderful-smelling lotions and shampoos and body washes. I’m grateful that I can spend so much time with my nieces and nephew. I’m grateful that the internet is a thing in 2013. I’m grateful for Pasquale’s garlic bread, however rarely I get to consume it. I’m grateful for the time I’ve had in the last year to really figure myself out. I’m grateful for tribal patterns and, you know what– PINK. I’m grateful for the tulips next to the wishing well (and the gnome) in my mother’s front yard. I’m grateful for a/c. I’m grateful for this country. I’m grateful for being so, so well loved.
Every time I peruse those lighthearted pages of the Sunday paper I hold my breath for a moment, terrified I might see your engagement announcement. Wide-eyed I scan for your name until I can breathe a sigh of relief. Not there. Not today. I still have time.
Even as I grow up and distance myself from all those crazy teenage feelings, even as I entertain the thought of fully moving on, I still do this silly, silly thing. I wait for your name in newsprint. When I don’t see it, my breath comes back… and I’m disappointed at the same time. Maybe, a tiny part of me has her hand raised, like, “Hey, this is getting depressing. Do some new things. Kiss some new guys. You are not sixteen anymore. GET OVER IT.”
Maybe I’d like to listen to her this time.
I love Macklemore and Ryan Lewis these days. I can think of no happier music.
Well, with one (sort of) exception: Same Love. So hopeful, but my eyes tear up every time I listen. Makes me consider what my uncle, who was gay and passed away shortly before I was born, would have thought of the time I’m living in. Makes me wonder how much harder it must have been for him 25 years ago. Makes me wish he was here fighting that good fight. Makes me want to know him all the more.
Anyway… Macklemore = good shit