Metamorphosis

I have connections to feel connected. I have always tried to focus on the good, but life is ridiculous at times and at those times, I am raw when I write. I need to write, to process, to connect with humans going through similar things. It sounds exhausting and alienating to pretend all the time. I had to hide my blog years ago, make everything visible to only me, due to some relatives finding it and taking any creative writing, real writing, idioms, etc. completely wrong.

I am done hiding. I am done diminishing myself and my life and experiences, the incredible and the shit ones, in order to accommodate irrelevant people's feelings. My story is mine. My name is mine alone to disgrace if I wish, or mine alone to share my story.

So,with that, I am bringing the blog back, and oh boy do I have a ton written from the last 8?9? years. I never stopped writing. It is my favorite release aside from singing, and usually my writing weaves specific music in because that is just how my brain works, and how I can process the unthinkable things in life. Songs. Metaphor. Writing .

A phoenix is just a bird until it burns

Reconstruction is the most humbling phase in a life transformation like this.

Energy cannot be created or destroyed- only transformed.

It felt like an atomic bomb exploded our lives 6 months ago, and there have been additional blasts and radioactive fallout throughout…. But all of that energy that was released into the system cannot be destroyed, it has to transform.

This brings me to my nerdy metaphor for life right now, using the most bad ass animals in the kingdom- butterflies. Butterflies are also the symbol for lupus, funny enough. Probably because of the butterfly rash, but I really think it's because lupies are bad ass motherfuckers for handling life while dealing with our immune system attacking us, and because we also occasionally disintegrate into goo in a cocoon (of blankets)...


It is finally starting to feel more like we are in the molecular goo cocoon phase that is what separates a caterpillar from a butterfly.
The in-between.
Not quite dead, not quite alive, but very busy. When the caterpillar cocoons, there is a cellular deconstruction breaking its body down to base atoms, and then reconstruction and transformation. We have to painstakingly arrange every atom into molecules again, and those molecules into proteins, and those proteins into new structures, to create an entirely new form.

Caterpillars don’t know an end date to their cocoon, or know anything at all in there because their brains turned into freaking goop and all the different types of cells broke apart to make a molecular strew of ingredients. Contrary to pretty much all hypotheses on the topic, we have now proven in study after study that somehow caterpillars retain memories of being a caterpillar once they are a butterfly- even though their peripheral nervous system completely falls apart into goo, most of their neurons die, and almost their entire central nervous system splits apart into base atoms before being reconfigured into new molecules and neurons, a new nervous system…. somehow….some memories remain,some tiny bits of code in the goo, and with that, some awareness of their past life.

I know that we are so close. So. Close.

When this began in earnest, over the summer, I could not see in my mind’s eye any possible timelines where I lost my person. No possible futures came to mind. Just grey. That has never happened before


It was that unthinkable and horrific that I would lose this person, barring a tragic accident or something. But there was no accident. No time of death was called. No post-mortem. No death certificate. No closure.
Somehow, *my* person is dead nonetheless.
Because my person never would have done any of this, acted this way, said these things, or hurt me and his kids. He was my concert friend-turned-into-epic-romance, the Doctor to my River Song (and who was into Doctor Who BEFORE I got my hands on him), the Cristian to my Hannah from Grouplove, my hilarious, supportive, thoughtful as hell, spontaneous adventure,best friend. The most involved , fun, loving, playful father, and teacher for my two boys.

No, there was no possible future I could see open to me without my best friend, my other half. I could see survival, but nothing beyond that. Absolutely nothing. That was kind of terrifying to be honest, because I can always come up with possible different futures, even if outlandish… Yet, I could think of none.

The future for me and my two boys is clarifying by the day with my decision to pursue my Master's. This will alleviate short term financial pain with grants, scholarships, and likely a student loan to start so that we can breathe. This will allow me to continue working where I work- a place with an incredibly fierce, intelligent, and empathetic company President, and my mentor. She climbed to the top in a male dominated field, and her career started in a more difficult time for these things. I have the most flexibility I could imagine given my job title and new life title, “single mom of 2, who also has systemic lupus”. My autoimmune condition has been very unhappy about all the stress, causing more stress as my body attacked itself in creative, terrifying new ways. The lupus things are getting so much better so quickly, like they did in June. June was a magical interlude in all of this..

I had my health back for one month. In June, my energy, movements, and physical appearance could no longer be aptly described as "zombie-esque", my partner and I were going out often in the evenings, falling more in love, since we had his family here giving us time to go out. We danced, and thrifted, and danced, and wandered downtown, and danced some more.

I thought we'd made it past the humpof stressors. There had been some weird behavior in recent months, and hurt feelings, but stress levels were to the max between job losses,finances, and me being half0dead all spring. There was a real posssibility that I would die. The visit notes from every ER discharge and from every doctor's visit in those few months stated : "Based on the seriousness of patient's presentations and comorbodites.... RISK OF COMPLICATIONS AND/OR MORBIDITY- HIGH".

There was waiting for ultrasound, which looked cancery, then waiting for a surgery on a very delicate area of the neck (so many major nerves they can damage or sever) to take out a lymph node, to test for lymphoma. It was NOT cancer, thank the stars, but it was something. The process of elimination and figuring out what it actually WAS nearly killed me.
One doctor at my primary’s office took a special interest and solved the case in the nick of time. Once treatment started, I improved so quick. That's how we got from basically dead in May, to dancing in the steets for my birthday in June. Happy to be alive. To be dancing. To enjoy things.

I had no idea that the hump turned out to be a small rock in the path, and the real hump was a peak hidden by clouds, 1000s of feet higher.

Now I do see many possible futures ahead of us. Happy, exciting, snowy futures. We will be more than fine.

My hair can finally grow again, and my hands and skin and organs can heal and stay healed. I cannot wait until we can repay all of our helpers back, and yes I will try to insist, even if it was gifted. We will be caught up on anything that fell through the cracks. We'll be in a new, significantly more affordable home since we can do with less room (and less stuff) now.

Everything is in motion. The caterpillar goo is actively turning into a butterfly.

I wish I didn't waste so much time trying to help someone who in the end couldn't be helped, by the very nature of their stress-activated mental illness. We would be miles ahead of all this by now if I simply did not have all the stupid love, compassion, and empathy back in September, and made the Order of Protection permanent then. But I needed to try. I needed him well. I needed us back and our family zooming through time and space in a blue box again.

So instead of making it permanent, I dropped it after an extension, as his lawyers negotiated with me to drop it because he was committed to doing a series of actionable things by October 1st…. He did not, but he was in the depressive stage and working on it and it felt like he was back for a little while. Honestly this might be the worst for me. I got a small taste of how we were before…we saw him in there again....only for the mania/psychosis to come roaring back, as it does, without treatment.

I remembered the person he was for the 6 years we were friends and partners, though… how I used to be the luckiest girl in the world, and these boys had the most fun, chill, involved Dad ever....All of the concerts, the magical adventures, laughing until I cried regularly….

It is impossible to comprehend what the hell happened or come to terms with the fact that that person we loved for years, isn't in the same body anymore. The current person is not the one from our dreams and memories.
It's like he died.

He died. An evil twin took his place like in Mexican telenovelas.
It’s too tragic for me to even think about too much yet, or feel the things.
I cannot fall apart any time soon, not until every fire that arose from this all has been extinguished...only then will I realize I have been on fire the entire time, and will finally feel it all before being reborn from the ashes.

The Doctor is not the only one being who regenerates.
I've done it before.
A phoenix is just a bird, until it burns.

It's never* lupus! (*it's totally lupus)

I avoid talking about this as much as possible, but lately I have been bombarded with insensitive, cruel, ridiculous, and flat-out nonsensical comments, snide remarks, and scrutiny from a few people. I loathe discussing medical issues because actually having a name for the symptoms that have plagued me since I started college is a relatively recent development. It's hard to undo 8 years of feeling like a hypochondriac or a crazy person, and hearing things like "your foot was fine yesterday, you didn't injure it, but suddenly it hurts so much you're limping? Yeah, okay ::eyeroll::". I don't like to advertise when I go to the hospital , results, medications, new symptoms, old symptoms, any of it! If I am at the ER and concerned people are blowing up my phone or fussing around, it makes situations much more stressful. I have a myriad of doctors and specialists to talk about this shit with, after all, and it's too much to just pile on people. I am constantly afraid that the people I love and become close to will drop me because, again, during a flare I am mostly inaccessible and can't respond to anything except maybe phone calls. Texting is torture during the months when my finger joints are too swollen to bend, and many written messages go unanswered. I keep my explanations of my medical issues simple and vague so as to not annoy others, and only mention something when it is strictly necessary. Certain commentary as of late made me think that maybe my tendency to not say anything means that most people don't realize how crippling flares are and for how long. No one sees me during a flare, they see me when I feel fantastic and am packing in everything I can while I can. So maybe some people just think I am flaky, and it's my fault if they don't get that I don't WANT to miss events, don't intend to ignore anyone, and certainly don't drop off the map for fun. 

Or maybe the small but vocal minority of ignorant jerks are just getting under my skin and this post is totally unnecessary, but in any case I figured it wouldn't hurt to write a little bit about it and shed light on a disease I knew nothing about either. I do plan on continuing a small series of posts about it if I can.

Well, I am 25, but 24 wasn't much different. I was not going to school full-time at 24, or graduating, or studying for the GRE, or applying for jobs, so in that regard it was easier because a flare didn't have the chance to start before a final, or before the GRE was scheduled, or a job interview, or whatever else could fuck up my entire future. I haven't had the luxury to lay on a comfy bed and watch TV during any of this though, so I wish that is what I did on a Saturday, or ever. Even just during the peak of a systemic flare it would be nice to have anyone around to take over, and allow me to lay until I didn't feel like I was set on fire and thrown at an oncoming train. When the SLS symptoms subside I eagerly get back to regular life- getting all the errands, cleaning, schoolwork, studying, self-care, laundry, replying to friends and family, visiting friends, and of course seeking fun new adventures to vary my daily afternoon adventures with Gavin. I run, jump, hide, laugh a lot, give pony rides, play different characters, and just do anything that will make my son happy and create amazing memories. It's a happy and satisfied type of tired, and I have always thrived when I stay ridiculously busy.

Sooner or later... a stress triggers a major flare (in this case, the car accident/concussion after my final job interview). A stress can be just emotional stress like divorce, death in the family, or moving, and it can also be a physical stress, like getting a different illness, being up all night with a sick baby for multiple nights, an accident or injury. It feels like a cruel joke that after something stressful, when I am just about to scramble to catch up on everything I missed, my immune system goes, "nope not done yet, ATTACK ALL THE THINGS!"

It then proceeds to attack harmless and healthy parts of my body that I would quite like to keep, like joints, internal organs, skin, fucking bone marrow. Whatever. When that happens, it's called a systemic flare. I had two before having Gavin and they were misdiagnosed as kidney infections (but of course the cultures never were positive).  After pregnancy, SLE went into overdrive and my immune system decided it all had to go, especially my kidneys. Fuck those smug, blood-filtering assholes, right?

On those days, I can't even convey how much pain radiates from everywhere, and how just walking to another room feels like running a marathon I didn't train for. It starts with fatigue so intense, that I suddenly can't stop myself from falling asleep at naps with Gavin. Then if I wake before him and walk to another room to get clothes to shower, I have to lay down there to rest and end up sleeping the rest of his nap. I fall asleep in my day clothes when I go put Gavin to bed, with makeup on, TV left on, food left out.... it's insane. My eyes are more sensitive to light, I hate the sun even more than usual, and then intense nausea and vomiting start days before a severe flare also. I know for sure I am fucked when I wake with a high fever, shaking, migraine, my hips and spine ache from the inside out like someone scooped out the bone marrow inside, and my fucking skin hurts. Anything touching me burns and stings. My shirt resting on my back will feel like sharp needles. Oh, yeah, and my kidneys start bleeding and leaking more protein. This last time the malar rash even showed up for a few days all over my chest, neck, arms and face. Remember, anything can be affected and a long list of other things go wrong, and they vary between flares. Lupus likes to attack the skin so to add insult to injury, I get ugly patches on my face that take forever to fade. The peak of the flare lasts several days, but I am knocked off the grid for at least a week each time.  Of course, my usual, much more common  and mild flare symptoms are also present when the severe flares occur. This is the swelling and pain of all the joints  fingers, hands and feet. My index fingers and thumbs on both hands have always been the worst affected and become totally unusable at the worst flares. To get an idea of what life is like with just a mild flare, try to do anything without your index fingers and thumbs. If you slip and use one of them, or HAVE TO use on to save a toddler from killing himself, make sure to immediately smash it with a hammer!😉

Forget about putting on pants, and if they make it on there will be no success trying to button pants with dead hands. Wrangling a toddler includes preventing suicidal stunts and changing a small squirming human, and doing the basics on those days is so beyond difficult and feels like I'm bartering with the devil for strength and legitimately trading years off my life to complete minor tasks. When the Bunch was still a baby, those bad days were spent on the carpet all day together. My neighbors were there when I needed Gavin picked up and moved from the living room carpet to his bedroom to nap. Then he became mobile....but luckily on those terrible days, all I had to do was open the front door and let him play with his friends. If he booked it towards danger, my fantastic neighbors could outrun him and carry him back. 

Now, it's just me and my tot, even on the worst days of a flare. Help is so rare since moving, that I used to have to take him with me to the ER and change diapers in my hospital bed with an IV in my arm. Now I can't take him with me, so I end up letting things get dire before I go to the ER while I wait for someone to be available to watch him. I'm not going to lie, sometimes I am overwhelmed by jealousy for women who have their own mothers around to be loving grandmas and help out. . I refuse to let him suffer because I feel dead and crippled, so I dig deep. Barter some more. I get creative with activities like making mud puddles, painting, or let him roam all over the parked car and "drive" it. Whatever it takes so that he doesn't notice too much that mom is not his usual energetic playmate.

 And you know what? At the end of the day, I'm much more proud of myself on the days when the house is destroyed, the laundry is scattered, when I'm in PJs at best (often no shirt because it hurts), my hair is gross and standing up in different directions, cooking is minimal, the to-do list is growing, and I look like a shit, lazy person and mom to an outsider. I'm proud because on those days, it takes all of my effort, pain, and Herculean strength to ensure my little human is changed, fed, safe, learning, engaged, and most of all, happy and giggling at whatever "lazy" or "stupid" or "messy" things I pushed myself through.

The rest of the days, and thankfully still the majority of days, are the ones when I dress up, get everything deep cleaned, crossed off the list, run after an Energizer Bunny toddler in public getting a myriad of errands done, and take said tot out again after nap for at least 3-4 hours to explore a new park or two.  I look like I have my shit together, but those days are a delight and an absolute fucking breeze in comparison. I'm just me those days, I can think clearly, I can see, I can jump, run, wear clothes, button jeans, open jars, and feel like myself . During a flare, when all I want to do is curl in a ball of pain and cry until it's over, I don't. I may look like a disgusting, shitty, lazy, "bad mom", but those are the days when I prove to myself that I am fucking supermom!

The F Word

Fat.

My entire life I always felt fat. Obese even. I noticed how my thighs touched or I would pinch my skin in front of the mirror and just cry because I felt so huge. I couldn't understand it. I ate right and worked out and always the girl in the mirror looked so fat. My ass. My boobs. My thighs. Everything! 

Looking back at photographs, I don't think I have ever been fat. I just didn't believe it though. I wasn't perfect and I wasn't happy with my body.

I just gave birth to my son almost 2 months ago. I felt so comfortable with my body  (usually...) when I was pregnant because I accepted that I was not in control. I could control what I ate but ultimately that baby had to grow, and I had to grow, and I felt adorable with my baby belly. I loved it! In the back of my mind though, I kept thinking "what happens after? What happens if I can't lose the weight? What happens if I have saggy skin and stretch marks?" I didn't want to dwell on it, but I was wondering if I would become very depressed or if I would ever be happy with myself again. 

Well, the fateful day came and I met my son. It was by far the hardest, most incredible thing I have ever done. My body did that. My body created this little boy who stole my heart. My body got him safely out. My body continues to keep him alive with breastmilk. My body, the one I always hated, created and sustains life. 

I am about 8 lbs away from my pre-pregnancy weight, and it's more like 18 lbs from my ideal weight. You know what? I have never felt more beautiful. Sure, there are a few stretch marks here and there. Sure, my belly hasn't recovered from having the abs literally ripped apart by my uterus. The scales say this is the largest I have ever been but it doesn't bother me. If I went shopping before and I had to look at larger sizes, I would leave and starve myself until I fit into the smaller sizes again. It would ruin my whole week. The Man just took me shopping for my birthday and I hardly glanced at the tags. If it fit well, I was happy.

My body didn't let me down. It did what it was supposed to do. It bears the signs of bringing my snuggly, sweet boy into the world, and I feel fucking beautiful.
I love my imperfect body.

Sunrise Sunday

If one year ago you told me what my life would be like right now, I would have had you committed to an insane asylum. It would go something like this:

You: "A year from now, you're going to sell cars, and you're going to be really fucking good at it. On your days off you are going to model and be happy with your body. You are going to live in Phoenix and you're going to like it. Oh, and your friends? Just wait. They would jump into a volcano for you if you asked them to."

Me: ::dials 911:: "Operator? Yes, I have a raving lunatic at my house. They are talking crazy. Send help."

It's funny how life changes...very slowly, and then all at once.

........

Here's a sneak peak of my last modeling shoot with Duane Furlong! 

Supergirl

Don't you think that it's boring how people talk,

Making smart with their words again, well I'm bored,

Because I'm doing this for the thrill of it, killin' it,

Never not chasing a million things I want,

And I am only as young as the minute is full of it,

Getting pumped on the little bright things I bought,

But I know they'll never own me.

Something has changed. Maybe it's a culmination of a myriad of small changes, but the picture of my life is entirely different now. I think that quote from Perks of Being a Wallflower is true- we accept the love we think we deserve. That said, I think I had the best birthday of my life.I had a mild moment of panic right before midnight on the 19th, when I realized 23 is pretty close to 25, and people are supposed to have their shit together by now. I'm getting there, only now there isn't really room for major mistakes. I have to get things right the first time. All day on the 20th, I felt so appreciated. I felt so loved. Not everyone gets cake on their birthday at my job. I got TWO cakes. I got to blow out a candle. I got sang to. People brought me Starbucks all day long. I got the most gorgeous new dresses, bathing suit, and shoes. Someone got me a coffee maker. A beautiful bouquet of roses was delivered to my work in the middle of the day, and my heart melted. It's the thought behind each gift that matters to me. Every one was so personalized. It's nice when people care about you, and pay attention to everything you say. It's nice when people go out of their way to make you smile. If you have people like that in your life, hang on to them. I know I plan to.

Vroom Vroom

It's funny how life works. I always had a plan. I was supposed to be a veterinarian or go to grad school for neurobiology. My life was all about science and love, and I liked it that way. When it all changed, I tried to fight it. I didn't want to accept it. There wasn't anything else that piqued my interest. Old friends gave up on me too. I knew I was the problem, but I didn't care enough to change. Or rather, I didn't know how to. I was miserable and I wouldn't want to be around me either, so it was for the best that I was alone. Sometimes I would wonder why, if maybe there was something else I was supposed to do with my life, and this drastic end to all my old plans was the only way to achieve it. Then I would immediately think I was stupid, there is no higher power guiding my life, we are all alone and our choices make or break our lives. Still though... sometimes it was like the universe was laughing at me, and whispering "Just wait..."
Even, a month ago I had no idea what I was doing. I had a job that I liked and I wanted to get promoted and move to Colorado. The job was just that. A job. I met tons of people every day, but I worked alone. I got fed up when they kept making payroll errors. I looked on Craigslist and there it was:
"Bilingual salespeople".
Did I ever in a million years imagine that I could sell cars? No.
Now that I'm doing it, I wonder why I didn't start sooner. It's not for everyone. The hours are ridiculous. You have to actually know about every car. You have to know how to talk to people. I love it. I've been there 3 weeks and I already made sales alone and with coworkers. It's addicting. I thrive in high stress environments.
I can actually envision this as a career path. It's not just a job anymore. We all basically live there, so our teams are like families. What's even more awesome is that my motivation and skills are actually recognized. It's not like I've sold 15 cars in one month, yet, but they all see that I will. I can't wait to prove them right.
Take notes, parents. When you believe good things about a person, they will do anything to prove you right. After my mom died, I had no one left that believed all those wonderful things about me so I stopped believing them myself. I have that again. I have a whole slew of people that believe the best, so now I believe it again too.

My Summer Wine

"Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time..."

So... I haven't posted in a while. I need to unload some brain vomit.

I have so many plans, hopes, dreams, and fantasies. Unfortunately, I occasionally make rash or impulsive detours in the name of love (and ADHD), and  they end up backfiring and costing me everything, financially, socially, and emotionally just when I was almost at the finish line after years of hard work towards a goal. Call me crazy, but I think maybe, just this once, I am going to plan and plan for curveballs.
The last time I planned meticulously, too meticulously. Trust in others with my entire car sale funds, my moving money, backfired and ruined my life.
This isn't the same. This time it is more of a loose plan- a rough outline, with wiggle room, but obvious goals. I am still so eager to go, go, go, get the hell out of here, but now I'm ill prepared. It was a possibility with my last job, since they were promoting me and transferring me to Colorado. That was a plan!
However, due to issues with payroll (the issue being, they weren't paying me!), I had to leave that job. I was pretty bummed and saw this as a huge setback. Leaving that job is starting to look like something religious people refer to as a "blessing in disguise". I see it as an opportunity to regroup, refocus, and make a solid plan. When I finally do go, I don't want it to backfire. I don't want to come crawling back, depressed and penniless. When I go, I want to have a real chance at life and achieving my dreams where I go.

So, I took a logical step and found a new place to work. The new place happens to be the number one Nissan dealership in the state. My last job was in sales, this one is even bigger sales. The hours are insane, the office is like the car dealership equivalent of Mercy Grace hospital (Grey's Anatomy), but I'm loving it so far. I think my brain was so starved for knowledge, that it doesn't matter that it's cars I'm learning about. It's just happy to be studying something.

From there, all the pieces seem to be falling into place. I am very grateful to my dad for letting me stay here for a few months, but let's be real. I need to move out. 

The perfect opportunity arose, and come July I will be back in Tempe with my best friends. Even better is the fact that one of these friends has cast me as the female news anchor in a new ASU film department newscast. It's going to be news for ASU, in the style of Weekend Update from Saturday Night Live. I will obviously update my blog when there is more concrete information. I just know we start filming in August, and the garage has been converted into a studio for this project. Funding has been provided by various organizations on campus. I am so beyond excited about this. I get to act with one of my old theater pals!

Life has also had a funny way of surprising me lately, in a good way.

For the first time in a long, long, time, I'm not just pretending to be happy or pretending to be excited. I am!
I am genuinely pleased with myself, and curious about the future. My last year, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Looking back, I can say with complete certainty that I can survive anything. I depended on myself. I got through it on my own. 

There will be dark days, everyone has them. Tomorrow is the second anniversary of my mom's death. That date, and this whole month, is not easy. I don't have a time machine, though. I can't go back and fix anything. Dwelling doesn't help, clearly. 

The only thing I can do is keep going. People can't help you if you don't want to be helped. They especially can't help you if you don't ask, or if you don't try. I learned that I can rely on myself...but I learned that it's okay to lean on friends during the bad days. Knowing that is priceless.

Continually return to my Dark Paradise; (+modeling distraction)

Just like a drug. I know it's temporary relief, my head tells me it's "bad", I know there will be withdrawals... but I can't resist dipping into memories, and not just remembering but actually focusing on how things smelled, felt, sounded, and playing the scenes out in detail. It's masochistic. What else is one to do with the good times, though?

Lana Del Rey - Dark Paradise (Parov Stelar Remix)

I sing, constantly,  because the lyrics usually say what I cannot.

Unrelated: I've been busy. I just started modeling. It's fun, for now. It gets lonely. I miss food. :p
Here's a preview (me and my friend Candice Tricia. The outtakes are fucking hilarious.)

Be Happy

Why are people so opinionated about other people's lives? Let people do what makes them happy. Your life might be perfect for you, but it's somebody else's worst nightmare.
I can't stand the idea of living in the suburbs with a mortgage, credit cards, a job that doesn't travel...but that's so many people's dream. If that's what you want, go for it. Get it. Just understand that to people like me, that's hell on earth.
I want green, I want animals, I want to travel around the world. My goal is to move to Europe, but in order to do that I need to make sacrifices now. To me, less is more. I don't want stuff. I just want a place where my pets and I can live without stressing about ending up on the street if I don't get my next paycheck on time.
I've been having to rethink everything.  Clearly I need to get out of Arizona for my health. I'm allergic to every native tree and bush. It's causing circulation problems, peripheral neuropathy, and misery. It's not a sustainable life for me here. I always owe at the end of the month.
I talked to an airforce recruiter, so that's still an option.
I also floated out the idea of Colorado to my boss. My company is opening a branch there, and the sooner I go the more likely it is for me to get a promotion.
I even seriously considered living in an RV for a bit, with a minimalist mind set for the next year. Maybe it sounds trashy or ridiculous to you.  I don't care. It sounds like freedom to me. I could cut my expenses to less than $300 a month.  That's including gas to get to work, and food. I could save a lot, pay any debt. I could actually enjoy my time between paychecks and spend time with people that matter. I could write, paint, read all the books, and ride horses. I could afford to go see my favorite bands play. Maybe volunteer at the Humane Society.
Quality of life is more important than how much shit you can buy. Experiences matter more than staying in the (not so comfortable) comfort zone.
I'm ready for more change. I control what direction my life takes. You do too.

P.S. I don't take life advice from people who don't lead the kind of life I desire for myself.

Photo courtesy of an imaginary Twitter friend. :)

Ugh

Whenever I'm like "yay life is so fantastic!" Life is just like "That's cute, wait until tomorrow bitch."

I'm also becoming increasingly suspicious that my sales are directly correlated with the amount of cleavage I show. It's like people aren't even excited about microfiber anymore.     -_-

 

The Dancing Dragonflies

The girl lay in an empty apartment, counting the dragonflies on the ceiling and the stars in her eyes. The room, somber and silent, came to life. The patterns were undulating around her, and the still air became restless.  She ignored it,  her gaze transfixed on the ceiling. The wind whispered and sighed, attempting to capture a moment of notice from the starry-eyed girl. She seemed to grow weary, and at last let her eyelids drop. The black oblivion she longed for did not engulf her yet.  Instead, the familiar kaleidoscope of her mind greeted her warmly. A breeze fluttered through the open window, and the wind delivered an echo of sound from a different time to the helpless form on the ground. She heard a clinking of bottles, the sound of a screen door, and unfamiliar laughter. The colors in her mind rearranged themselves into still frames. She saw the door. The sweat forming on the cups. The dark night. The smoke swirling towards a ceiling, before dissolving into the night. Another echo,  different laughter. She recognized this. More still frames,  this time of all of their faces. Her. Him. A cat. Him. A set of fingernails with chipped black polish. That guy's tattoo. Her necklace. Warmth.
At this point the girl tried to open her eyes, but it was as if they had been glued shut. She tried to scream but the sound caught in her throat. Another echo...the same laughter from earlier, but sharper, more defined. The still frames enveloped her body, this time showing her the dripping wax, the ash on the ground, the cuts behind her knees, the aching in her throat. The sparkling laughter still resonated in her mind. It seemed out of place, a sharp contrast to the images, like someone started playing a movie with the wrong soundtrack. The breeze calmed and the scene dissolved. She was back to her familiar view of dancing colors in the darkness of the room.
That's when the girl finally understood.
She opened her eyes.