In terms of resolutions, this was the closest I came. I wrote this list of what I wanted on October 2, 2012… the things I wanted for 2013. Let’s see how close I came.
- to write a spec script: I didn’t do this. But I wrote a book. So…pass.
- to be published by a magazine I love: let’s go ahead and call this Thought Catalog because that’s how it felt. But I really should start pitching. I really should work up the courage to figure out how to pitch a magazine an idea. I really, really should. Soon. Sometime very soon.
- to bike 50 miles straight: the longest I went was 87 miles. Biking 50 miles is such a regular thing to me now. If you practice something, you really will get better.
- to owe $0.00 on my credit card: nailed it! And then stopped nailing it. Then nailed it again. Money!
- to get back on stage: I haven’t done this yet because shhh.
- to have a standing ovation: this hasn’t happened, but your messages sometimes feel like it has.
- to have DBN published into a book: this is happening!
- to reconnect with my faith/hope: so… this did and did not happen. There have been some traumatic developments dealing with the concept of “God” as of late in my life, and while I did not reconnect with faith in the way I thought I wanted to, I reconnected with the very vague idea of “magic” in life. And for that, I am very grateful.
- to find the perfect pair of boots: I nailed this so hard.
- to feel competent and needed at my job: I got promoted, so in theory, yes.
- to be invited: I know this was vague, but what it really meant that I was too embarrassed to write on the internet is that I wished people would invite me to things more, that I would feel more included. Being a red lipstick clad, confident, heel clipping bitch-faced professional often means people don’t think to include you. And it hurts. So I worked on being more open, more kind, and more honest about when I really needed a friend. And it worked. I was often terribly embarrassed sending emails saying, “I have nothing to do this weekend, and I would love to hang out!” but eventually, after a slew of “sorry, was already headed out of town” type responses… people started inviting me on those trips to begin with. And it feels great.
- to see him again: I didn’t, but I also didn’t need to. I found the forgiveness and resolution I needed.
- to have the means: I do!
- to align my projects with my identity: I did! This is on my resume now!
- to fall madly and mutually in love: God, I did. I did so hard.
So. Write it down. Seek it out. And see what life can do. It’s time for me to write a new list.
3:06 pm • 3 January 2014 • 126 notes
If you are having feelings, find a dark place with headphones and listen to this song. It grows.
9:57 pm • 2 January 2014 • 22 notes
“Lay it all out there just once this year. I’m not saying this will work, but every time I’ve thrown caution to the wind, the wind at least did something with it.”
— Date By Numbers
4:26 pm • 31 December 2013 • 371 notes
crystalhoney asked: Hey! It's my birthday too! Happy Birthday, birthday-twin!
Nice! Tax babies! May your day be filled with glory.
1:55 pm • 31 December 2013 • 4 notes
It’s my muthafuckin’ birthday and I’ll post all the weirdly sexual Photobooth shots that I want to!
Time to tear this day down!
Things I’m doing today:
- writing the book
- writing the book
- writing the book
- writing something about resolutions
- looking good
- looking good while writing
- crying while writing
- eating while writing
- drinking while writing
Let’s do this.
12:44 pm • 31 December 2013 • 88 notes
mylittlepig asked: So I was feeling really shitty because of a guy - the usual stupidity - and then I read your blog was once again reminded that no guy (hell, no one) should affect my happiness but me, and suddenly I'm ok. Not great, but ok. Though I've told you several times before (sorry if it's getting repetitive), THANK YOU! It's not the first time, and I'm sure it's certainly not the last, but thank you for always providing that reminder that I am ok. I love you, and I hope you're doing ok yourself. Hugs<3
You know there’s something to be said for being ok, for putting one foot in front of another without needing to watch the ground.
And I’m, you know, me. Climbing the monkey bars as many times as I can before recess ends.
I couldn’t be happier that not only will tomorrow bring in an end to what was the mercury-in-retrograde of years, but I also turn 28 tomorrow! Huzzah!
28 in 2014. Even and clean. Focused and ready.
5:48 pm • 30 December 2013 • 29 notes
the colors that made me
In front of our canvases, we painted quietly. The light of sunset pooled on the floor. I could feel your eyes on me, on the curve of my neck, and I lifted my chin and parted my lips to look like the kind of girl you might draw, turning ever so slightly in your direction to let the light paint me in a glow. I dipped my brush into the cerulean, and you said it was the most beautiful blue you had ever seen. The space between us became warm and we became our compromised colors and dirty water and sunrise after sunset painted over and over on the floor.
I watched your hand paint even, confident strokes of a vision I could not see. I loved the colors you picked, colors I never used of heavy navies and shadowed greens, colors of age and wisdom. I loved the way you fell into your work of clean lines and earnest colors, but more than that, I loved the way I fell into you. I dabbled in your dark greens adding shadows and mystery and places for creatures to lurk and to hide. I added your gray, the color of wet stone, to my sky and I could see the lightning and rain in its darkness bringing fire and renewal. In my painting of firework flowers, your colors made it beautiful in a way I couldn’t see before.
In a shade of light only the rain could provide, I saw a tremor in your hand, and I quieted. I saw nothing, I spoke of nothing, I quieted and smiled at your work, that the crook in the clean line made it magical, and you called me a liar. My lava red, my tiger lily orange, and the kind of blue sky that makes you gasp, splattered into shapes of tropical bursts, you called them foolish. You called them ugly, and something I had loved without question suddenly came into doubt. And then you asked me to prove that your colors were enough. Your hands continued to shake, and I turned my painting away.
I put my brush into the muddied water, washed off my colors, and I reached around you to hold your hands still, trying to guide strokes along a canvas of a painting I could not see or understand. I rested my face along the curve of your neck and I tried to let your heartbeat tell me what it was you wanted to paint. And you let me.
We sunk into colors I had never worn. We danced on the canvas and I felt joy in a place I had never been. But I was delicate to paint strokes of white and grey along your clean blues lines, adding highlights to show a sun in the distance, somewhere just off the canvas, and I delighted in you, so strong and so talented, letting me paint with you. I kept my breath shallow to keep my strokes straight, and I kept my eyes on the canvas to keep my hands still. I wanted so badly to paint like you, clean and steady. I wanted so badly for you to approve. I stepped back to look at what we had done, what we had created, and I watched you set it on fire.
“This isn’t what I wanted.”
“But, but I don’t understand? You led me to believe that… that you were happy, that I made you happy. And that you wanted me to prove… I used your colors?”
I had never stopped to consider what it meant that you wouldn’t use mine. In the wreckage of what we had done, melting away the darkest blue, were the colors I had forgotten, of fire and light and red and orange. Your painting had never been mine to fix. And I would not be the one to extinguish your unhappiness.
I turned to a canvas I had turned away and it was littered in the trimmings of what I had learned from you, with shadowed greens and wet stone gray. I dried off my brush to repaint the faded oranges and pinks. But this time there would be no water colors, there would be no fading, there would be paint so thick it built up like mountains, like flames growing off the canvas. My hand began to shake as I took the brush and I smiled and let the tremors paint the things only my heart could see in the colors that made me: fireworks and flames, and splashes of cerulean, and just a touch a shadowy green.
Check out my other Thought Catalog pieces.
1:41 pm • 30 December 2013 • 82 notes
Every breakup gets a playlist. And this one goes in order from “what is going on” to “why are you breaking my heart” to “god i’m miserable” to “fuck that, god damnit” to “I’M GONNA BE FINE” to “I’m actually OK and I forgive you” to “I am made of light and fire and I am going to conquer the world” all in less than an hour.
7:28 pm • 29 December 2013 • 69 notes