Sometimes I get anxiety over how trapped I am if I really stop and think about it.

Everyone says you should be happy when you wake up and be happy with what you’re doing with your life.

But then everyone also says you have to pay your dues.

So how long do I have to not be happy to eventually be happy? Because happiness is not a guarantee, I don’t think.

I’m so fickle. But I’m back.

I tried some other blog platforms but I just don’t like them as much as I like tumblr.

Here’s what’s happened in my life since I stopped posting regularly:

• I fell in love with a boy
• A boy I had known for two years
• And now we’ve been together for about 9.5 months
• I got a job at a radio and a tv station

That’s about it. I’d love it if we could get reacquainted. :)

I always knew I loved to write. I just never knew what I wanted to do with my writing.

I like telling stories, but specifically I love telling the stories of real people. I like the imperfection of a dialect and the misspellings and improper grammar of raw communication.

I like that everyone is a little rough around the edges.

I’ve finally figured it out today that I want to capture humanity in words — the good, bad, ugly, the humor and ultimately twisted beauty that is human nature.

I live in a messy apartment with my boyfriend. We started out with two twin mattresses on the floor, pushed together.

Thank god we have a queen now.

But there’s just something romantic about the mess and the imperfection. Because I’ve never been happier.

Don’t you just have those days where you want to quit everything.

My parents always know that I work hard, and thy appreciate that obviously, but whenever they take the time to tell me that they’re really proud of me, I just, well, you know me, I wanna cry.

1) stayed out till 1am this morning.
2) got up at 4am to go to work
3) went to a job interview and NAILED IT (fingers crossed)
4) currently at work at the second job

I ain’t even tired tho.

I have like 95 drafts right now and I was going to delete a bunch, but they really tell the story of y life the past few years.

I can’t believe I’m an adult. One who pays rent and has a job and is in a committed relationship because I sure as hell don’t feel like one.

I feel like a baby. All I do is eat and cry.

All I feel like doing is crying and praying. I don’t even really know who to pray to or how to do it right, but I just wanted to talk to someone. To something out there, whatever is listening.

The first time my mom got cancer, it didn’t feel real. It felt like a joke that would fade away. This time around, while she’s standing on the precipice of possibility the second time around, I am more angry and sad than I’ve ever been. After fighting a war and winning, this is what could be handed to her again.

Simply put, I feel juvenile and irrational because there’s nothing I can do about it. All I can do is stomp my foot and shake my fist and look up into the sky and yell, what are you doing? This isn’t fair, dammit, what IS this?!

And then song lyrics ring in my ears that life isn’t fair, that no one said it would be. No one gave me the rules of life when I was born, and I sure as hell didn’t sign anything that informed me it would be.

The excuse to not believe in a deity because bad things happen is a tired but true one. And that’s all I have to say on the subject. You can tell me bad things happen to good people all you want, that things happen for a reason, but I don’t know. There is no reason for this. None.

I just kind of feel like I’m walking around with classical music playing in my ears and the world is either rendered horribly ugly in comparison or utterly beautiful. And today, nothing seems to be very pretty.