During every season of change, I get so caught up in the muck, fuck-up and duck of it. My thoughts start reflecting these rush-hour based beliefs (I should’ve gotten more done, I’m not doing enough).
after an honest therapy session yesterday, I realized that the root of a lot of my recent heartaches are from the way I speak about myself, think about myself. Instead of considering how hard I work, how much I try, I‘ve been pouring pebbles into my soup and wondering why it was so hard to eat. In other words: I’m real mean to myself.
I’ve attached what this open book page can be, and I just come write a little note on it whenever I return from my journey from the outside world. It feels nice to be nice, truly.
I have no timeline to finish this, no minimum level of detail I need to explain my actions. It’s going to be very sweet to reflect with every version of myself who paused, took off her coat, picked a coloured pen, and appreciated what she is, who she’s becoming.
Feb 7, 2025
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It’s been so long since I‘ve woken up and felt inspired to make the day my bitch. I miss being silly, I miss feeling gratitude. I want to notice life again; feel the pulse of the earth beating alongside mine.
I spend my time dulling myself on Instagram, or dreaming about my future in the mountains or ocean or California—somewhere magical where I’m happy.
Be where your feet are. That’s the mantra that was grinded into me a few summers ago. Be present and you’ll be happy. Somewhat, I’ve been trying this. meditation once a week or occasional yoga. But I’m not doing enough to make a serious impact.
May this post be my marker. The year is pretty much still fresh, spring is coming (hopefully), and I pledge to be more presen. I shall wake up ready to happy light and go to bed with a belly full of tea. Let the joy return!!!!!!
Feb 28, 2025
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I've deleted Instagram. I'm stretching my ears. I'm making video diaries again. I write for myself only. I'm secluded, quiet, I'm grieving, I'm burying myself and I am being buried and I am attending the funeral. I'm alone in all of this.
It wasn't a new year resolution that led me here. It wasn't therapy or a fortune cookie or anything romantic. But I realize your story only matters if you plan on telling it to someone. Maybe as a response to something, "what the fuck is wrong with you?", maybe an intimate secret, maybe a drunken ramble. I'm done telling stories.
I've been alone for forever. Occasionally someone will drift too close, and I think maybe this time, maybe, maybe... And I'm left scarred, or left quietly, but always left.
Of course I have things to reflect on and things to take accountability for. But I'll be damned if I present my isolation as pure, as if I am a martyr. No, this is not for everyone's safety or my own digestibility. I am bringing the chisel down in sharp downward motions against myself again and again and and I will carve something new from this stone tomb. I'll never be David. I'll never be Michelangelo. But I can be something more than stone.
I am moving on. I don't know to where or to what end. It doesn't matter. Very little does, now. Maybe it always had such little meaning and I was just too close, to desperate, to see that. I wanted so badly to mean something. Even if it was just to be grieved. No one will miss me, now, as it's always been. But I also don't miss me.
Moving on.
Mar 26, 2025
All my furry fosters have left behind tangible tokens of affection. Their expressions of love manifest in chewed-up shoes, the etchings on my front door, the once-conspicuous black urine stain on my hardwood floors (now gracefully concealed beneath my living room rug), and the delicate tracery on my unraveling screen windows. My sweaters, faithful witnesses to their presence, are now undoubtedly partially composed of both dog and cat hair, an indelible mark of their cozy companionship despite my diligent laundering efforts.
Most recently, my cherished Cold Picnic blanket became the canvas for a heartfelt love note, mistaken as a scratch pad by a cat I rescued last fall. Though Freckle found her forever home four months ago, I hesitated to address, let alone repair the blanket - until last night. I lingered awake, dedicating my time to mending the piece and embracing a moment of introspection, sitting with my thoughts and acknowledging the discomfort that arises when things deviate from the 'perfect' ideal.
In the quiet night, I confronted the allure of perfection and began to question why I've invested a significant portion of my physical and mental time and energy in servicing an unattainable standard. I recognized the irrationality inherent in my definition of perfection, the illusory band-aids I use to ease the overwhelming sense of inadequacy.
Mending the blanket proved to be more challenging than I expected, including several spurts of unraveling as I figured out the optimal stitch (faced with the absence of a sufficiently small crochet hook and matching thread to replicate the original stitch, I resorted to resourceful improvisation, experimenting with a simple needle, thread and ‘close enough’ color until I found something suitable). Two years ago, this task would have broken me, the blemish too uncomfortable for me to even process. I would have easily opted for purchasing a replacement, conveniently erasing any trace of the mishap from memory.
However, fueled by my environmental consciousness and a steadfast commitment to addressing my obsessive-compulsive tendencies, I chose a different path. The result is a securely stitched piece that is no longer just a blanket, but also holds a fond recollection of Freckle. I miss her.
Feb 13, 2024
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Apr 11, 2025
I got my nails done and I realized the star on the index finger makes the nails PI themed. Semi unconscious yet a soft-smile realization while the nail tech was painting the star on.
Dec 18, 2024
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Bring back being genuine about your suffering on the internet. was that ever really a thing? is tumblr just a social anecdote to a form of media we thought / wished we had?
*^ little miss avoidant. or maybe indirect? dw folks it was amicable! he has a heart of gold! which makes me even more miserable…
#gointhruthemotions #humanbeingbehaviour
Apr 6, 2025