I’m glad I hoped.

I saw a stash of lottery tickets and it made me think about the times I’d check missed connections on Craigslist.

Wishful thinking. I guess, in a way… the two have a lot in common.

Falling in love feels like winning the lottery. And winning the lottery connects us to the things that we always felt were missing.

The philosophy on dieting

Humans have two fools that live inside of them. One is the soul the other is the ego. A balance must be achieved when feeding the two. If one is overfed while the other starves, the human then loses touch with reality.

The ego wants to eat things that strictly gives him pleasure. Especially if instant.

On the other hand the soul needs to be fed honesty in order to restrict the ego from overindulgence.

If one always feeds the soul for the purpose of killing the ego then she too is just as selfish.

One that only holds complete consideration for the soul, finds herself in a world that is unattached to a reality that needs her.

Yesterday my day began on the wrong foot when I decided to overfeed the ego. I’m now left with a stomach ache from drinking too much wine — and it happens to be 4:00 A.M.

I did however pick up some good advice. When asked about my current occupation, I decided to answer with: “I lost my job.”

In response, Karla, a Russian nail technician responded with: “every time I lost job, I got a better one. I left first husband, the second one is better.”

I let out a sigh. If only my philosophy was this simple.

The ram’s horns

(I didn’t take the picture, I was only next to the photographer.)

I’ve taken a few strides in my journey towards adulthood. I guess I am becoming something…finally.

Gone are the days when weed clouds filled the air and I was wrestling with the horns of a ram in the middle of the desert.

I wish we never separated, but it wouldn’t be me if we stayed together.

If relationships were petals I would be stuck with only the center of the flower. A mirror reflection of how I’m terrible about keeping anyone around.

He grabs my waist and tells me he will never stop loving me. My eyes fill with worry as I think: “even when I leave?”

Women like me don’t stay around. I must have fooled myself when I requested the simple life.

The tarot cards said I chose my fate. A life filled with adventure is now facilitated between four walls and a computer.

I’m itching for the freedom of the open road but I’ve let the world convince me that I need my own sturdy foundation to drive on.

I miss when weed clouds filled the air but I don’t miss that awful feeling of losing myself in them. I miss wrestling with the ram’s horn but I couldn’t handle her brutal honesty in the middle of the desert.


I don’t know where I was but ‘Landslide’ by Dixie Chicks came on. This song has followed me throughout my life. Sometimes it would play when I was closing at work. It always puts me in a real nostalgic mood.

I always thought it was because of the melodramatic tone of voice that the singers used.

It came on the other day and I listened to the lyrics and I got caught off guard and became a little emotional.

The song is about a significant part of everyone’s life. One that involves facing the fear of transitioning.

From my interpretation the singer describes a rather confused person who is making decisions out of fear — and later faces herself and sees that she’s still just a child that needs growing.

I took my love and I took it down
Climbed a mountain then I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

The song pulled a wounded string somewhere deep in my soul. I began to tear up. Life has been great but I’ve always found a way to make it difficult *sips glass of wine*

Some would call it anxiety, others would say it’s a sign. Maybe a girl like me is never supposed to be comfortable.
I’m at a place in my life where things are clearly frustrating. I’m no longer asking what is wrong with me or how I got here. Instead I’m acknowledging that I’m still here.
I looked at myself in the mirror today after spending a few extra hours laying in bed. I’m still a little girl — one that’s had the luxury of making a home out of sticks and staying in someone else’s cave. Hmm.
The song continues:

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Children get older
I’m getting older too

I’m getting older too…. although I still see the child in me, I know that time is ticking. I’m no longer the girl who can use the excuse of rebellion as I run free through a field of daisies.

Instead, I’m 27. I’ve been through hell. And although the drinks tasted better in the underworld, the hangover was much worse.

Life has passed. My peers have passed me. Some rotting behind, others fulfilling their life destinies and many just staying complacent in the patterns they’ve been conditioned in.

Facing yourself is hard, especially after a landslide of events. What’s harder is that I can’t use that landslide as an excuse, I have to use it as a force that pushes me.

As I’ve sequestered myself from New York’s wind shield, I’ve come to this painful truth about life; you only remember your first and last step of climbing a mountain…what happens in between is quite often forgotten.

As in… we remember how we got to a point and we remember the exit/the final hooray…but we forget the boredom or repetition that happens in between the steps.

It’s hard to start from scratch, especially if you’re missing so many ingredients.

Lately I’ve fantasized running away. I hear my father’s voice in the back: “why do you always run away?”

I guess because you never made me feel like I wanted to stay.

This great escape and the many that came before it.

I can’t wait till this life is over.

Starting over is really hard. Of course… things in the past were worse. My brain doesn’t fail to remind me of the pain I once endured. 10 swords stabbing my back. The knives have fallen off and over the year the wounds have healed. What is left are nothing but scars.

I’ve done my best not to pick at the scabs… but sometimes … it’s just hard not to. Today I picked them apart. Old stories of why things aren’t working out. Sometimes you have to wipe off the clown make up or your tears will do the job.

How will I make it? What’s the Best way when there are so many obstacles? A resume that entails a troubled woman is tossed in the trash, but it takes more courage to be a troubled woman than a student who’s graduated with the support of every god damn body around them.


I’ll find a way. If not, I have my old way… and if that’ll lead to death… which it probably will… well, then… at least I won’t have anymore scabs to pick.

The earth spins while we spend our lives in bars. I denied having any drinks last night but the waiter insisted that there is a one drink minimum. So I drank. And I thought of you, like I always do. And I always do. One drink minimum, I hit the max. They told me to get on out. So I left and I started to think that maybe I’d run into you, like I always do. But you weren’t there. It was just the ice cold air embracing my skin. It was just the moon illuminating the wet pavement. It was just me, alone…a one wish minimum…to see you again.