just looking for my brain. NBD.

As soon as I slip into that frenzy, wanting needing to go into that writing rage,

                                                     My mind goes

 b 

   l 

   a 

 n 

k. 

And I'm faced with my biggest enemy, the Blank Page.

 "You'll never write anything worthwhile," she taunts me with a cold-blooded smile.                                                                      And 

 So

 I 

 Sit. 

 Dumbfounded by my stupidity, I wonder if I'm losing my brain. Every word I think feels like my mind is slipping through my desperate hands, and down the drain.
 Well, Blank Page, you've clearly won. I'm now a little mad at myself for rhyming a ton. [fuck you, that's why.]

I copied this post from my notebook because ... yeah.

come on. post something.

I've been wrestling with the idea of a new post, but I couldn't think of anything worthy to write.  Should I write about how the media is enforcing heinous gender stereotypes?  How about proper internet etiquette, because it seems like that's been slipping? (Oh yeah.  People are dicks.  It's always been like that.)  Maybe someone will pay attention if I post about my uneducated view on an important social issue.  I've got it!  Maybe I'll

       uh

well, fuck. 

 I have no clue.  But I want to post something. So what'll it be there, slick?  Open up that brain of yours and spew some shit out.

So I look to the amazing internet for guidance.  

Think for me, internet.  Because I apparently can't.  

I wasn't too impressed with the help I got.  The writing prompts I came across were reminiscent of MySpace surveys.  No, thank you.

and then I thought about it.

spew some shit out.

It doesn't need to make sense.  Because fuck you, that's why.  And that is what mind vomit is.

BOOM.

What have I been up to lately?

As of this current moment, I'm sitting on my couch, sipping on coffee, and listening to the sweet voice of my pride and joy trying to decide on a pretty dress to wear for the day.  The wind is assaulting the trees.  The sun occasionally creeps past the clouds and through the blinds.  I'm cuddled up in my sweetheart's hoodie, feeling his heart close to mine as his lingering scent on the cloth intoxicates my soul.  I soak in the moment, and I smile.

Over the past couple of months I have been working hard to get to where I am now.  I am so blessed.  Seriously, I feel like such a lucky girl.  I feel free to do what makes me happy.  While I haven't felt inspiration to write in a while, I have felt inspiration to grow as a person.  I'm reading books again.  I'm playing with fabric, needles, and thread.  I'm learning how to cook delicious things.  I'm working at being the awesome person I know I am.

In the future,  I imagine just how wonderful things can get from here.  I'm actually excited to know that life can be really cool, and it'll just keep getting better from here.

And now, here's a list of what I am not doing right now:

• Meowing at old people
• Making a paper mache sculpture of Bob Ross
• Playing tether ball
• Fishing for carp
• Drawing a picture of Darkwing Duck
• Yoga
• Stealing road signs
• Combing my eyelashes
• Being miserable

simply

amazing.

coffee vs. awful beer

I am awake.

I clutch on to my coffee for the warmth, security, and comfort.  I don't hold my grip too strongly, in fear of spilling the scalding beverage all over my hands, and destroying the precious drink.  The coffee is inviting and soothing, and I welcome its intense embrace as it passes my lips, and invigorates my entire being.  I can always depend on coffee to pick me up and get me going.  It has that astounding ability to melt away my fatigue in an instant, just like magic.  Coffee has that perfect balance between sweet and bitter.  When I wake up to coffee, my day is bright, and I smile because I got my fix.  It seems to know me perfectly, and goes so well with me. 

I am addicted, and I don't want to stop.

Sometimes I get drowsy, though.  It's like someone switched my darling coffee out for a vile mug of Old Milwaukee, flavored with Tylenol PM, Unisom, Ambien, and shame.  I accidentally take a swig, and no matter how hard I try to spit it out, the repugnant taste holds my mouth hostage, and I feel weary and weak.  I violently try to purge out the poison, but all I end up doing is getting myself upset, sick and missing my coffee.

I swear, I had a point to this.  I'll remember it some time.  

enamored.

I look at him, and I question whether or not he's real.

It bewilders me. 

• How can a real person be that stunning?
• Does he have me under some sort of spell?  Is he magic?
• Why am I so drawn to him?

an enigma, wrapped in bacon. 

Perhaps, the element of mystery is what is so enticing.  My curious mind has stepped into an uncomfortable zone, in which I don't experience often.   When I say uncomfortable, I really mean it.  I kind of want to slap the shit out of myself for thinking like such a crazy person.

i hope he thinks i'm pretty, too.