There are so many thoughts running through my head at about a million miles per hour. Writing usually helps me figure things out, but because of the content of these thoughts and the medium with which I have chosen to write, I am forced to refer to everything in metaphors, lest these words fall upon the wrong set of eyes. Here's the coded version of my life at its present state. If you want the real deal, you know how to reach me.


There was this time, shortly after I got my license, that my dad overheard me talking on the phone with one of my friends. I was offering her a ride our high school football game, despite the fact that I had a provisional license and could only drive others in the car with the supervision of a licensed driver over the age of 25. My dad asked, "Are you taking someone to the game?" I answered, "I'm driving myself."

I left out the "and another person" part.

Right now, at this very moment, I feel like I'm 16 again.


You know what sucks about being a nice person? You cannot say no. You've developed this character that is incredibly accommodating, which is fine to start with, but eventually people start to take advantage of you, slowly but surely. They begin by asking for little favors, like borrowing your pencil or lunch money for the day. And you're okay with it, as long as you get your things back. But then, one day, when you really need a pencil to write down something important - like an insurance quote or a hot guy's phone number - you realize, goddam it, your pencil's gone. Where the fuck did it go? You look everywhere: on the floor, in your purse, in your jacket pocket. Nowhere! You start asking around, and homie down the street says, "Oh, I took it because I noticed you were writing with a pen earlier, so I figured you wouldn't miss it."

Oh, hell no.

But wait! If you freak out about it, everyone will think you're the crazy bitch who cried about not having a pencil. And that would be just plain weird.

So you grind your teeth, smile, and say, "No problem, I'll just get a new one." Even though, truthfully, deep down inside, you had a soft spot for that pencil.

I'm tired of all you assholes. Leave my shit alone.


I just want you to know: if you ever decide to use what you've got, I'll be waiting there on the other side with my arms and heart open wide.