So today started off kinda rough. I was having one of those days where I was tripping on everything. For example, I’m trying to set up shop in the bathroom, I’m like setting out my deodorant, straightener, blow-dryer, etc. But everything keeps falling off the counter. I pick up one thing and something else falls off. The hot straightener almost falls on my toe. There’s this metal rack thing hanging on the back of the door, and my hair got caught on it and it hit me in the head really hard. I was just having one of those mornings. So. I got something right:
I know, I take a lot of pictures of my hair. But fuck, when I get my hair right, I get so happy. Cuz it’s an ordeal. Like, it’s really hard to do if I just washed it cuz then it’s super fluffy. But if it’s too dirty, then it looks nasty. And I gotta blow dry my hair upwards, and then sometimes when I straighten it, it falls down. And sometimes the hair product I use makes it look greasy. It’s hard, man. So. When I get it right, damn it feels good. And today I was SUPER proud of my weave. It was definitely worthy of going out. But I didn’t. But I am my hair. So much. When my hair looks good, I feel so good. It’s like when I’m wearing my boots, I strut. Today as I was walking into Target (on the EAST side) with my boots and my hair, this lady was staring at me. And I said to myself under my breath, “Yeah, you better stare, cuz I look fuckin’ fabulous.” It just came out. She didn’t hear me. But damn, it felt good to say. And sure, go ahead and stare cuz I gave you something to stare about. Someone once told me that I tried to hard with my hair. Hm. Perhaps. But mothafucka, it feels goooooooooooooood.
Saw Bridesmaids today with my family. It’s pretty good. I laughed really hard, and that feels so good. I was kinda having a dreary day (besides the winning weave). And then my mom bought me like 5 A-tops from Target. So. That was pretty winning. And I need to keep working out, damn, it REALLY affects my mood. Like. Hardcore. Oh, and I cleaned my room a lot today. It’s not done, but it looks good. And that sense of accomplishment is so amazing. I feel like I did something right. I know, it sounds silly, I cleaned my room. But that’s what I got. I’m a poor-ass college grad trying to pay back debt and save money to follow his dreams. So yeah, I’m gonna rejoice in cleaning my room.
I started choreographing my tap solo. I’m tapping to Judas. I’ve got 37 seconds done. I did it all at Target. Didn’t make any friends today, but eh, you win some, you win some. I’m pretty sure that’s how the saying goes.
My heart hurt a little today. Inevitably, there’s a wedding in Bridesmaids. And my heart got all mopey. And it’s like, “Heart, what the fuck? Marriage? You’re 21, almost 22. You’re winning. Your hair looks awesome. A relationship doesn’t make sense right now. Be patient, stop looking. You stupid bitch heart!” But my heart doesn’t listen. But that doesn’t matter. My heart can still dominate. It’s so weird how my heartache can like, affect my whole body. Like, I can get all tired and shit. My heart is a dumb, dumb bitch with a lot of power… like Scott Walker. But. Ya know, despite my heart’s stupid-bitchness, it’s still winning, unlike Scott Walker.
Alas, I must retire to my cozy futon bed with my dumb, dumb heart. I don’t know that I’m sad… I’d say more… wistful. But even that, I dream for more than what I’ve had. I don’t want anything that I’ve had cuz I want more. I aspire for more. So, since it’s dark out and 11:37, I would say it’s the perfect time to dream. And that is a task that I have mastered.
It’s ok to not care, but you have to not care. And sometimes, my dumb bitch heart is out to sabotage me. But that’s when I have to say, “No!” Just don’t do the things that hurt, even if your heart wants to make you that silly pity-party-of-one. It’s the easiest lesson. When I used to hurt myself I’d be like, “Ouch, that hurts,” and my dad would say, “Well then don’t do that.” And I’d get so mad. But I mean, it makes sense. If you’re doing something that doesn’t make you happy, then don’t do it. If someone doesn’t make you happy, cut the fat. And don’t tell me it’s more complicated than that; it’s not. Someone makes you unhappy, and they can’t give you what you want. Then stop torturing yourself, and get out. Make yourself happy. Be happy. It’s simple. Loneliness, now that’s complicated. Cuz you get lonely and you think, ‘Ugh. I wanna be with someone so bad.’ And then you meet someone that you like and you think, ‘Do I like this person cuz they’re awesome, or do I like this person cuz they’re there, or do I like this person cuz they like me?’ Or you think you should just hook up with someone cuz you can, but then you think, ‘Maybe I should wait and make it actually mean something’. Loneliness is complicated. I’m not naive enough to say that relationships aren’t complicated. Trust me, I know they’re complicated. I’ve stayed in relationships before just PRAYING that it would change. And then you get in so deep you think, ‘Is it worth it now to start all over?’ And I say, YES. Look at me. I started over. And whenever I talk to people about my blog, I’m so stunned at how far I’ve come. But I’m not this superhuman person. And it doesn’t even need to be about heartbreak. This blog is as simple as a journey from unhappiness to happiness. I was sick of being miserable, and I did something about it. Are you sad? DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. I’m still working on it. I’m not happy all the time. Now I’m getting into meditation, cuz I want to be happier. Grab your life by the balls, and get what you want mothafucka. I’m doing it. You can do it. Fuck unhappiness. Fuck sadness. Fuck rejection. Fuck self-doubt. Fuck depression. Fuck ruts. Fuck it all. Fuck fuck fuck it all. Somebody’s gotta stand up for you, it might as well be you.
One last thing. I’m all about self-help. I hit rock bottom… well, then it was rock bottom, when I was going into my sophomore year at Point. The summer before. I got a self-help book and I went to a therapist. And I’m all about therapy. I think it works. And maybe you know someone who went to therapy. And maybe it did nothing for them. Or maybe it made them worse. But I went, and it changed me. I went in thinking I was fucked up, crazy and broken. Because every time I met a great guy, I sabotaged it and ran away. But after talking with a therapist, I realized that I wasn’t running away because it was good; I was running away cuz it wasn’t right. And I knew it could be better. And I’m not fucked up. I’m not broken. I’m not crazy. My instincts were saving me from unhappiness. So. You. If you know someone who wasn’t benefitted from therapy, know that I did benefit from therapy. And why isn’t my testimonial just as vaild? 🙂 I love you.
“I will fight for, I have fought for how I love you. I have cried, I will die for how I care.”
~”Americano” by Lady Gaga
I promise to give my heart away relentlessly, even if I know better. Especially since I know better.