My comforter is my drug (love would be my drug but it’s too dangerous):
So my bed is on the ground. Which is actually totally cool. It seems to bother others more than me. But like, it’s totally fine on the ground. It’s just as comfy. AND. ohmygod. My comforter is so… COMFORTABLE! Fitting, right? But it’s like, I dunno. Super cushy. That’s a word. But, ok, so I think maybe it’s a down comforter? I dunno. It’s really puffy and super comfortable. And when I did summer theatre school with CTM, my mom would drop me off at Ashley Leung’s on her way to work, and then Ashley’s mom would give us a ride to the Memorial Union later. But I would get there super early cuz that was the only time my mom was passing through. So I would go lie in Ashley’s bed while she got ready. And she had a super puffy kinda comforter, too. And I would go back to sleep for like another 30 minutes with Ashley. And it was so nice. So, yeah, it’s super comfy but it’s also kinda nostalgic. And I’m ALL.ABOUT.NOSTALGIA. Obviously. It’s probably not the greatest trait, ya know, living in the past. Or holding onto it so tightly. But I’m not judging myself. I’m remembering with fondness and living in the present by cuddling with this HOLY-SHIT-COMFY comforter.
So. I do this thing where I define myself by my injuries. When I was in high school, I got this scar on my thumb cuz I was rollerblading on Halloween in this giant king’s robe. (I’ve always been full of great ideas.) But I would ALWAYS look for excuses to tell that story. And I would show everyone my scar. And then, my first screen name on AOL Instant Messenger was Wheelz1031… (rollerblading… 10/31=Halloween). And then. I flew off my bike. And I let that moment define a lot of my life. I told that story all the time. The story about how I flew off my bike and how it changed my life and forced me to open my eyes to how beautiful the world was and how grateful I was for everything. And blah blah blah. And now. I define myself by heartbreak. And whenever someone asks about me or wants to know who I am, I talk about my blog. And how heartbreak changed my life. But I’m more than a scarred thumb, a collarbone scar and a skeptical heart. But yet, heartbreak is like the FIRST story I tell when getting to know someone. Why do I do that? And why can’t I make a change in my life without something painful happening to me? It’s like I go into these dormant stages where I forget to live until something breaks. And I don’t want to do that anymore. And I don’t want this to be a blog about heartbreak. And maybe, to you, that’s not what it’s about anymore. But I need to make it official. to myself.
I hereby declare this blog to no longer be about heartbreak. Cuz honestly, it’s not. Not anymore. Now, it’s about challenging myself and pushing myself past my limits. That chapter is over, and I’m done retelling it. And fuck it, who cares if it was a catalyst for my newfound gratitude. James. You’ve always been this way, and this was a long time coming. And YOU did this. Remember? You were the one who called it off. Ok? So give yourself some credit.
This blog isn’t about heartbreak anymore. It’s not. It’s about self-discovery. And loving myself despite… everything, everything that bothers me about myself. It’s about patience. And love. It’s about love. And what to do with it. Yes. I like that.
This blog is about love.
And sharing love. Without an agenda.
You can do so by… making random videos on people’s walls. Or telling people you just met they have beautiful eyes. Or telling someone they smell good. Or telling someone you care about how much they mean to you. Or perhaps that you enjoy riding in cars with them. Or telling your mom how much you love her. Or crying while writing a blog and not knowing why; it’s gratitude, James.
Oh. And if you’re… ok. Solution to crying out the sassy=CHEESE. If you need me to decode this, contact me. 😉
I don’t want to be anyone else.
I have a feeling I’m gonna cry a lot on my birthday.
I will go to New York. Even if I have to go alone. I don’t care. I will not be obstructed or hindered. By fear nor lack of money. I’m going.
(The more I explore relationship-like things, I realize that I don’t want to be in a relationship. I enjoy being my own thing. Like, dating.. just seems to be too much for me. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all. And I don’t think I should be judged for it. Or pitied. Cuz if I learned one thing from this blog, it’s that the love of friends goes GREATLY underappreciated.)
So don’t feel bad for me. Because I am loved beyond any imaginable quantity. And again, I am very grateful.
I know I just quoted this the other day but it’s appropriate:
“Check this hand cuz I’m marvelous.”
~”Poker Face” by Lady Gaga
I am love.