In Between Worlds

I am good at building walls before my realistic goals. Calling them dreams generally has made them mystical enough for me to think I have to learn some kind of magical powers before I can enter them. Imagine going to a vaguely interesting show, may it be a play of an average story, a film of a genre you do not particularly like or a mediocre stand-up comedy or a mundane job of self-repeating tasks with an plausible salary and become satisfied only because everyone else approves your intention. What are the inner movements that effect the quality of our experiences? Am I trying to balance my sensation of experiences by trusting too much in the external forces? How would you rather be measured outside? Outcome: we either settle for average and what might seem safe and lose ourself in the process OR  get sick and start reaching out for greater things and learn to be persistent on demanding what we really deserve as an act of healing. All these attributes we gain in the long run o...

Fuck, I thought. I was grotesquely interrupted while having a supposed time of my life binge drinking and recovering from a break-up with a man who was a functional alcoholic. It's ironic to drink for broken heart reasons and because you miss someone from the bar: you'll only end up spending time in the places you used to drink together with a nasty chance of running into the person. Talk about masochism! Please block the pity sex contacts so that you can go ring a doorbell at 4am pretending you are lost because you are but not in this reality. So one day I got pregnant on a drinking spree. Indeed a fun anecdote to spill in random parties to total strangers strongly believing they will think that "Wow she has gone trough that! She is so cool to have killed an unborn featus, twice!" But in this case the party happens in my head and all these situations I am describing are half make-believe. A way to get through the day and rid of painful abstract thought patterns. ...

People who can't take care of plants scare the death out of me. I was never a garden person but my grandmother was a gardener - still is, to some extent - and I've always looked up to her. Grams how do you make your plant flourish? There's so many blooming all the time. It's because she blooms as well. She puts thought into taking care of them and claims it's easy. Water and stuff. Not alot of people know how to water plants let alone other people. Let's imagine that someone gives you specific instructions on how care for something, what this specific kind of species requires to maintain health and full potential. Seems simple. It is. If you put your heart into it it is very simple. I have been said I've got spice in my nature. A special kind of chili so to speak. I have an instruction manual and people really should go with it. It is called caring. When I notice that effort and thought is not put in I cringe, crawl back to my shell and stop giving a fu...

Fresh green leaves in the morning. Drops of dew on them. I tip my tongue in and get a mouthful. Sunrays in my hair as I run down a grass hill and dive into the sunset. Bubbly drinks. My girlfriends laughing. Birds. Mosquitoes. Sandals and heels on polished toenails. A cigarette. A stranger smiling. It's just the beginning. Summer is on it's way. Some mornings of my life have been like one of those drawing papers. The natural creamy white kind of fragile paper that has a specific dry sound to it when you tear it. That's the sound of those mornings when I can barely open my eyes and I am so dehydrated I feel like someone vacuumed my mouth after I ate a bag of potato powder. My brain is pumping blood or knocking to get out an my limbs feel heavy and loose. I have no idea where I am so I am reaching to my phone just to notice the screen is broken and the battery has died. I look around and don't recognize the apartment so I look for the nearest door and head out of t...

Since I have been on a break from psychotherapy I need a channel to aggravate all these questions and emotions. I don't know what the limit of decency is on how much I can poor on my lovely little friends who are also struggling with bunch of issues life related. On the other hand, sharing the problems makes you feel like you are not alone with this and like you belong to a club of everyone has issues. I love chewing on our problems over a cup of coffee or a beer. Wine preferably because I am fancy and my taste is very expensive. The feel of a little luxury makes your horse shit problems feel like nothing and then you can finally laugh. Because you're still breathing and because someone still might have sex with you in the future. Why does he like me? I am so imbalanced. When he hugs me I freeze. When he is gone I picture raising children with him. Do I like him? I am not walking with a minus account balance stamp on my forehead. People only see what they want to see and ...

So here I am. Here I am at 0:11am sitting uncomfortably comfortable on the end of my couch wrapped up in a soft blanket I got from my mom. I'm approaching my 30th birthday which will be in less than three years from now. I hope it won't be as shitty as I remember all my past birthdays have been and I hope I won't go to bed alone. That was never a problem but now I feel like it might be. I'm done fooling around, I am so done. I am in dept, overweight miserable dogperson. I don't understand how I still have all this love left for myself. "I will figure this out. It will pass" says the voice of the optimist in me. She is beautiful and has helped me through a great deal of issues. Somehow she manages to turn every loss into a pathetic victory or an educating story we laugh about with my best friends. I'm not a murder my soul/kill myself kind of girl. There is just too much to love and see in the world and who cares if I majorly fucked up the first thirty...