Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 18

And just like that

I got rejected.

By another one.

Damn sensitive American girls.

And I can say that!

I’m American.

She thinks we’re not a good fit because on Friday she went to an event I went to and I didn’t sit with her.

Talk about unreasonable.

And no, she wasn’t alone.

She came with all her friends who were visiting from out of town. Our table was full. She had to find another table and I didn’t sit with her.

I’m sorry I fucked up.

In all honesty, I thought she was fine. She was catching up with her friends. But no, the girl got upset.

Now she doesn’t want to be friends.

Literally this is insane to me.

I actually apologized too.

I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. I honestly thought she was fine hanging with all of her friends.

But nope.

She’s done.

Just dropped me.

And I’m a good fucking friend!

Literally when I was in college, I walked out of a class for my friend Catherine because she text me saying she needed me.

Yeah, I’m that girl.

I’ll move mountains for you if I have to.

And she drops me because I didn’t sit with her?

Such a fucking quitter.

And you know what sucks, it fuckin hurts.

Even though it’s unreasonable, the rejection still hurts.

I actually even cried when I got home.

Yeah, I can be a damn sensitive American too.

But you know what?

I’m not giving up.

I know my best friend is out there somewhere and I’m not closing up shop just because one girl can’t get over the fact I didn’t sit with her and all her friends.

I’m not miss hosty, okay.

You’re an adult. You can manage yourself at an outdoor concert.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 11

I get it now.

The drinking

The writing

The addiction

It feels good to write intoxicated.

I feel free

Uninhibited

And yet I’m lucky

I don’t have the addiction bug

Like my father

Like my brother

Like all the men in my family

Is it a man thing?

I don’t know

But I’m lucky

I know when to stop

Thank god

Or the devil

For skipping me

I appreciate it.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 9

I’m getting a new tattoo tomorrow.

Water color.

It’s my first big color tattoo.

I’m a bit nervous I’ll hate it.

The tattooer sent me her sketch and I hated it.

But I didn’t tell her I did.

I told her the things I liked about it and the things I liked about my inspiration picture I sent her and asked if it’s doable to implement those specific likes.

She said she’ll be free handing it and yes it’s easy to implement.

I responded, I trust you.

But fuck I’m nervous.

But I’ve seen her portfolio.

I like her work.

I really do.

So I know it won’t be shit.

But trust, man.

That’s hard for me.

I’m controlling at best.

More leaning ocd.

I waver between impulsive and compulsive on the daily.

So for her to say she’ll freehand it

Is like me saying let me just eat everything in the kitchen and see if I get fat.

It’s insane to me.

Yet, I’m attracted to it.

I want it.

I want to be open to trust.

To releasing my control.

I want to be free to receive her art.

So

Pray for me

Or

Whatever

Because I’m about to pay almost $1,000 for freedom.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 8

Walking on egg shells

Tip

Toe

Tip

Toe

My mind rewinds

Plays

Rewinds

Plays

Will she understand my intention?

Or

Will she be offended?

I feel like I’m trying to create a relationship with a social media troll

Hush now

Be sensitive

The egg shells may crack

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 7

Today I’ve been thinking about home.

Craving familiarity.

I’ve been listening to country music.

Christian music even though I’m not Christian anymore.

Ya it got that bad. 😂

Craving mac and cheese

Tacos

Friends

My whole being is feeling this pull to reconnect with Americans again.

Being in Australia, I’ve only met 3 Americans.

One was a flake.

The second was too loud.

And the third is an adorable Cuban from Florida who is also very loud but we were able to work on it.

Other than that, I’ve met only Brits and Asians.

And don’t get me wrong, they’re very lovely people. But the Brits want to hang more with the Brits and their slang always throws me for a loop anyways.

So my only friends are Asian. And they’re amazing lovely women, but we can’t relate on everything. There are certain things I want to say, but I know they won’t understand.

Just like any group of people, your group knows you. They see you. They can relate with you.

And I miss that.

So I problem solved.

Where can I find Americans in Sydney?

Facebook.

So here I am today, posting on Facebook if any Americans in the city want to hang.

I don’t care if I sound desperate.

Because if you’re on facebook, you’re desperate too.

We’re all fuckin desperate for friendship and making the first move is my forte anyways.

So if you’re out there Americans, I just wanna say hey!

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 5

I like to be naked.

So Fuck Adam and Eve

For their punishment.

I want to be free

And forget lent.

Life is about honesty

Commitment to choice.

Not living in serenity

Forgetting the noise.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 2

Damn those dog farts stink!

Almost as bad as my dad’s coffee breath in church.

Rancid, dude.

But at least they’re both honest.

I wonder if my soul stinks as much.

Because as of late, I haven’t been honest with myself.

I go back and forth between pain and pleasure.

Thinking of my dad…

Buy a donut.

Thinking of my mom…

Buy a dress.

Escape escape escape.

Distract distract distract.

It’s so easy to pretend it’s alright.

I’m across the world from them.

They can’t get me here.

But my credit card says otherwise.

I am buying to distract myself from my stench.

Because this wound is festering, brother.

Yet I just keep slapping band aids on it.

Except today.

Today I’m getting a whiff of its misery and I’m not pulling back.

I’m not pulling back today because yesterday I promised I wouldn’t.

So here I am.

Raw.

Open.

And honest.

Posted in Reflections

Thoughts on a Tuesday

You know sometimes I think about myself and ask,


Am I dateable?

And I think about the app days
And how people would ask me what do you do for fun?

And now I would say,
I lay in bed at 645 and drink camomile tea.

Haha and there’s no shame in that. Like my life isn’t something to be pitched. I remember I use to pitch this story like I was something exciting when I never really was. Now being honest, I’m thinking, dude I like routine. I like sleep. And
I’m a grandma inside a 27yr old body.

And I’m completely cool with that.

Posted in My Poetry

Dear Diane

I feel aligned with you.
I see me
In you.
When I first met you,
I knew.
I could feel your energy too.
The perfectionism, pride and potential
were swimming around you.

Me and you.
You and me.
We’re bonded.
Don’t you see?

Our past pain
Has brought us together
In hopes
that one day
We’d find to be,
What I would consider,
The key.
For your forgiveness of your trauma has unlocked the mystery.