Gotta do it yourself...

I make me smile. :)

How-to

    "Me? My job is to fight the world. You? Your job is to fight for me."
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When someone is hurt or crying or both, you envelop them in your arms and make them believe that by doing so, you are going to protect them from all that is hurtful, even if what hurts them is you. You tell them it is going to be okay. If that is a lie, then you tell them anyway, and let the ensuing silence be filled with their sobs and your racing thoughts about how you can make it okay. You be soft. You tell them you understand. If you don't understand, then you try to, and store your questions about it for later. You do everything you can to draw out the sadness and make it go away or make it your own so you can help them carry the burden. You love them. You tell them and you show them. If that doesn't solve it, repeat until it does.

But only do it if you love them.
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How to show them.

Pieces

If something's meant to happen, it will happen.
I don't know if I believe in that. As much as I want to, I can't believe in it all the time.

You deserve better. You deserve the best.
I think I already know that. I just don't want to have to do what I have to in order to get it.

We should go egg some houses.
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I found the above in an email to myself, reminding me to post something about it...back in August.

Some Company

What girl doesn't like surprises? These ones are perfect, and what's better (or worse) is that they're real.

Congrats to the married couple to be! To think--I was there from the beginning!

Also congrats to yet another Boo to be a part of another married couple to be. With all the details you've had go according to plan for you, I'm surprised you were surprised! But pleasantly so, I assure you.
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Yes, I'm in despair, but only for a bit. I know where my feet are.

Vent

Sometimes you have so much pent up inside that you just want to scream, but you don't want to be heard because then someone might either try to offer you bad advice that you didn't want, or tell you what you already knew but were avoiding anyway.

When I need to yell, I do it on paper. That way, as much as I say, and as loudly as I scream it, no one needs to know.

But when I still need someone to know, I tell someone who doesn't care.

Retail Relief

It's amazing how much retail therapy can work for you, even if it IS a temporary fix; a quick escape from the bigger things in life. Usually you find yourself ing a funk because things aren't going your way; you have no control and everyone is telling you what you should or shouldn't be doing.

Enter retail therapy.

Suddenly you're in wreckless control; doing what you probably shouldn't but enjoying yourself. Suddenly you're doing what you want, and no one's telling you otherwise--what store is going to stop you from spending? And suddenly, your mind is so far off from what was bothering you in the first place, you're free from the looming of your stress; exactly what you needed to re-collect yourself.

Sure, afterwards you're left with a bunch of bills to pay and then you're back to the grind, but a few moments of sanity, I think, are worth it.
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Alternatively, you could drive your brother around the city, dropping off resumes with the promise of not having to eat alone at the end of it all. That beats over-thinking by yourself at home.

The bright effect

Today's just one of those days that I'd rather be at home, letting all the sunlight I can stream through the windows, having the music up full blast, and be dancing in clothes too big that really don't belong to me at all.
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Today's random playlist, accompanied by the awesome sunshine out is hurtling me back to memories of the simpler days. When school was a pleasure, work was optional, and company was always in abundance. Just the last week--especially the past few days--has held a little too much responsibility for me. While I'm up to the challenge, I can't help but stress when the onus is not completely on me and I'm forced to rely on someone else who can't keep up. No matter how deep a hole I fall into, I know I can always dig myself out, I'm only worried when someone falls in with me; will I be strong enough for the two of us?

(I'm actually now picturing a dirt hole and me struggling to lift someone out with my bum wrist.)
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The hardest thing about writing stories is sharing them. I love to write stories, I love to tell stories, but once I publish them, they're left up to the reader's interpretation and that's the scary part. I'm happy to have everyone relate personally to a story one way or another, but I'm afraid when people see too much of themselves in it and mull over the notion I was writing about them and only them. Stories borrow from real life--that's why they seem real. But the only life that I know how to tell about, is my own; the rest, I have to make up.
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My hand cream is perfumed and is giving me a head ache.
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Mood: Decidedly lonely.