Go

Let’s get in the car,
Driving fast to nowhere.
Let’s turn the radio up,
Drowning out our thoughts.
Let’s smile and never stop,
Blinding us to the mistakes we’ve made.

It’s time

Time to start with the “what ifs” part of my life. 
Until this point, I’ve never had to result to “what ifs.” I always knew my plan. Everything was laid out according to how I’d been predicting since I was in junior high. I’d graduate high school, go to college, get my Bachelor’s in History, have a break year to earn some money, move to the East Coast and get my Master’s in Library Science, find a job, and from there, I didn’t give a fuck what happened. 
However… now I’ve reached the end of my rope. Everything’s checked off, and “graduation day” is marked in my calendar in big, red letters (155 days, although the full commencement ceremony at Radio City Music Hall is Spring 2015). 

now what 

Do I keep applying to jobs for the next 5 months? Do I start expanding my search outside the New York area? If I start looking outside NYC, do I want to stay on the East Coast? Boston? Philly? Am I dead set on museums and archives? What about school libraries? Historical associations? Private libraries & archives? What about the West Coast? Portland? Seattle? I have family in Orange County and LA, or what about Denver? There are so many places I could feasibly live in, but do I want to do that now? Do I want to settle down? Make roots? Should I get a dog? Cut my hair? I really should cut my hair…it’s gross. What about living situations in the future? Roomates? no roommates? Suburbs? apartment? What if I can’t find a job in the next 5 months? How will I pay back school? Sell my hair and go “gifts of the magai” only without the boyfriend?”  Will I have to declare bankruptcy? What about the government? Work for them? The military? Move back home? I don’t really want to move back home…

help.

 

this has been a cyber panic attack

A Quote for your Thoughts.

Mindy Nettifee:

If a man is only as good as his word, then I want to marry a man with a vocabulary like yours. The way you say dicey and delectable and octogenarian in the same sentence — that really turns me on. The way you describe the oranges in your backyard using anarchistic and intimate in the same breath. I would follow the legato and staccato of your tongue wrapping around your diction until listening become more like dreaming and dreaming became more like kissing you. I want to jump off the cliff of your voice into the suicide of your stream of consciousness. I want to visit the place in your heart where the wrong words die. I want to map it out with a dictionary and points of brilliant light until it looks more like a star chart than a strategy for communication. I want to see where your words are born. I want to find a pattern in the astrology. I want to memorize the scripts of your seductions. I want to live in the long-winded epics of your disappointments, in the haiku of your epiphanies. I want to know all the names you’ve given your desires. I want to find my name among them, ‘cause there is nothing more wrecking sexy than the right word. I want to thank whoever told you there was no such thing as a synonym. I want to throw a party for the heartbreak that turned you into a poet. And if it is true that a man is only as good as his word then, sweet jesus, let me be there the first time you are speechless, and all your explosive wisdom becomes a burning ball of sun in your throat, and all you can bring yourself to utter is, oh god, oh god.”

Before I’m 30

Before I’m 30, 
I want to forget the shit I went through at 20.
I want to smile sadly at how naive I was at 21. 
I want to remember fondly the things I learned at 22. 
I want to feel like I was an ignorant shit at 20. 
I want to cry at the friends I lost at 24.
I want to ache at the steps I took at 25. 
I want to be satisfied with the foundation I set at 26.
I want to cement the choices I made at 27. 
I want to save the relationships I found at 28. 
I want to learn until I explode at 29. 
Before I’m 30, 
I want to live. 

Before I’m 30, 
I want a roadtrip across the country, 
with nothing but the cash in our pockets, wind in our hair, and songs in our mouths.

Before I’m 30, 
I want savings, 
money that I don’t have to touch for years, decades, until I’m old and decrepit, sending my children off to school. 

Before I’m 30, 
I want a place of my own, 
I want spackle and paint in my hair, cuts and bruises from moving, pictures on the walls, a permanent bookcase, floor to ceiling. 

Before I’m 30, 
I want a career, 
I want a stack of business cards that I’m proud of, I want that swelling, prideful feeling when I am asked, “what do you do?”

Before I’m 30, 
I want to see the world, 
I want to revisit the cobblestoned streets of Prague, get lost in the Scottish countryside, work at Shakespeare & Co. for a month. 

Before I’m 30, 
I want to be happy with my body. I want to wake up every morning, excited to look like me, proud of every scar, stretch mark, curve, and flaw. 

Before I’m 30, 
I want another language, or two, three, even four. Forget being trapped within the walls of a monolinguistic life.

Before I’m 30,
I will run a marathon. Pure, simple, powerful. I will.

Before I’m 30, 
I will feel like I can protect myself. I will learn a self defense form, I will protect the body I have been given with all of my strength, and in doing so, hopefully inspire others to do the same. 

Before I’m 30, 
I want to feel sexy: mind, body, & soul. I want a dress that makes me feel gorgeous, I want to feel that I can catch someone’s attention, I want deft fingers & a deft mind. Stilettos, silk, giving a shave with a cut throat razor. 

 

New Beginnings, I hope

20140707-145453-53693524.jpg
Trained for an hour & a half at the shop today. I’m so glad to be working again. *phew* and I didn’t realize how much I’d missed working with coffee. It’s like having phantom limb syndrome, only one day, the limb is miraculously there again.
I had to wear this shirt for my family of coffee professionals back home. Without them, I wouldn’t know some of what I know today.
And for some reason, I actually felt pretty in my chucks, jean shorts, & tshirt. this is a new phenom. I haven’t felt pretty in a while. okay shut up. Yeah, it’s a personal thing. I love my body and everything, but it’s a mindset. I actually caught a couple of second or third glances & full-body glances, which hasn’t happened in quite some time either. (I’ve perfected the “haggard, overworked full time work+grad school” look, which has the cuteness level of a two-day-dead-fish, so stuff like that hasn’t happened in…well, since at least before this past spring semester.)
So I’m feeling kind of fantastic today.

I would say

20140701-122717-44837260.jpg
I would say
That I’m not surprised,
But I am.
I would say that I’ll swallow my pride,
But at this point in my life, I don’t have any.
I would say “next time”
But there’s never been a ‘next’
To look forward to.
I would say that I saw this coming,
But I didn’t.
I would say that I didn’t get my hopes up,
But I did.
I would say that I’ve learned my lesson,
But I’m afraid my heart hasn’t.
I would say that I’m fine,
But I’m not.

hand type by Raul Alejandro