The Little Old Lady Over My Shoulder

Let me start by saying, I have been told I have a few eccentric quirks, of this I’m generally aware. And this may be an example. Put out to the world to think what it may.

The past few months has been this cloud of decisions looming over me. Granted, in part self-inflicted, but still there it is. Waiting. Though I know it’s irrational, I feel like the decisions I make in the next few months will completely dictate my future life. That isn’t really true of course, but certainly, it will shape it significantly. Continue reading

Heat.

I have this strange inability to retain heat. I am constantly cold, and perhaps, this is what has spurred what I can only describe as a romanticization  of heat. I love the heat, though I don’t hate cold (read: curled up by fire, wine/book in hand), there’s something about heat I almost crave. Bizarre, perhaps. And it’s a certain type, the dry heat that penetrates your skin and ignites your bones filling your whole body with warmth.  Not the hot, sticky humidity that gives the distinct impression you’re swimming in air, suffocating your skin as sweat cascades down your spine: this heat, I do not like. No, I prefer the stark, bone-dry heat of the desert, the desolate, searching variety that suggests danger.

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A Generation in Transition

Hurricane Ridge, WA

As I write this I’m watching a desk being put together, a room coming together, and the chaos of moving slowly dissipating. The life of two, fit snugly into a u-haul. It feels like only yesterday I moved into the most recent Pasadena apartment, but that was six months ago. And now, I’m 400 miles away. I thought I would be at least a little upset with moving, and while saying goodbye to people and places is always hard, it has become to me, disturbingly easy. Home has ceased to be a physical place, but a mental state of familiarity and comfort. Transition has become my “home.” I feel little attachment to a physical location, but rather of memories and people, and no matter where I am, there are plenty of memories and friends to be made. Continue reading

Quarter Life Crisis.

Someone push the pause button please?

My twenties are nearly half over, on Friday, I turn 25.

Back in college, you know forever ago, my mom told me to enjoy my twenties because they fly by. It’s a time of excitement, learning, and exceptional trial and error. She was not kidding. I couldn’t tell you where the past five years have gone.

Thinking back to everything that has happened, it seems astounding, as if through five years I’ve lived a multitude of lives. Looking back on that 20-year old I used to be, I see such a different person it’s difficult to believe we’re one in the same.

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