Being me

I think if I can use this blog as an outlet of all the things that I carry inside and share, that then maybe I'll at least have a way of processing my life and not just hiding it away. What a sad way to be. But I'm trying to make it better, make it work for me. And so I throw myself head first into this next year with aspirations and dreams that will never come true, but at least I'm looking up. Looking out. There's happiness to be had in this world and dammit some one's got to get some of it, it might as well be me.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..." -Jack Kerouac

I like steamy pavement, the smell of lemon grass tea, soulful singing, when there's just enough hangers for clothes I need to hang, warm feet and cold pillows, my grandparents love letters, reading books that are so completely unlike my own life, clogs, being alone, taking a burning hot shower and then turning it to cold for the last minute, putting quarters in someone else's parking meter, hoping that I'll make at least one person happy or proud during this life, handwriting, drawing and creating, and being me. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, but I'm going to figure it out.