Tag Archives: rant

The Great Escape.

I got back from vacation last night and so, today, between my days off and being back to reality, I have been living in a daydream. I’ve been sitting on the couch for the past hour, neglecting all of my “back to routine” responsibilities (laundry, gym, cleaning, groceries, etc), in favour of thinking about what could’ve, should’ve, and might be. I can’t help but feel like I am not where I am supposed to be.

It isn’t really that even, it feels more like I am not who I’m supposed to be. I’m going through a bad phase with social media where I look at other people’s accounts and compare my own and I feel like I look so incredibly superficial and boring. There’s no real content to my life. I worry that this speaks to a deeper level of dissatisfaction from the superficial happiness I have been experiencing.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it though. Go do what ought to be done, to start (laundry, gym, cleaning, groceries, etc), and then maybe work on re-prioritizing. But also remember that social media is not an actual representation of the ways in which people are living and experiencing their lives.




My house smells of coffee in the mornings now. It never did growing up. In one of the small sacrifices I can see now, my dad didn’t drink it because my mom didn’t like the smell. He would buy a coffee or get some at the office instead, never complaining. She eventually bought him a k-cup when the conversation came up of how much money he was spending on coffees, though she insisted on taking it when they separated a few years ago. It sits in a cupboard in the apartment he pays for, just like the elliptical she demanded to keep, which is buried beneath boxes and knickknacks in her study. It wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on though, so he obliged, not the last of his many sacrifices.

It took me a long time to warm up to coffee and I am still not a habitual drinker, though there is a pot made every morning and it’s aroma fills the whole house. It reminds me of my grandparents house, my mom’s parents. Their house always smelled like coffee in the morning. I don’t understand where the disconnect is between them and her, but there is one.

It isn’t just about the coffee.

Late night farewells.

room.jpgI have lived in this shared one bedroom apartment with my craigslist roommate for close to three years. I have stared out at the dirt and mildew stained walls outside my window thousand of times thinking about my life and existence and the future. I keep feeling like I will be sad when I leave on Saturday, but I suddenly realized that this place has never really been my home.

In my transient young adulthood, this is the longest that I’ve ever stayed in one place, but the yellow tiled bathroom and beige walls don’t belong to me. No matter what efforts I put in to making this place mine, the calendar on the wall, or chalk boards with my to-do lists, it never really felt quite right. It was always a shared place, not fully my own. I think about all the memories I’ve made here, all the ways that I’ve really come into my own and become a person I am happy to be, and built relationships here and a life, but that isn’t about the place itself.

Sure, I will miss the memories, and maybe a little bit of the freedom I had in this ~300sq ft room, but this place was never really my home. Now I have the chance to make a real one for myself, if I am ready to give up the idea of myself as a transient youth and move forward into a real life with someone. It’s scary and overwhelming, but I’m ready to say goodbye to this non home and move forward into a real house with plants and dogs and friends and a man who loves me.

So goodbye, mildew stained paneled wall. I don’t think I’ll miss you.


I need to work on managing my expectations, because living in a constant state of disappointment or anxiety of impending let down is not a way to exist. As I write this I have tears brimming in my eyes because I let myself get too caught up in my hopes for a person, and when they did something human I couldn’t handle it.

But is that all my fault? They made a mistake. I need to work on finding a balance between setting realistic expectations of people but also being able to express my disappointment and frustrations.

It’s not a big deal, but when I’m sitting here alone it really worries me that this could be a shifting point for things, and that’s me, not you.

Lists and Lists and Lists.


I have a problem of comparing myself to people, constantly trying to place myself on some sort of spectrum that defines my worth against others. I’m just trying to find my place amongst everyone else, but it ends up being detrimental to my emotional well being. I sit on the bus and go- I’m fatter than she is but definitely in better shape than that other girl; I have a nicer face than her but soandso has nicer skin; she is really sociable, but I’m funnier and so on and so on. I could compare myself to others forever.

What’s the point though? It doesn’t help me to feel like I’m better than other people, all it does is give me an unrealistic image of myself. Over and over again. Then why do we do it constantly?


I can’t stand uncertainty and the insecurity it creates. How dare you make me feel anything less than wonderful? How dare I let you wieled the power to change how I feel about myself? Over and over again, you’ve got me under. It really is just a game; I didn’t even know I was playing. Weak in the knees, and not in the good way. Trembling, you’ve made me ask myself over and over again what I did wrong this time. Nothing. Everything. Something? How dare you make me feel anything less than amazing? 

Boys to Men

I don’t have time for boys anymore. And that’s not to say that I’m not interested in meeting someone, but I don’t have time for anymore boys. What I need is a man. I need someone who realizes what a catch I am and isn’t going to waste my time. I’m sick of getting invested in things over and over again, telling my friends about this new guy, only to have him strut on out of my life (for no reason?!) mere weeks later. I’m becoming that single friend. So what I need is a man, someone who isn’t afraid to be in my life in a real way and someone who wants me to be in there’s. What I need is to hold out for him, because he’s out there; I’m pretty sure it’s not just my mom that believes that. 

I am attempting to be happy on my own. “They” say that you have to be happy on your own before you can be happy with someone else. I think that’s bullshit because being lonely is awful and humans are not meant to be companionless creatures. But here I am sitting alone and functioning in a solitary life. It probably is the best for me right now.

I am a person of habit. My habit for the last 5 years has been being in love and in a relationship. I merely transitioned from relationship to relationship, so sitting here and actually being alone feels… Off. I don’t know if I could be loved again though. I feel so flawed and broken and I don’t know how someone could love me again. More importantly, I don’t know how I could manage to love someone again, to put my whole self into a relationship knowing full well that it will likely end in heartbreak.

But I also so badly want someone to hold me in their arms and fill me up with love and kiss me hard and make me believe again.

I just don’t feel full anymore.


Late Night Ramblings.

On this Saturday night, similar to most Saturday nights, I had no plans. The only thing different is that I think I would’ve liked to have done something. I’ve been trying to keep myself busy because the loneliness has been quite stifling and I go into this deep abyss of sadness and self loathing each and every time the door closes and I am alone. 

So I sat. I watched shitty netflix tv. I watched The Vow. I cried. I talked to a boy. The boy stopped talking to me. And I’m alone. Me, myself, and fucking I. They say stuff like, “You need to be happy on your own before you can be happy with someone else”. But that’s bullshit, because being alone sucks. We can glorify sitting alone and reading books, drinking black coffee and smoking your cigarettes, but it’s not romantic. It’s depressing.

I’ve seen The Vow before, I know that they end up working it out and being happy so my tears weren’t necessarily for them. I cried, sobbed really, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the idea that I may never ever find someone who loves me that much. Someone who would stay with me and fight for me and look at me and see the world. I’ve had a few gentlemen who’ve held me in high regard and made me feel like a woman, but it fades.

Because everything fades; everything. My sadness will fade, along with my happiness. All things come and go.

Goddam bullshit fucking everything fades.