So after realizing I’ve been at this for four years and I’m pretty lousy at blogging, I thought I should open up a bit….
Lately I have given a lot of thought to who I am and who I truly want to be. I feel that I have spent far too long fighting between feeling sorry for myself and belittling myself. No one can change my situation except me. I am tired of talking myself out of my dreams. I have to start looking at the negative things in a positive light… that rejection letter for the job I applied for doesn’t make me a worthless failure, it just means that it wasn’t the best match right now. I will not be stuck at my current job forever, I will find a way to do better, be better and move forward.
Tonight I filled out my forms for financial assistance and hopefully I will be eligible for something. If not, I will find a way to pursue my education in another manner. I want to do something that makes a difference for other people as well as myself.
Holding myself accountable is the first of many steps in the journey.
HOW is it only Tuesday???????
This is how you lose her.
You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery store, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.
You must remember when she forgets.
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.
She remembers when you forget.
You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.
You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.
And, this is how you keep her.
Everyone who reblogs this will get the title of a book to read based on their bio/posts.
Everyone. I mean it.EDIT: make sure your ask box is open please :)
Reblogging because more people need to like/reblog this so they can read lovely books.
I’ll reblog all the things today. I don’t care.
Me too please.
I am driving down a highway somewhere through Texas. There is a large Cherry Coke in the drink holder, condensation dripping and pooling around the loose change we need for the highway. It is warm and I keep drinking it. I am lazily flipping through country station, trying to find something I can listen to or laugh at—“This one! This one is absurd. I like it. I like it.” My hums come out captive, croaky, furtive, then strong. My hand whips out the window, feeling the dirt kicked up by tires and the sun and I wave (not on my own accord but the wind!) at every Volvo and car and motorcycle that goes by. Kid presses his face to the window. I think briefly about pressing back, but lean more into the seat instead. My back hurts, my shirt is sticking slightly to the seat. I contemplate buying cigarettes and roll my neck around in an attempt to loosen it. I sing a song I don’t know I knew. “Take a left!” An impromptu exit, paved by the gods with neon signs and flickering lights. We stop into a tiny dive for some tacos, warm and soft in a place that smells like tortilla and hisses steam. The salsa drips down the corner of my mouth, hits the wooden bench (rife with splinters, I’m sure), and onto the dirt. I drink a beer, cold. Back in the car, we watch the sky turn purple-pink, our bodies hoping for showers and beds and blankets. I flip to something like Patsy Cline. I kiss him on the cheek as he drives, lean all the way over with my seatbelt still on. It will be a long night and a long drive. Later, the stars begin to race us home.
That is all.