I care. I think we can all agree that I care a lot. Kind of like the Care Bears. Sometimes I even care too much. I like writing on here because it lets me see what my brain looks like on “paper.” I said “paper” in quotes because this is definitely not paper. It’s a computer screen, or a phone, or a tablet or whatever the fuck you are reading this on. I doubt anyone is actually reading this except for maybe me. Whatever, who cares? OH I DO! I forgot that I actually care. So I’m writing a young adult novel (sort of, maybe it’s more like New Adult) but it’s about two teenagers who are in love. The guy is a graffiti artist. The girl doesn’t know where he is most of the time or if he’s in jail. It’s like a forbidden romance. I need to do research into what it’s like to be a graffiti artist because I have no idea about the language used in that world.
Side note I am pretending to be normal and go on with my life like nothing is happening in my brain that is sad but in reality I am really sad and distracted by sadness and it’s hard to pretend to be normal because I suck at acting even though I went to The Fame High School for drama. You know that movie FAME? I can’t fake shit. It sucks. I’m in pain and it sucks and it’s hard.
Moving on.
Here comes another sad song on ITunes as I write this. My blog is so not about parenting anymore. It’s become a place where I journal and write nonsensical stream of consciousness things and hoping that the right people read them. I turned comments off though, so I won’t actually know if anyone reads this post.
Silence can be defeaning sometimes. It feels like a punch in the chest, the gut, the heart, the vagina. I don’t believe I have ever been punched in the vagina. One time when I was around nine, some asshole kid kicked me in the vagina and that was mean. And I told him so. I was like “HEY! You kicked me in the crotch!” Because at the time, I didn’t feel comfortable using the word “vagina.” It is a strange word, isn’t it though?
I wrote this killer poem and I am having difficulty figuring out if I am brave enough to publish it. It’s hard, it’s vulnerable, it’s raw, and I don’t know what my intention is for writing it. Not true, my intention is to heal and to release pain.
This is another ridiculous blog post. Bye.
