"This is just fascinating

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This.

I love my job. It is rewarding on both intellectual and spiritual levels. I feel competent and talented at what I do. I am not threatened by coworkers or anyone else. I am true to who I am always and that truth is part of why I am good at what I do. I am courageous and creative - I contribute a new depth in my field. I am published. I am a writer - any kind of writer, someone who writes for the sake of ideas and human connection and not for my ego. I am not egotistical in regards to my talents, because I understand that everyone around me is mutually talented, distinct, and beautiful in their own way. I am kind at work. I am not a gossip. I am consistently comfortable with those that I come into contact with at work, and they are not threatened by me either. My work makes me feel alive. It makes my life more purposeful, richly textured and complete. I am a little excited when I go to work, because I know there is potential for something wonderful. I confront drawbacks with an attitude of healing and forgiveness and I never continue to hurt myself by not forgiving myself for any mistakes I may have made. I laugh while I'm at work. I am happy. I do not stare at the clock.

I make enough money to pursue my interests, which span from fashion to reading to art to travel to interior decorating to coffee shops and to any other passions I may discover. I spend three weeks in Europe every year. I am not controlled by money - not by desiring or needing more. I am comfortable. My house is small but beautiful. My home is a place of tranquility and beauty. It is reflective of my soul and the warmth I find in the world. There is so much light. I am not seduced by spending and spend only on things that add to the aesthetic of my world. I have one wonderful meal a week but cook the rest. I cook. I am sufficient at it, capable of creating something delicious and healthy. I always have enough money to spare for organic foods and other activities that are healthy. I do not think about money. I am healthy.

I do not smoke. I do not think about smoking.

this thing on the inside of my mouth.

So, for the hour or so that I've been awake, I've been relentlessly tonguing this... bubble on the inside of my mouth. And it hurt, but it hurt in that way that I kind of like the way it hurt, but now its just starting to fucking hurt regular and it sucks.

I think this lesion is symptomatic of my preoccupation with tearing up the insides of my mouth. I know that several websites I've come across consider "mouth biting" to be self-harm but c'mon. It's like biting your fingernails but a bit bloodier. It's still tremendously gross and I'm not sure why it's so gratifying, but I sincerely consider it to be one of the finest pleasures life could ever offer. Some people must be able to relate to this. Like ripping off the skin around your nails or cracking your knuckles or pulling off scabs - things that are nasty but super fun! I would not say, however, that mouth biting rivals the sobriety of more traditional forms of self mutilation but at the same time, I sometimes wind up with a mouth full of blood. And that's kind of weird.

This is really not what I meant to write, but

the weather is awful
i am still lackadaisically seeking employment
and
my sleeping schedule has returned, regrettably, to vampire mode which puts me in a trance from the hours of 4 to 6, listlessly wondering if there were 15 minutes of wonderful daytime sunshine that are now gone forever.

But on a brighter note. Today is MLK day. And GOLDEN GLOBE DAY. What are the chances?

Here We Go Again.

Because I am vastly insecure about still being the type of person who will openly display their feelings on the internet, I have to preface this virgin entry with the following:

I am so tired of not writing. I've written my entire life. I can't, for the life of me, conceive of any stories/poems/essays/eulogies, etc. and haven't been able to in awhile. But, in times of dire need, I can always manage to write about....you guessed it: MY FEELINGS. While I recognize that I could and should do this privately, I am thirsty to put words together and nothing else is coming. I enjoy writing for an audience and for whatever annoying reason, the quality of my writing when pen is put to actual paper somehow seems to decrease. I think it's because I press too hard and make my hand ache.

If anyone actually begins to follow this (and I'm sure I will force at least one of my friends to read it) I'd also like to apologize for the fact that I have no desire or skill insofar as posting music, links, pictures, or information beyond my own limited horizons, i.e. my opinions.

I guess it would be nice actually, to force my music on people outside of a car, so maybe I should try and do that, after all.

I've written so little and I'm already exhausted! It's alright - soon I will be posting long winded prose poems about my search for god and hours worth of self analysis that will ultimately only be of use to myself and my bloodthirsty need to become The Most Self-Aware-But-Unusually Prone-To-Bad-Behavior-Anyways 23-year-old girl in the world! And my quest for enlightenment, which I assure you, is VERY, VERY real. Here's to the future!