I’ve been having the most vivid dreams and sometimes I get confused as a result. Did that really happen or not? Lately, I’ve been having super realistic dreams that D and I have broken up, which is weird because our relationship is probably stronger than ever. Brains are weird, right?

I like that sore feeling in my legs. Like I know I did something and I feel alive.

Feeling wanted is its own sort of high.

Writing it down is important. So that you can remember it later.

Sometimes I think about that dude that passed out under our Christmas tree when I was a teenager and I wonder what ever happened to him.

In the new house, we will have three Christmas trees, one of which will be a twelve foot tree (in the great room).

I’m not scared of spiders. They’re actually pretty cool when you think about it.

There is nothing more disappointing than a terrible cookie. Girl Scout cookies are kind of terrible to be honest.

I think the thing I’ll miss most about city living is the cookie delivery.

I don’t know how to watch tv alone.

Party never/read forever.

I got so good at turning it off. Now you feel it. Now you don’t.

I will burn the bridge. Every single time.

The talking leads to touching, and the touching leads to sex, and then there is no mystery left.

The purrs and the blankets and the pillows and the books.

The other day I read this blog post a (tumblr) friend of mine wrote about how much she has suffered with self-esteem issues since her ex cheated on her. It made me cry and then I wanted to call my own ex and apologize. But I have. So many times. I have to learn to forgive myself.

He likes to tell me he’s not that person anymore. I’m not either though. Not even close. Isn’t that actually a good thing though? Let’s finally be the people we were always meant to be.

Boom, bitch.

I drank the Jack Daniels straight from the bottle and I yelled down to you from the 7th floor window that you should go fuck yourself. Then I puked in an ice bucket. Welcome to my 1998.

I think you’re crazy. I’m also sort of jealous of you. Mostly, I try to forget you exist.

Did you pay the iron price?

When I was a little girl, I used to hang out at my (step) grandmother’s house and spend hours paging through JCPenney catalogs and imaging an entirely different life for myself.

You were there. And then you weren’t. And then it hurt. And then it didn’t. Now…it doesn’t matter anymore.

He makes me feel free.

I write it because I never want to regret not writing it.

So many plans, so little time.