Yes and No and Maybe

The ramblings of a token twenty-something: young, wild and indecisive

I used to think I was tough, but then I realized I wasn’t. I was fragile and I wore thick fucking armor. And I hurt people so they couldn’t hurt me. And I thought that was what being tough was, but it isn’t.

—James Frey  (via c-elestee)

(via writrs)

On Settling Down

My mom has this fear that because her and my dad aren’t together anymore it’s going to affect the way I view relationships for the rest of my life and I’ll be averse to the whole marriage thing forever and it will all be her fault.

Well, it will, I might be, and it’s not, but here’s the thing: I don’t even have a favorite food or a favorite sweater or a favorite brand of toothpaste. So how could anyone ever expect me to have a favorite person?

P.S. I may have lied. It may be Crest. 

P.P.S. I did lie. It is Crest.

Ampersand Overload

Sometimes our eyes meet & I can’t help but picture it, if only for a moment.

You & me & chocolate milk picnics by the water. Cartwheels & sunshine & and the sweet smelling sweat & only sand between our skin.

Cross country train rides with my head on your shoulder & my fingers in your hair; you’ve got my heart in one hand & the other at the window making condensation masterpieces.

Games of hide & seek under down comforters & on the kitchen floor.

Rain waltzes & puddle leaps. Tequila burns & campfire sparks. After dark swims lit by hair curling laughter & dinosaur tears.

Our fingers tied together all through sunny side up mornings & lazy afternoons, your pretty painted sunsets & shooting starry eyed midnights.

For a moment it’s all there and it’s exactly what I want. Every heart-swelling detail. And it’s so bloody brilliant that for a moment I am sure you want it too. But then the moment’s gone. 

Until the next sometime. 

Devil’s Advocate Blind Collaboration Challenge

Ordinary Eccentricities

No one ever tells you how much work it is,
Or how often they will ask it of you.
To sand down all of your edges
So you can fit inside their boxes. 
And while you wouldn’t dare to say it,
Amid the blood the sweat the tears
One thought does weigh on your mind:
Maybe ordinary wouldn’t hurt so much.

     - yesandnoandmaybe

Romans, Countrymen and Lovers! hear me for my cause:
Everyone is weird — You! You! You! And indeed I;
One man’s idiosyncrasy is another’s normalcy,
like meat is poison and rather poison partake —
for how bland a life, how blasé and banal
to exist without quirks nor quaint.
How awful to sand a square round to conformity;
How austere to embrace ordinary when each is unique, each special.

     - thewriteofi

It could happen.

Sometimes my brain does things that convince me that when I’m old and there’s no one left to love me, I’ll still be able to keep myself quite entertained. For example, when I work closing shifts at the hotel I have to lock all the bathrooms on the second and third floors. I always just knock on the main door and yell out, “Helllloooo!” Mrs. Doubtfire style and then do a quick sweep through to make sure no ones in there since you can’t open the door from the inside once it’s locked with a key. 

Yeah, like that. Every day. And it always crosses my mind that I should really check every individual stall just in case someone is in there, only they’ve got a full body bind curse on them and are wearing an invisibility cloak. Not like, maybe someone drank too much and fell asleep on the bathroom floor (that did happen once, quite an awkward wake up call), but just maybe Draco Malfoy put a spell on one of my guests who also happens to own mystical clothing. 

That’s where my brain goes. Every single time. 

I’ve said it before & I’ll say it again: Ingrid Michaelson just knows my life.