fun blog

I got a new bottle of fragrance today. Nest New York. There must be something weird in how they make their parfums because I've used their products once before and both occasions, left this strange dry down with two completely different scents.

So naturally, I looked to the fragrance oil I got during the height of our relationship, when everything felt new and we kept each other warm in those cold, cold days. Santa Barbara Strawberry, I missed you. I'm going to choose to forget how she made me wait to get it to be sure if she liked it. I'll forget that. It's not important anymore.

But as I looked at this tiny red bottle with the oil dropper, I was struck by how little I've used. It seemed like I used it every day, and the scent was a constant companion. I suppose I was wrong. If I got that bottle today, I would think it was still full. I can't quite put how it makes me feel, but the tears come when I think about it.

It's comforting, I think. To think on that time where everything was new and on fire and felt like I was burning on both ends, and see physical proof that it was only a speck of dust on the page of a chapter of the book of my life. There's still so much oil left. So much left to use up, so much left to experience.

How strange life is. It's a hell of a ride, truly. Honestly, I'm glad I can still feel as intensely as I have been. It hasn't been fun, it really hasn't. But I'm not dead and decaying. Even if it's bruised and red and angry and irritated, that's still alive. That can still be fixed.

I like this writing thing. I should do it more often. And read, too. Doing this makes my mind feel clear. And every time I do it, I get that much better at expressing myself, at putting my feelings into thoughts into words into meaning into feeling again. And I like that people, even if only a few, might see this and read it. I think it's much better to just say what's on your mind instead of worrying what other people might think it's bad or cringe or weird or whatever. I like that quote from the critic in Ratatouille (the movie) where he says that worthless junk probably has more meaning than the criticism designating it so. I'm going to start expressing myself loudly, now. And whoever hears it, hears it. I think I'm ready to have a better life.

How strange it is, to be anything at all.

I trimmed some of my bangs today. Ordered three new books. Was going to apply to target because they pay well, but the application assessment just wouldn't work. I'll do it tomorrow, I guess. Cleaned out my wax melter.

And that old/new wax melt I used once i was done cleaning. They say your sense of smell is most deeply tied to memory. These days I live mostly in my memories- I can't make any new ones. Anyways, the strawberry wax melt. It had me remembering. I felt as if any moment you might come in through my door, and hug me.

And I might lift you up in my arms and all your doubled joints would pop, and you might let me lay my head on your chest. In that very moment I wouldn't have blinked if you showed up in your car with your dad's neil young CD's and your xbox and your short red hair and your crochet and your drawings and your voice

You might have stolen my jacket, if I weren't already wearing it. We might've gone out and seen the stars, or went to the ice rink, or kissed and laughed until our faces went numb forever. But you had to break up with me. All I wanted was just a few hours to myself and you couldn't take it. I made time for you every single day. I Showed you everything there was about me. I tried so hard for you. Don't you realize how much trust it took, simply to let you into my life?

I never stopped loving you. I loved you with everything I had. I still care. I love you and I hate you and all I want is to cry in your arms and all I want is to never see you again. Please leave me alone/stay forever. Someone please give me a hug. It makes me so jealous. As fucked up as your family is, I know they probably helped you through this. Talks with your mother, hugs from your brother. Advice from your father. I don't get that. It's just me most days. I'm all alone and it's all your/my fault.

I can only imagine how much you're hurting. Please forgive me/yourself. Someone please save/choose/forgive me. Someone please repair this broken heart

Seeing like, y2k (my birthright as a 2005 baby, kinda. i know yeah yeah it's not as good as it seems, rose colored glasses, but i have a photographic memory and i very vaguely remember the 2000's. i remember my mom getting the first iphone) and 1999.

It's so gritty and realistic it's amazing. And seeing Arthur and the protoframes? In comparison to regular people, like you can tell how freakish and powerful they are. It's insane how far warframe has come. It feels like a totally different game, but it's still the same game