I’m always going to be

On the outside.

I’m looking at you

Looking at her,

She’s looking ahead,

And we’re all just running around

In circles,

Going nowhere,

Like there’s anywhere left to go.


Looking in


Rose tinted glasses,

Or beer goggles.

Too simple for you?

Or too crazy?

Or just nothing to lust?

I know.

It’s fine.

I always knew.

It’s fine.

It’s still sunny here

On the outside.


Pink Hurricanes

I dream of pink hurricanes.

Yes, aside from my inception-esque dreams that delve layers and layers deep into my subconscious mind, I also dream of countless, more overt dream symbols. Two nights ago it was pink hurricanes. That’s a new one. I’ve dreamed regularly of catastrophic events like hurricanes but never have I had one with colour.

Now, I’m such a sucker for dream analysis, and I swear by it to such extremes, that I often find myself analyzing my dreams whilst still in them. When I awaken, I take great pleasure in spending those first waking minutes interpreting my night’s adventures into the self. For the fun of it, I sometimes look up certain symbols on this one site that I find inexplicably accurate in its interpretations.

Understandably, the hurricane represents strong and/or destructive emotions, and being swept up by one is quite like being consumed by your own emotions. This is very much what I’ve been noticing over the past week or so and thus the symbol didn’t reveal anything new to me. Until I considered it in context of the colour it was.

Pink is a colour traditionally associated with love and affection, right? (Now that I think about it, it all seems so obvious.) In my efforts to push past certain obstacles I’ve been having to deal with, one of the mistakes I had allowed myself to make involved displacing some romantic feelings. I just didn’t want to admit it until now. Such is my ego.

Admitting it now, though, is still a step in the right direction, and doing so had the profound effect of shattering the delusions my Freudian defense mechanisms had dreamed up. Something about confronting the things I used to go out of my way to avoid (short of putting myself in an actual coma) seems to loosen their hold on me.

Granted, there are certain feelings that remained after I’d removed my rose-tinted lenses. I know exactly why and what these are and I stand by them. They do pose somewhat of a problem for me and I shall have to take some time to consider their implications. But all in all, I can literally breathe easier now that I have this load off my chest, this pink hurricane of emotions now lifted.

Then again, I could just be in the eye of the storm. Only time will tell.

You. Yes, I Mean You

When we met,

I didn’t know that I would love you,

But I knew that I could.

I just didn’t know

How easy you’d make it.


Yes, I mean you.

Don’t you shy away

From me now.

You felt it too.

You knew it

Long before I did.


Yes, I mean you.

I won’t play

This game of chess

With you,


I lay down my king to you.


Yes, I mean you.

I don’t give my love


So be gentle,


I hope you know what this means.


Yes, I mean you.


I love words. I love figuring them out, deconstructing them, putting them together. Probably why I got near perfect SAT scores. One of my few claims to bragging rights. One of the words I’ve been thinking about lately is a former top-ten word of mine: misery.

Does it sounds familiar? Misery. As in ‘miser’. Do those words sound related? Maybe not right away. You can have one without the other right? Well, they both originated centuries ago, like Dark Age stuff, from much the same root.

The now-obsolete meaning of ‘miser’ was ‘a wretch, a person who is unhappy or miserable’. Oddly, this came from a Latin word that meant ‘infatuation’. While we kept the meaning of misery on, we ditched the original definitions of miser in favour of ‘stingy’ or ‘person who hoards money’.

But the word ‘misery’ and my former obsessive penchant for wallowing in it got me thinking a little deeper. I was never a miser with money, but I was always a miser with my pain.

Forget the original meaning of miser. I had some masochistic pleasure in wallowing in miser-y. I was addicted to my pain, filled with self-pity and loathing. Whenever someone tried to pull me out of it, or gave me a thousand reasons to pull myself out of it, I would childishly kick and scream rather than let it go. I didn’t want to let it go.

There is something comforting in the familiar. When we’ve had years and years of conditioning and reinforcement, we become set in our ways. Misers, hoarders of our emotions, our beliefs, our possessions, our loved ones. We don’t want to share, so we feel jealous, angry, hurt, even desperate, driving us to extremes of which we never knew ourselves capable.

Change, however good or bad, can be distressing, because it can mark an immense upheaval. When the world around us changes, it’s like someone pulled the rug out from under us. Reality is shattered, and the cognitive dissonance sends our minds into a tizzy as we try to incorporate the change into our perception.

Our vision might adjust over the course of time and we get used to things, but then suddenly, everything changes again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

My way of dealing was, like I said, to kick and scream and regress, only to cause more and more shit to hit the fan.

Well, rather than dealing with change like this, there is a constructive alternative. When the world around us changes, we can change with it. Flow. Commit to being just dynamic enough in our character (if that’s not oxymoronic) to take change in our stride.

Got dumped? It’s going to hurt like hell for a while, but you already know that, and you can accept that, but it doesn’t take away from you the good stuff you had, nor does it prevent you from having more or even better stuff ahead. You can still move forward in full awareness and ride the waves. Like me, I’m using the last of my free days to write a book about my experiences. Psychologists call it sublimation.

Lost your job? Well, there are millions of jobs that could be a better fit for you, jobs that need people like you. Or maybe you have ideas of your own that you can now work on while in between jobs. Ride the waves.

But if you, like I was, are addicted to and hoarding your suffering, you won’t ever see progress, you won’t ever attain enlightenment, and you sure as hell won’t ever find peace.

I can tell you, peace sounds boring AF. But it isn’t. It really really isn’t. In fact, quite the contrary. Peace, as I’ve come to know it, makes every day profoundly fascinating and exciting.

No more miser-y for me. Hope you feel the same. Now go be awesome. I’m off to do the same.


A mystery

Tall dark and handsome

Can’t pretend I understand

But he sees right through me

I know he’s there


But I can’t stop

These games we play

The mask before my affections

Hides nothing

Maybe a conscious choice

To ignore

Do you see?

Do you know?

I shed the veil

My head held high


I’ll keep this to myself

I walk




I never thought about these things before. Didn’t really have the time until now. But it’s something that seems to keep popping up in recent events and encounters. Maybe opposites do attract in a sense; only in the face of adversity, we find our strength, only in the face of fear, we find bravery, and only in the face of our darkest times, we find the light.

Maybe this is just more of my inner violence seeking resolution, or comfort, or closure, so it’s telling me what I want to hear. I kinda don’t mind even if it is. It works for me. It’s the only thing that seems to anyway. But people keep telling me that’s not how it’s supposed to go. That the entirety of it requires thorough cleansing, a total purge. And this doesn’t fit in with my understanding and my resolve.

I’ve always run away from conflict, or confrontation. Always tried to run from my issues, which is why it all came to a head last year. And suddenly some part of me is now just flat out refusing to run from the hardest of all things. It’s astonishing, it’s weird, and it’s puzzling. To anyone who doesn’t understand where it comes from. The one person that does, fortunately for me, is enough to inspire me and remind me that it’s all worthwhile. That through this road less travelled, I will be stronger, braver, and brighter. Without the tough stuff, how can I grow?

Maybe it isn’t normal, what I’ve chosen. Maybe, as people have repeatedly told me, it’s impossible to stare right into the eyes of those demons and live to tell the tale. But I have laughed in the face of impossibility, and I will laugh and laugh again. I’m still the impossible girl. So. I dunno… Just. Watch me.

Morning Meanderings

There’s supposed to be a silver lining to every dark cloud, so I guess there’s one around the gloomy weather that hangs over my head. When I look in the mirror though, and I see that dark cloud, it’s not everyday that I see the shimmer. Today’s one of those days.

It’s not getting any easier, in fact, it seems to be getting harder to keep together all these pieces that have been hastily glued in place with some mild adhesive. The bits of string tied around the whole thing are snapping one by one and I’m not sure it will be long before it all falls to shambles again.

So maybe I’ll try focusing on the silver I’ve seen over these past few weeks. My writing has been seeing a resurgence. I’ve been finding my style (a penchant for alliteration and one-word titles) and writing more often, gotten back into journalling too. The rough reality of it all has at least been an inspiration for my writing, and then there’s reformation of thinking patterns and behavioural patterns to some extent…

But that’s not enough. Why is it never enough? Why is contentment and settling so hard to stomach? And what about the battle, do you stand and fight or surrender? On the one hand, you could be fighting a losing battle, so you might as well surrender; but on the other, even fighting and losing is better than throwing in the towel from the get-go.

I’d rather fight, frankly. I’ve always been a quitter, but I’ve never had anything mean so much to me that I didn’t want to give up on it. Even if it’s a losing battle, at least I’ll know that I tried. Okay, trying and failing could be an even greater slap in the face at the end of it all, a bruise, a final blow to an already battered ego. But along the way there will be many profound life lessons and immense progress, and I know this because I’ve already seen its initiation.

So, now that I’ve given myself a bit of a pep talk, I think I’m okay to face the rest of the day. One day at a time, one day at a time. One. Day. At a time.