All those times,

I thought you were reassuring me,

but I guess maybe

you were reassuring



My second favourite scene was when the baby chick thought Otis was his mummy.

Remember when the doe taught Milo to frolic?

“Just let your heart lead, and your feet will follow. And we’ll bound and leap, like a gentle breeze. Bound and leap, like a zephyr set free. Bound, and of course, leap.”

On learning to accept myself for the weepy emotional baby that I am

Being sensitive to the world is a tough thing. It takes a while to figure out.

When you’re a sensitive kid, everything makes you cry. When you get a little older, crying is embarrassing, so you pretend like nothing bothers you. Then you start to convince yourself that nothing bothers you and you don’t care. Can’t tell that person I’m interested in them, because then they’ll know I care, and I can’t have that. Can’t tell this person that I’m feeling insecure today and could use some reassurance, because I need them to think I don’t care. Look at me and how little I care about everything, I’m so cool.

But I’m NOT cool and I DO CARE. SO MUCH.

So you’re constantly at war with yourself, beating yourself back to keep anybody from seeing you. “You can’t come out today, me. We’ve got too much to do and we don’t have time for a crying break every 2 hours. Back in your cupboard where you’re safe.” Then I boarded up that fucking cupboard and didn’t listen to a thing that bitch had to say for years. Nothing bad. Nothing good. Just nothing. I’m cool, I don’t care.

I was 26 when I had the saddest thought of my life thus far: “I guess I’m just miserable as an adult. I guess I just don’t enjoy things anymore. I guess this is just who I am.”

But wait.

This isn’t me. This is a persona that I created to try and make my life easier. So why is everything so hard? Why don’t I remember the last time I laughed at anything? Maybe life was better when I just cried sometimes. Maybe I went a little overboard on the “cool” angle here.

I’m sorry, me. I’m sorry for always putting you down and never seeing the good you had to offer. I’m sorry for ignoring you and trying to make you into somebody else. I’m sorry that I was embarrassed to be you.

Let’s not fight anymore.

You are good enough. 

Let me repeat that.

You are good enough. 

True beauty or talent is, in my opinion, the thing that you have that no one else has that you have nurtured into something amazing. Nothing kills that faster than constantly comparing yourself to other people and trying to be like them.

So just be yourself, don’t make any apologies and don’t try to hide how great you are even for a second.

‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit. 

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’ 

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’ 

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.’

I think three cats is too many anyway

When I got home tonight there was a strange cat sitting in the front hall of my building. Friendly little calico thing.

I opened my apartment door and she just strolled right in and I considered just letting her stay with me forever. But I decided to do the right thing and check with the neighbours to see if she belonged to one of them. She belonged to the lady downstairs so I left her there and came back home to my two dumb entitled cats who don’t even care about me and don’t even REMEMBER how I RESCUED them.

I miss her.

I would have named her Roxy.

I think she would have been a good addition to my cat lady lifestyle.

My Artistic “Process”

  1. “Hey, I could probably do this one totally achievable thing that would look cool.”
  2. “OR… I could do a set of THREE things that would look RAD but are completely beyond the scope of my abilities.”
  3. “Yeah I better get started on that second thing I said so I can start hating myself when it doesn’t turn out how I want.”
  4. Try the thing
  5. Hate it
  6. Abandon it and doubt everything about who I am for two days
  7. Maybe come back to it and make it into something completely different or never come back to it again but feel like a failure either way