all my life I’ve hidden who I am
I would tell people I was one thing when in my heart, I knew I was another
and I tried to convince myself that I was something I’m not
well no longer
I’m ready to accept myself for who I am and I want you guys to be the first to know, because you’re so supportive and wonderful
so here it goes
I am not, as previously claimed, a Ravenclaw
I am a Hufflepuff
If I Ever Win the Lottery
(After I finance a cure for cancer and AIDS, eradicate child hunger, bullying, etc, etc)
For one whole calendar week I am going to purchase all of the late night airtime ordinarily occupied by infomercials. (Okay, except for maybe one or two infomercials. People ought to have a choice of how to be bored in the middle of the night.) During that week, my purchased television time will be nothing but videos of people trying to bandage their dominant arm.
I’ve done it for about a week now, and it has brought such joy into my life. After trying on jeggings and playing mini golf, it’s easily the funniest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching myself do.
I wish I still had someone to really talk about writing with, like talking through the scene creation process and all that. Or, maybe better yet, someone to just give me vague ideas. I’m pretty good at dressing bare bones in somewhat good-looking flesh, but I can’t create bare bones out of nothing. The problem is that I’m more of a technique person than an idea person, maybe?
a friend who actually knows me.
“oh, there you are. haven’t seen you all day.”
“i was in my room.”
“were you reading?”
flabbergasted. a sniffle. then … “how can you tell?”
“your eyes, ly - they are puffy.”
it’s silly, i know. shouldn’t be that surprised, but i was surprised nonetheless. the question, “but how - why?”, i had to swallow it back. my unsightly puffy eyes, really?
and i know, i know just then, that i am going to name one of my daughters after her. or a pet. :3
whichever comes first. (most probably the latter).