Why are you thinking about it.
Stop thinking about it.
Don’t think about it.
What’s there to think about.
Cut it out.
Cut the crap.
Cut your loss.
Get it out.
Get away.
Get over it.
Let it go.
Let it lie.
Let it be.
Shut it down.
Turn it off.
Pull the plug.
Look ahead.
Move along.
Take a walk.

The story of us.

The story I don’t want to write is the story I wish I could write. It’s the one that keeps me up at night. The one I keep dancing around. The story of us.

I spend so much time trying to convince myself it was nothing. I’m having limited success. I despise you. I never want to see you or hear from you again.

Lies I tell myself.

I don’t want to write about you because I don’t want to remember how much fun it was and how alive you made me feel because the reality of the us makes me feel like a fool.

I was wrong and I don’t like being wrong.

I want the story of us to be over. I don’t want to feel these feelings or think these thoughts or deal with this bullshit anymore.

The story of us is irrelevant because the reality of us is nonexistent.



I’ve been writing your name
in my journals
(on and off)
for as long as I’ve had journals.
You were always there.
And you’ll never not be here.

I hate it.

I don’t hate you.
How could I ever hate you.
You knew me when
I was shy
and not popular
and insecure
and had hair that didn’t fit with the trend.

I don’t love you.
How could I ever love you.
You knew I cared
and yet you teased
everything you wanted out of me.
It’s my fault too.
It takes two.

But I do miss you.
How could I ever not.
You knew me singularly
and I don’t want to stop thinking
about those nights
and that sunrise.

Maybe one day
I’ll dream about someone else.
I’ll write about someone new.
But until then
it’s you.

Summer school

Summer school

I’m sad to see the summer end.
It really is one of my favorite times of year.
Give me warm, sunny weather
and I can take on the world.
This summer was wild.
I learned a few things.
If your body says no, listen.
If your mind says go, take a breath.
When your heart says yes, that’s how you know.
Cheers to lessons learned.

Labor Day

I woke up feeling rather uninspired. The day felt more like a Monday and less like a summer holiday. It felt gray, dreary, humid. It was also very early. I set alarms for 7:15am and 7:30am every day. Almost every day. What can I say? I love mornings.

This morning I dragged my ass to the gym because it’s right there and even if I do the absolute minimum, it’s better than the alternative, which would be absolutely nothing. Drip by drip. Rome wasn’t built in a day. You got this girl. Also, your body is amazing.

I’m figuring out new habits/routines that work best for me right now. I’m creating space for the new and part of that is letting go of the old to free up space that has always been there. I’m accepting the fact that I’m not going to be the person who is home for dinner. At this particular moment in my life.

My body is tired. I didn’t sleep well. Also, it took me for-fucking-ever to even fall asleep because I was anxious about the cockroach I watched scuttle across my bedroom floor. My initial thought was oh you must be joking, immediately followed by why me and a slew of profanities before I resigned to the fact that living in New York means living amongst the roaches so you might as well get some sleep so you can put your best face forward and face whatever tomorrow may bring.

Labor Day is a weird holiday.