That moment when you forget something then have to go back into the room where you first thought of it to remember it. The brain is a crazy place…I hope they’re enjoying themselves up there.
The BLVD
A great place to scroll yet constantly under construction.
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Just a girl wishing for the days when Times New Roman was the end all be all.
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My glass may no longer be full of alcohol as drinking has ceased for me these days, but in this new year my glass is now always full. There’s a constant thirst for life. I’m excited daily, when I think about talking to my family, seeing my friends, going to work, eating breakfast, sleeping…and waking up! The day excites me and that keeps things in perspective.
Because things feel as if they are constantly shifting, like chaos has been let out the house to have a field day. But now he cannot be gathered back inside. The streetlights have come on and he’s still not home. Every day there’s some news that could drag me down into the abyss, but then I remember that excitement is a part of hope’s palatability. And I remember that chaos has tools too. One being despair, who is eager to squash the complexities that are human emotions like the blunt end of a hammer to push for singularity.
Chaos thrives in disorder and confusion, builds and grows like an energy force waiting to steamroll us all. But then, one day, when it seems like “if it’s not one day it’s another”, I take a peek around the chaos and find clarity. That there is a way out, if not around then through. That there are those who are thriving in such disorder with the hope that most won’t. But the truth of the matter is sobering all the same. I’ve let them hammer me and hammer me, let them try to douse the fire of my hopefulness. But then I remember myself.
I remember my complexities. I remember my excitement. I am reminded of my fight. I remember that chaos is controlled, but not by me, and that it was not I who opened the door. But it is my responsibility to regulate my reactions to the consequences. So I choose excitement. I choose Thirsty Thursdays again, not for bottomless margs at Happy Hour (I miss you), but that thirst for life. -
As 2025 draws to a close, I am happy to admit that the most radical, yet underrated, word I learned to say this year… was NO.
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This time of year always gets me right in the heart. For some this is when the best of people is on display…while for others it’s the worst. Things always seem to come to a head when people gather and are meant to feel.
Feel what? I can’t say for certain. But that’s the beauty in it.
I feel. I feel. I feel.
And that’s enough for me to end the year glad that I can feel something. It lets me know I’m alive.
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There he was, waiting for me to leave.
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You know what’s crazy, me trying to log in to my Bath & Body Works account and my computer asking me if I’m a robot. Me? You’re asking me to prove I’m human?
That’s called projection, babe.
It’s 7 am and wallflowers are $2.95, don’t piss me off.
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The only thing that kids should be hooked on is PHONICS.
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Tuesday is a yellow in the fall and teal every other season. I won’t elaborate further.
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A few years back, while waiting for my morning chai at the coffee spot down the street from my place, I saw a woman with a plethora of buttons on her denim jacket. From a VW Beetle to a pink lizard flipping any passerby the bird, there had to be at least twenty buttons adorning the back – far too many for me to analyze while waiting for my name to be yelled out. But there was enough time for me to read the black block letters the buttons encircled. “Everything is Art” it said, bold and in all caps like a commanded statement.
I haven’t stopped thinking about that since.
From the obvious: sculptures, paintings, etchings, scribbles in the corner of my notebooks and small flowers drawn on my calendar, to the not so obvious: the rug in my living room, the clothing hamper in the corner of the bedroom, the toilet I’m sitting on as I write this. It’s all art – in the sense that it was created, for a purpose to emote some feeling or for some use that was necessary, essential even, at the time. It was created, by someone’s hands, or maybe a machine…but that machine was programmed by someone’s hands! So that makes it art. It is art. All of it. Everything we see. Once I accepted that, everything felt amazing and beautiful and my bathroom felt all the more vibrant!
I told my coworker, Lydia, about the jacket and the subsequent existential crisis that followed, sans the toilet. She thought it was cool, because it was. And of course, of course Ben, the eavesdropper that he was and the coworker I just couldn’t seem to turn Jessica Alba invisible woman around, wanted to give his unsolicited opinion. “That’s a gross overstatement. Not EvErYtHiNg is art,” he said, so smug and satisfied that we actually stopped conversing for him to get a word in. I took what he said personally. So personal that I decided to dust off the old Tumblr fingers and create this blog. Tumblr died some ten years ago when I left, obviously. But WordPress is still here and I’m going to start up again circa 2011. Nostalgia is sweet, having taste is sweeter though. So enjoy my random posts about things I think are cool, cute, and randomly insightful (maybe?)…because yes, everything is art, including this here blog! So suck it Ben!
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This is the BLVD, where my dreams come to sleep.
The BLVD 