If my life had a theme…

Photo by Peter Heilman via FlickrI recently read a blog by one personal growth guru or another about how each of us has a “theme” in our lives. Perhaps if we have more to learn (or maybe it’s just if we were cursed with a particularly challenging life) then we have more than one “theme.” These themes will show up in various situations until we have successfully learned the lesson. 

I knew in an instant what my theme was: loneliness. Apparently I haven’t passed the test, because this is something that’s lurked in my periphery for years.

There have been times when I thought that I had tamed the beast — formulating umpteen lists about why being alone was actually rad and creating new mantras that said, in so many words, “I am enough.” 

Yet, it continues to reappear like one of those spiders that’s been smashed by a shoe, swatted with a newspaper, and sprayed with Lysol — but still manages to scamper across the floor unscathed. 

I hate loneliness just about as much as I hate spiders. 

The truth is, I’ve deliberately chosen situations that come with a side effect of loneliness — not because I have some sick need to make myself miserable, but because each of those choices were the best thing for me at the time.

In high school I opted to leave what was familiar, for a slightly less “normal” situation: homeschooling by myself in the morning, then heading off to my local high school in the afternoon — a school where I knew maybe two people.

In college I said “hell no” to dorm life and opted for a commuter school instead. (Making friends is a bit harder when a good portion of your classes are with the 40+ crowd.)

After college I decided I wanted to create my own schedule and thus opted to call myself boss and work from home.

Add to that a long-term relationship with a military man turned overseas contractor and you have one huge life recipe for loneliness.

I’ve always had friends — good, lifelong friends — but these individual ties seem to connect me to people who do have a “community.” I don’t think I’ve ever fully felt like I’m apart of something larger, a group that would say that I belong.

In the past, this thought led me to experience some pretty dark patches in my generally sunny life. Now I simply see it as an observation — an invitation to welcome change and stop seeing this as my “story.” After all, I’d rather say “I sometimes experience loneliness,” than “I’m a lonely person.” 

There’s much snazzier adjectives I’d like to have describe me. 

Maybe it’s not an “aha” moment that we need to stop our “themes” from reappearing, maybe it’s just the ability to recognize them for what they are and acknowledge that they’re there to serve as a reminder. A reminder to tweak our thoughts and our actions so that we do get the outcome we desire.

Our outside circumstances stem from our internal experiences — so using what’s happening “out there” as proof that we are right in our feelings is actually looking at the outcome and saying that it caused the steps leading up to it.

It just doesn’t make any sense. 

I’ve created this feeling of loneliness, not by choosing the wrong place to live or people to be friends with, but by selecting that “loneliness” as my reality — no matter the situation I’m in.

What’s your reoccurring theme?


Playing Nice and Dropping the Drama : Birthday Resolutions Worth Sticking To

Photo by Will Clayton, via FlickrI’ve never really been one for setting New Year’s resolutions. The truth is, we’ve been told to set them, then inundated with all these facts and figures about why they don’t actually work — so what’s the point? 

It’s the same mentality that goes along with, “I’ll start the diet on Monday – ya know, after the weekend.” This is a spoken hall pass of sorts – one that gives the speaker permission to eat Big Macs and a pound of fries in the meantime.

So in between February (the month when all hope of receiving fantastic results from these New Years resolutions has dissipated) and December (when it comes time to start the fruitless cycle all over again) we let ourselves wallow in the habits of last year. The same ones that will probably continue the year after — if we rely on these resolutions to spur the house cleaning.

I do, however, believe that every birthday is a chance to start fresh. Maybe it’s because birthdays are a little more personal (and less of the “one size fits all” variety). Either way, this is when I like to re-evaluate the “me” I’d like to see in the coming year.

So with the big 2-4 looming around the corner, here are my list of intentions:

1. I intend on no longer entertaining the “my world is falling apart” mentality.

If I feel like things are off track in my work, relationships, etc., etc., etc., I am one dramatic bitch. My fear is that if I don’t express the dire nature of the situation to those around me, I may never be taken seriously. So I often speak as if my world as I know it is crumbling – and there’s no hope of anything getting better. Ever.

Clearly I need to take a chill pill on this. 

2. I intend on being kinder to others (translation: not so judgmental).

Ok, so we all judge. I’m just really, really good at it. If you are ever wondering why you should judge someone, just ask me. I’ll come up with a spectacular reason — and convince you of it’s validity while we’re at it. 

I realize I can’t make this go away at the drop of the hat, but I know that if I make an attempt to be more aware of when I’m doing it, eventually I’ll slow it down — until it stops altogether.

3. I intend on staring failure in the face.

I’ve realized over the course of the year that I am petrified of being told “no” — being turned down for another job, looked over for another opportunity — the list goes on and on. So in some aspects of my life I’ve stopped trying altogether. 

Yet I know that all of those huge accomplishments come with the threat of being turned down. So if I’m not willing to experience that, I’ll be shutting the door to some really great experiences.

It’s time to go big or go home. I’ll choose to go big.

4. I intend on being more grateful (no matter how sucky things are).

Perspective is a powerful thing — and mine needs some shifting. It’s so easy to get caught up in how things aren’t going according to plan (i.e. still making only pennies when my dreams were of the millionaire variety). But in the grand scheme of things I have it pretty great: I have a home, supportive friends and family, and the chance to actually pursue something I’m passionate about. 

How can I really be upset when I think about it that way? 

5. I intend on looking towards the possibilities.

Staring at the “what is” of a situation is not much fun. Looking at what is possible, on the other hand, is magical. Like driving past your dream home and imagining what kind of furniture you’ll buy for it when it’s yours. Or thinking about what it will feel like to board a plane bound for some tropical location you’ve only seen in posh travel magazines. 

This is where I want my focus to be for the next 365 days.

Now where’s the champagne??

Embracing Unrest and Fine Tuning My Intuition

When I was younger, wearing jeans would send me into full on panic attacks. It wasn’t the material that bothered me, it was the fact that they didn’t hug my ankles like my in-at-the-time stirrup pants did – the bagginess alone had the ability to make my palms sweat and my heart beat a little faster. If I was coerced into actually putting them on, I would spend a good thirty minutes (at least) attempting to roll the bottoms so they actually touched my skin. 

Even though the fact that a clothing item caused me such distressed was a bit, well, psychotic, it made one thing very clear: I knew from a young age – as we all do if we’re tuned into ourselves and our intuition – when things just didn’t feel right.  

For the past few years – and the past few days in particular – I’ve been wrestling with this feeling of unrest, attempting to find the “rightness” in where I am in this moment. Constantly feeling unsettled is driving me to the brink of insanity. 

Just for a moment I’d like to shut it off, forget the “big picture,” and convince myself that I don’t need to keep searching for fulfillment. You know – lose myself in a few days of drinking and pure indulgence and quiet that voice that keeps telling me there’s more out there.

Yesterday as I was spewing all this craziness out to anyone that would listen, my mom shed some much-needed light on the situation:

That ability to tell when things aren’t right is a blessing. It’s the Universe’s way of guiding you to something that fits better for you. If you didn’t have that you’d never move forward, never get out of your comfort zone, and never experience some of the greatest things life has to offer. That nagging feeling is there for a reason – it’s pushing you in the right direction. 

The truth is, she’s right (yes mom, I said you’re right). Every time I’ve made a big move in my life it was spurred on by this feeling that there was a better place for me – that I had the capacity to experience even more happiness than I was already experiencing. 

It’s not about failing to find happiness and beauty in the current moment, or looking outside for solutions to internal problems, it’s about allowing these feelings – something most people find as inconsequential – to serve as a guide to what should come next.

Out of all the things we strive to accomplish in our lives, I believe that nothing is more rewarding than experiencing a deeper sense of joy. The fact that we are able to discern between what will bring us closer to this state of being – and what will take us farther away – is amazing.

I still have that feeling of unrest, but instead of allowing it to represent what is currently lacking in my life, I’ll choose to see it as a guidance tool – a very clear indication that I have some really spectacular things waiting for me just around the corner.

After all, our reality is only as good or bad as we choose to see it…

Faith in Uncertainty

When life feels settled, things feel certain, and there’s little time for guessing what’s around the corner, it seems as if breathing comes easier. A little bit of boredom at least means that there’s probably not a whole lot to be losing sleep over. 

But when everything is up in the air – hanging like a cloud, debating whether to pour rain or let the sun peek through – it’s easy to concentrate on the question mark hanging over each and every situation. My life, as of late, seems to be one GIANT question mark.

I don’t know how everyone else handles lulls like this, but for me, I check everything. And re-check. And check again.

I check job boards, I check emails, I check my bank account, I check Facebook, I re-check emails, I check blog stats, I re-check Facebook, I check new job boards, I re-check emails. Etc. Etc. Etc.

It’s a little pathetic, I know.

The thing is, I don’t even really know what I’m looking for. 

I’m waiting for that one BIG thing – the job offer that would put my monthly income where it should be, the opportunity that would give me something to talk about, the lifeline that might pull me out to solid ground again.

And that’s how I know it’s not going to happen right now.

It’s not about being pessimistic, it’s about knowing that every big thing that’s ever happened in my life occurred when I wasn’t looking, wasn’t too invested, and was able to let go enough to be ok with any outcome – a place I’m so far away from at this point, I’d have to take three planes and a boat to get there.

Right now has become my mantra. I want to be swimming in an overflow of financial abundance RIGHT NOW. I want to have some amazing book deal in my hands RIGHT NOW. I want to be free from the stressors that I’ve been feeling RIGHT NOW.

Screw divine timing. I want things to happen when I want them to.

Unfortunately, I’m too aware of the fact that things just don’t work that way. But in the meantime  (did I mention that I HATE the meantime?), I have got to go through a “checking fast” – disconnecting from the uncertainty that comes from obsessing over email, job boards, etc.

Before writing this blog I was toying with actually setting parameters for myself – getting rid of Facebook on my phone, only checking email once a day or when I know that new emails have come in, severely restricting my online time to certain hours of the day. Then I started questioning what I might miss out on if I committed to such stipulations.

Clearly I wouldn’t miss out on anything substantial. But my mind is a stubborn asshole that likes me to believe that good things only come to those that dedicate themselves to being a psycho go-getter.

The truth is, all of this only shows my utter lack of faith – in myself, in the process, in the greater good. And that’s just not going to get me anywhere.

So for now, I’ll start out small. No more checking my inbox immediately after opening my eyes in the morning. No more checking Facebook one more time before I go to bed at night. Hopefully the rest will come naturally – with just a little bit of prodding.

Here goes nothin.’

Standing in My Truth

“Do you have a legitimate job yet? Maybe you should get a job at the Container Store…”

The words were flung at me without malice or ill intent, but they stung all the same – like sprinkling a generous heaping of salt on an already festering wound. They were thrown into a conversation with a family member known for spouting off hurtful words without truly realizing the effect they might have. I know this. But it knocked me off my feet all the same.

The truth is, when you work alone without someone checking in to see your progress or handing you outlined tasks to complete, its easy for people to question your work ethic. And it’s common for people to say, “So what do you do everyday??”

Layer this on top of the idea that tackling creative endeavors isn’t worthy of a paycheck and can never be funneled into a real career, and under the intense scrutiny of certain people, I’ve achieved nothing more in my day than the beggar on the street corner.

That’s a little hard to swallow. 

It’s interesting how many people allude to the idea that I’m following some pipe dream that can’t possibly result in anything substantial. They’re waiting with bated breath for the day when I’ll take any job that offers benefits.

My inability to see the reward in doing what I should do makes some people uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

Yet, I know that words don’t carry any substantial significance. They only carry power if I allow them to through my own belief of they’re validity. I don’t see myself as a raging success as a writer, so anyone questioning what I’m doing with my life adds fuel to an already burning fire.

Ironically (or not so ironically if you believe in divine timing), I was asked by an employer to write a blog today summarizing a video of Bob Proctor (one of the big-wigs from the movie The Secret).

I’m not a huge fan of Bob Proctor, but given the fact that he’s a self-made multi-millionaire, I would assume he knows a thing or two about making things happen. His message was this:

We have the ability to choose what we allow into our conscious mind. Once we allow things into our conscious mind, they are funneled into our subconscious mind. What takes up residence in our subconscious mind profoundly affects the results we see in our lives – so if we allow what someone says to trickle down into our subconscious mind, we’ll begin to see it become our reality.

Clearly it’s not about getting my well-meaning relative to say less hurtful things, it’s about getting to a place where I can stand so firmly in my truth that what they say just doesn’t matter.

It won’t happen overnight – as evidenced by the fact that I still have a pit of anger burning in my stomach – but coming to this realization is a healthy start in the right direction.

What truth do you need to stand in?



High Heels and Belly Buttons: Lessons from a Two Year Old

Barely two and a half and already acting like a sixteen year old with infinite knowledge of the world, my doe-eyed round-cheeked niece comes sauntering into the kitchen wearing my sister’s hot pink shoes. She struts like she was born knowing how to balance in 6 inch heels, her feet dragging only because they are 6 sizes too big. 

A few days earlier I had tried to explain to her, as she pushed her “Tinkerbear” around in its stroller, that moms just don’t wear heels when they take their babies for a walk. At least not the moms I know. She scoffed at me and continued pushing her way around the living room, stopping occasionally to adjust her pink rimmed sunglasses or pull up her knee-high black boots.

She demands attention from anyone willing to listen, and will speak loudly even when she has nothing to say but a string of seemingly unconnected words or phrases. Periodically lifting up her shirt (which in a few years will no longer be appropriate), I laugh and tell her I can see her belly button.

Mimicking my laugh she says, “My betty button?”

Correcting her is futile, so I just say, “Yeah! And I have one too!”

She proceeds to lift up my shirt (which, again, will be completely inappropriate in a few years), and in seeing my belly button proclaims, “WOW! WE’RE FRIENDS!”

Since she began attending daycare about a year ago, she’s been working through what friends are – often declaring, when she’s feeling particularly bratty, “We’re NOT friends!” So now, she’s settled on this one small similarity as a clear indication that we are forever connected as bosom buddies. It makes me want to squeeze her face and shower her with kisses.

As she’s grown more into her self, leaving her chunky baby cheeks and soft demeanor behind, I am amazed by her ability to pay attention to the world’s most minute details, always determining how she can fit in and grow to be more like the adults around her. She’ll ask for jewelry to wear and a cell phone to cart around, opening it and saying things she’s heard all of us say – “Ok, I’ve got to go to work. I’ll call you back.” 

But while she would love to mold herself into the world, I want to mold myself into her – bottling her excitement and letting it out when nothing seems worthy of dragging myself out of bed for. To her, getting a pizza pocket for dinner and being allowed to watch the Berenstein Bears is cause for celebration (probably since we periodically tell her she can’t watch because “they’re hibernating”).

In time she’ll fit seamlessly into this existence, abandoning her obsession of Toy Story 3 and spending more time thinking about who likes her and who doesn’t. But for now, I want to keep her this way – putting up with her incessant whining just to be able to witness the times when she’s so clearly amazed by the world she can hardly contain herself. I’ll play her repetitive games because her smile is contagious and her ridiculously adorable giggle is intoxicating.

I see the struggle that is raising her, but can’t think of a gift more amazing than her existence. I can’t wait to see the path that she’ll forge for herself because if who she is now is any indication, she’s on her way to becoming something spectacular. 

Flight Delays, Ugly Cries, and Why You Shouldn’t Talk Religion in Airports

Many people loathe the entire flying/airport experience – the long lines, insanely expensive food, angry TSA agents, oddly intimate pat-downs, crying babies, lost luggage…the list could take up this entire blog. And another. And another. 

I, on the other hand, don’t mind it all that much. I’ve always seen it as the first stop on my vacation – one I’m usually too giddy about to pay attention to anything else. So a few weeks ago when I schlepped my stupidly full suitcase through the DIA airport to go to Virginia (to see some ridiculously awesome people), I was all smiles and sunshine. 

Then I got call #1 – a polite recording from Southwest Airlines saying that my flight had been delayed one hour. No big deal, free Wi-fi and I’m all good.

Two hours later, when we finally boarded the plane, I still was unfazed. Then, shit hit the fan. My connecting flight, one that was supposed to leave from Chicago to Washington D.C. on the same airplane, would be “snubbed” (their word of choice) all together. Damn right I’d been “snubbed.”

Normally, I’m a big complainer. You know, the first person to get their food spit in because they’re so intent on having things done the “right way.” That’s me. Well, that’s the me I’m trying to not be anymore. So I kept that smile plastered to my face and told myself I would be getting on the next available connecting flight – the one that got in at 11:45 pm instead of 2:00 am (my original arrival time was 7:30 pm, mind you).

So when I’m told in Chicago I’m on the flight that “probably” (the words of customer service) gets in at 11:45 I thought all my positive thoughts had paid of.  Thirty minutes later I realize this information was wrong on all counts. The flight was already delayed until 12:00pm.

Patience, I told myself, was a virtue. Then came a series of flight time changes. How many? NO LESS THAN TEN. 

After realizing that my flight would now be getting into D.C. at 6:00 am (that’s right, 11 hours after my expected arrival) would mean I’d have to rent a car, I burst into tears. This wasn’t just a sweet little sniffle, this was the kind of cry that has you snorting and wiping away snot. The embarrassing kind of cry.

Since I had been sitting with a few fellow travelers for some time, I thought I might get a little pat on the back. Nope. Not even one. This, along with the fact that anyone else I might call was sleeping peacefully back in Denver, made me cry even harder.

Pathetic? Perhaps. 

This was precisely the moment that my oblivious fellow travelers decided to talk religion. Not the nice kind of religion talk where everyone shares their views politely (wait, do those even exist?). No, this resulted in one  woman sharing her ideas on why one particular religion was a cult, why hers was the “right” way to believe, and why she made it a habit of throwing religious texts that contradicted her own in the garbage.

This coming from a woman who couldn’t offer me one word of support during my loud display of distress. I had to sit on my hands to keep from pummeling her.

Needless to say, I made it. Tired, hungry, probably smelly, but I did arrive at my destination. I also was able to rent a car and drive in a city I didn’t know – a fact that I am (childishly perhaps) proud of.

In hindsight, this trip from hell made me realize one thing: the worst situations, always, at some point or another, come to an end. There is always a solution – maybe not one you’d counted on – but a solution all the same. And of course the things that seem absolutely tragic today may only be a blip on your radar tomorrow. It’s all a matter of perspective. 

And I guess patience – and avoiding religion talks in crowds of irritated people – are good things to remember to.

Releasing My Inner Control Freak

I used to be excellent at being in control. Well at the least the kind of control that you think you have, the kind that makes you wake up at 3am with thoughts of what tasks need to be done, what relationships need to tended to, and what the future might look like, should look like, or probably will look like. It wasn’t as if I woke up due to some unknown force and these thoughts slowly crept into my awareness. No – they were fully constructed entities catapulting through my mind before my eyes even had a chance to open. Now that’s some control craziness.

The truth was, I was never in control. I didn’t have control over the people in my life I thought were my mainstays. I didn’t have control over whether things remained firmly in tact or fell apart at the seams. And that’s why change knocked me flat on my ass.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take hurricane force winds to knock a control freak over, it only takes a small breeze. Why? Because they have so much invested in the outcome that anything different from what they expect can be a massive blow – as I’m slowly learning to recognize.

Controlling anything takes a ridiculous amount of energy for little reward. In fact, the reward is even a sham because it wasn’t the controller that made the situation what it was- it was likely what would have happened anyways, minus all the meddling. It’s just the ego’s way of puffing out its chest and saying, “Yeah, I did that. No big deal.”

Nice try ego.

In reality, all the moments in my life that I would call my “worst” have one thing in common: they all turned out ok. No matter the anxiety or the number of ugly cries I had, it’s always, in some way or another been ok. Maybe not great, but not life-shattering either.

What do I have to show for all the energy I put into wondering how things could possibly fall into place? Nothing. Not. A. Thing.

So I’m giving up the reigns and taking a nap. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still an active participant in my life (you really think my type A personality would let me give up full control??), just in a more laid-back, go with the flow kind of way. It’s like replacing a New Yorker with a Boulderite. Yeah, I’m making that much of a change.

It’s so much easier to let everything just be and figure out the logistics later. And usually the Universe is much better at steering than I am, so things can only go up from here. 

Giving In, Letting Go, and Following My Yellow Brick Road

When it comes to starting projects and seeing them through to the bitter end, I’m usually a little wishy-washy. In fact, I’m a lot wishy-washy.

The beginning is always fresh, like breathing in another city’s air on the first day of vacation. This part has me buzzing with possibility, sharing my ideas with anyone that will listen because I am SURE that this business idea/venture/life goal/etc., etc., etc. will be different, that I’ll make it to the top of my Everest with a flag bearing the symbol of my greatness. Every beginning starts with the same phrase – “THIS. IS. IT.” 

The middle is when things get a little dicey. This is when I start to realize that my yellow brick road has been washed out in a recent flood and I’ll have to walk barefoot in the mud to get through to the other side. My problem: I’m not too keen on getting dirty. At this point I’d rather turn back and pick another route that doesn’t seem quite so complicated.

Unfortunately, this means returning to the starting line with a little bit of shame, a dented sense of self-worth and a LONG period of reflection before I find another worthy business idea/venture/life goal/etc.,etc., etc.

Most of us are repetitive beings, trying the same thing over and over again even after we realize that the results are not what we expected or desired. Then, instead of shifting our actions and re-evaluating ourselves, we buckle down and try again – hoping that the circumstances have changed so we don’t have to. After all, why put effort into changing us when we could instead switch jobs, pick a new partner,  or move to a new place? Pick bright new shiny circumstances and we’ll become equally as bright and shiny…right?


I realized eight months ago that the changes I needed to make were extensive. And exhausting. And so annoyingly irritating to tackle. I’m still in that process. Still trying to make sense of a new existence that doesn’t include all of the things that I thought were so SURE. I’ve become calmer, more at peace, more confident, less wrapped up in bullshit. And a lot of it is bullshit. 

I’ve learned to walk through the muck and the mud without turning back (well, at least not returning all the way to square one). I’m shedding my baggage along the way, one piece at a time.

This wasn’t a project I had intended to take on – in fact, it was one I avoided/feared/loathed all at the same time. Ironically, it’s the one I can say I’ve continued to push through.

Sometimes the things we are forced to go through shape us in more profound ways than any experience we ever choose for ourselves. And being led to face the things we fear the most can provide far more relief then simply never having to see those fears become a reality. 

I’m learning, growing, and letting change happen. It’s a liberating journey. Now who’s coming with me?

How Facebook Has Royally Screwed With Our Happiness Meter

I have a bit of an obsession with happiness – what causes it, what makes it stick, what can obliterate it all together. Perhaps this is the reason why I have an urge to ask complete strangers whether or not they are completely and totally happy with their lives. Because let’s face it – most people aren’t, and most have perfected the art of hiding it.

Why hide it? Well because happiness has become a measurement of success of sorts, a real indication of how well you’ve been at living. Hate your job? Can’t stand your spouse? Then by god, what have you been doing with your life? Not being happy is a sure sign that you just don’t have your shit together – or so we have come to believe.

It’s also a pretty damn good way to measure ourselves against those around us. If, for instance, your relationship is bobbing like a half-dead fish in the water when your BFF calls you up to let you know how her new beau bought her a ridiculously disgusting spread of exotic flowers – well, then chances are you’ll be feeling a bit like a failure. And how can you possibly compete with those people who seem to be thrilled with the idea of waking up in the morning, have their calendar filled to the brim with exciting happenings, are enthralled with how perfect their families are, and have prince charming to share their magnificence with?

Those people exist, right? Well, according to Facebook they do.

I’ll admit it. I’m a bit of a Facebook whore. In fact, I probably spend more time Facebook stalking than attempting to find a decent paying freelance job. However, that simply makes me an expert of sorts (because I like thinking of myself as an expert). Which has led me to notice a few things:

There are two types of Facebook personalities:

  • The type that always has something utterly depressing to say and will passive aggressively attack those who have “wronged” them (the ones you want to block from your news feed or just punch in the face).
  • And the type that always has some exciting weekend to look forward to, the perfect partner to gush about, and the most amazing job they could have ever hoped for – you know, the perpetually happy type.

So one day I, in my unhealthy obsession with dissecting happiness into little manageable bits, discovered that Facebook had given me the sense that a huge portion of my peers (some 400+ of them) were far happier than me (minus the Debbie Downers, of course). It was obvious after browsing through thousands of pictures of smiling faces and sorting through status updates, each with the underlying message of: “Look at me and my fabulous life!”

Funny thing is, I have those pictures too. And I’ll admit to writing one or two status updates that boasted of something I have had to be happy about – because each of us chooses the side of ourselves we wish to show and the parts of our lives we want others to admire.

That is the reason why Facebook has royally screwed us over. All those people whose profiles tell us they have their shit together? They have bad days too – they just don’t take pictures of it and plaster it all over for the world to see.

Facebook is our way of entertaining each other and should be taken as nothing more. That’s just a little hard to remember when you are sleeping on your parents couch and brooding over the fact that your life seems to have veered off into a ditch. I’m just sayin’.