Sisterhood of the World Award (and lots of swearing)

I’m just gonna start with the nominations because that’s the only part you would be expected to care about. oh but before that, I’d like to thank Rei da Queen for nominating me for this award and fucking sticking with me through my chaotic appearances/disappearances. I’ll clarify why I’m a bitch (so I’ll be making more excuses, whoo…) in my next post. I’m sorry, just at the moment my writing skills are really down and I’d like to be as top notch as I can manage to be when I’m publishing posts (even if my top notch is shitty as hell).

Another thing: I swore a lot in this post. More so than usual. I don’t know why, but sorry if that disturbs you.




Girl Shadow


And here are my questions:

  1. Who do you have a better relationship with; your mom or your dad?
  2. What would you rather sacrifice; your career or your time?
  3. What’s your favorite season and why?
  4. What scares you more; life or death?
  5. Would you rather live in a city or a rural area?
  6. What’s your single most strongly held belief?
  7. What do you think is worth more; empathy or sympathy?
  8. Do you consider yourself two-sided?
  9. What’s your best quality?
  10. Broccoli or Spinach?

And now onto the real award, where I demolish Rei’s questions with my shitty answers.

  1. If you could be a part of a movie, what would the movie be and who would you play?

I’ve seen this question so many times, but each time it’s never been directed towards me so I’ve never had to actually formulate an answer. Now I do, and of course Rei is the one to ruin this beautiful state of neutrality I was privileged to possess, cause Rei ruins everything (Jk, jk…sort of O.o). But um, let’s see…the movie would probably be about a talented, intelligent, gorgeous, confident high school student who has her life planned out ahead of her, lures even the nastiest people in with her natural charisma, and loves with all her heart. The climax of the movie would be the girl breaks a nail in Physics. And I’d play one of the school janitors. Trust me, it’s going to be a great movie.

2. Who’s you favorite actor/actress and what’s your favorite movie of theirs?

Fuck I thought we were done with movies…alas, my favorite actor is Emma Watson just cause she’s so pretty and British and well, what more could you want. And before you ask, yes, I’m still straight. And favorite movie from her, well HARRY POTTER OF COURSE. Sorry, my keyboard broke. Oh my god this post is so bad I’m so sorry wtf am I doing. I’m just gonna keep writing anyway.

3. Persuade me to believe something you believe in.

Feelings make you weak. If you lend yourself to your feelings, you lend yourself to pain and vulnerability. You take off the protective film of logic that cloaks your actions and stand before a whirlwind of danger. And no matter how many times you stand before it, the whirlwind never gets weaker. And the whirlwind will always catch up to you, because once you give in to your feelings, you sacrifice logic. And then people come and take advantage of you and your vulnerability I swear it’s not rape  and you’re left weak and in pain, because you used your feelings.

I swear if I could just get some more tea I would be a lot better at explaining this.

4. What’s your favorite song to blast in the car?

I don’t usually blast music in the car because I’m with my parents or brothers and then it gets awkward…but if I had my own car I’d probably blast ‘Car Radio’ by the infamous god damn amazing Twenty One Pilots and sit there solemnly as I pretend to be heartbroken and deep.

5. Who in the world makes you laugh the hardest?

Just one person? I can’t narrow it down that far but I’d probably say…my friends in general. They can be pretty funny at times. Or maybe I just have a crappy sense of humor. Who knows.

6. Hogwarts, Middle Earth, or Marvel?

Goddamn Rei your questions are so hard XD But I’d probably have to go for Hogwarts just cause I’m still sitting here waiting for a damn letter. And they have owls, and awesome classes, and wands, and spells, and Diagon Alley, and butterbeer…but Loki…fuck it, butterbeer wins.

7. What’s your favorite place in the world?

Amsterdam or Australia, I can’t pick. Or Greece, Venice, or Japan, or maybe South Korea actually (minus the whole ‘you could die any second cause North Korea hates your ass’ thing of course).

8. What’s on your bucket list?

I don’t actually have a bucket list, but there’s so much shit I want to do that I should probably just make one. Let’s see…I want to travel the world (literally), visit and volunteer at an orphanage in a third world country, publish at least one novel, go to one of those college poetry slams where nerds make friends, speaking of college, going to college would be ideal too, paint a landscape painting that doesn’t look like a donkey hybrid got high and decided to take art classes at a community center, give back to my family, or at least my parents, not be a burden on society, and discover whether happiness truly exists or if I was right all along and it’s a sweet lie.

9. Write the plot to the next best-seller.

These questions are harder than my Chem test. And my chem test was fucking hard. So I’m gonna wing this and be lazy, cause real plots take SO long to create and I want to get this up by tonight at least. Plus I suck at plot development, as I’m sure you could tell by my previous movie example.

So here’s the plot. Ready? Probably not. A guy goes to school, and he sits in Math first hour. He has a math test. The problem is, he forgot his favorite pencil at home. So now he has to borrow one from someone and talking to people just makes him nervous so he sits there and starts shaking. And then he falls to the ground. And then he faints. And he doesn’t end up taking his math test. The end.

New York Times Bestseller right there. Pre-order it on Amazon today!

10. Describe your favorite room in your house.

It’s plain, mainly because its owner spent too much time designing it in her head to actually realize her  parents’ credit card (and nerves) have a limit. It has hardwood floors, and square windows are cut into the white washed walls like staccato notes on a piano measure. The furniture is white with black accents, and the rug is a rough jute. In a corner sits a small lounge seat, swarmed with pillows and blankets. It’s always messy because it’s always occupied by a huddled figure whose attention is usually stolen by a laptop screen or paperback novel. And when it’s not occupied, the bed across the room is occupied. It’s plain, just like the rest of the room; black headboard, white covers, city portraits hang on the walls.

Alright that’s it, congratulations people you’ve reached the end of my terrible, oh so terrible post. Again, I’m so sorry for leaving for so long and then coming back only to leave again and then just taking the lazy way out and publishing an award as an excuse for a post. I’m actually really sorry though, and I know I sound sarcastic all the time, which is why I’m repeating it just so you guys know I’m serious.

Alright this is getting too mushy for me; I’m leaving. I promise I’ll try and get you guys some better material next time (if you’re even interested; I mean, after reading that shit I can’t blame you if you never want to hear from me again).

In the meantime, the kettle awaits me. Peace.


All Hail the Uglies

I ate one of my fruit bowls today. I make fruit bowls quite frequently. They probably constitute 75% of my diet. So I dumped cartons of berries and slices of apples and bananas and whatever else I could scrounge from the kitchen into a porcelain bowl, smeared whipped cream over the top, grabbed a fork and started consuming the inelegant yet delicious concoction.

I always build my fruit bowls in layers.

Another thing you don’t need to know about me: I like layers.

This time, the blueberries were on the bottom (due to the lack of grapes), with the larger slices of fruit toppled on top.

And then I realized that despite being the smallest, most insignificant fruit in the bowl, the blueberries held the base. They held their superiors up to the limelight.

They matter.

And then I started thinking about my ugly face (perfectly understandable thought process, I know).

Oddly enough, I had a moment of optimism, in which I theorized that we, as ugly people, are needed for the existence of pretty ones.

If we ugly people didn’t exist, then everyone would be pretty, and thus the word pretty would lose its meaning, because it has no version of ugly to compare itself too.

Pretty wouldn’t exist without the ugly.

(Wow Thalia, you do realize everyone else figured this out when they were like two, and you’re just getting to this now? Dumbass.)

So next time you see a hot person, first offer to buy them a drink, then cry because they rejected you, then cry because you saw a mirror, and then punch that sucker in the face because if it weren’t for your existence, they wouldn’t even be considered hot.

All hail the uglies.

*wakes up hungover* Wtf did I just write?

Dips and Closets and Other Dark Things

Mega Warning: This post is raw af, and depressing of course. Please don’t view this as needy or anything, because I really don’t want to come off like that. I’m being selfish, I know, but better selfish than dependable if you ask me.

I’m sorry.

I’ve been gone for, what, two weeks now? Okay maybe there’s no reason to apologize since I’m sure my presence isn’t exactly the sun shine of the blogosphere (more like the freeze ray or the dark cloud of unpopular opinions that carries a stench everywhere and thus has no friends). But I still feel like I should’ve posted something. Written something. Attempted something.

I started school exactly two weeks ago, and I wish I could say that’s the only reason I’ve been gone but a) I don’t have a social life and b) School is just now starting to pick up pace (AKA throw us all into the mud in the name of GPA’s and homework).

Also, I have writer’s block. But that’s nothing new.

I imagine my life as a graph sometimes. There are ups and downs and straight lines of emptiness. Recently, I had a drop. Unexplainable, unpredictable, unbearable.

I felt sick everyday of the week. Shivering in the corners of my Chemistry class as I try with all my might to focus on simplifying equations, but failing as a cloud of dark thoughts strangles me in its grasp. Barely being able to crack a smile at a string of admittedly witty jokes at lunch time. Trudging into the apartment, getting rammed into the coat closet by Alec on the way in and not even minding it. Because I feel hollow.

And I hate myself for it.

I have everything I need. Everything you could want; a family (as laborious as their company can be), a home, a school, friends (as few as they may be). I don’t have a tragic past. I don’t have a mental or physical ailment. I’m set up for success. Yet I hack away at my thoughts and perceptions and life until all the emotion has disappeared and I’m left sinking in a pool of empty hopelessness.

I’ve been through dips like this before. They’re not emotional or deep or enlightening. They’re just dead, and concealed, and a mixture between frightening and comforting. They’re cynical and self depreciating. You have no reason or obligation to care whatsoever. In fact this post is mainly for me to reflect, and write, and maybe just breathe a little.

I’ve been through dips like this before. And I’ll go through them again. Many of them.

But as I long as I make it out in the end, I might just be okay.

Waterfall, Water Calls

Day three of my vacation doesn’t matter. Neither do days five or six. Day seven was departure day, and considering that was just another excruciatingly awkward and humid car ride back up to ‘ole Chicago, it’s not worth a whole blog post either.

But day four, ladies and gentlemen, matters.

Day. Four.

Alright Thalia, quit the dramatic shit and get to it.

It was around eleven AM, and despite having woken up, breakfasted, and reluctantly pulled on half decent clothes through a haze of my brothers’ strong cologne, my family and I were just lazily sitting around in the motel room, as if waiting for an asteroid to hit with a banner screaming “Breaking news!! You finally have a life!” in bold handwriting.

The asteroid never hit, and so I pulled out my laptop which I had only been able to bring along due to my brother having to use it to work on his summer essay. Migrating to a far corner of the living room, I sat and pulled up wordpress, as usual. After an hour of stalking reading your posts and commenting sarcastic shit, I naturally got pulled into a conversation with Elm. About skype.

This led to an episode of pre fangirling over her accent, then a series of emails discussing said fangirling, and then, finally, a skype call. Yes people, I had the wonderful opportunity to skype fucking Elm. The Elm. I was pretty awestruck by the whole conundrum of actually speaking to this girl instead of awkwardly commenting on her posts.

Unfortunately, my talking was just as awkward. And so we talked about how talking is awkward. And then we talked about other things, but her ACCENT. Honestly, I’m still cracking up.

But that whole thing was just amazing and it felt a tad bit surreal, until Elm had to go (I feel bad, she probably got sick of me. Sorry Elm.) and I had to go too (shockingly) and my sister gave me a lecture on how I write and read and keep to myself too often and how important family is and that I should play more games with her.

This girl is seven, and damn she’s got some nerve.

But yeah, after that amazing skype call, my dad finally dragged us all out of the motel (particularly against my will, until I realized for what) and drove us over to a frozen yogurt shop down the street. So after a hailstorm of m&m’s between my brothers and I (they’re sixteen and up, please don’t ask) we headed back home, packed, and went to the mountains.

Originally, we were going to go to the beach, but my mom was sure she’d have a heatstroke down there, so we opted for the mountains instead. A three hour drive later (yes, I was still crammed between Alec and the window) we found ourselves at a state park. The walk was pleasant at first, considering the ground was relatively flat and the trees provided just enough shade for my eyes to wander along the tree tops unharmed by the sun’s intense stare. Soon enough, this moment of solitary contentment was gone, as life will have it, and the trail got steeper. And steeper.


At first I wondered why the hell the trail was getting steeper and more excruciating to climb up. Then I realized we were climbing up a mountain. It took me this long to realize this. I know, my brain is so set for school tomorrow. By the time we got to the top of the mountain, I was done. My body was covered in a film of sweat, I gulped down a wave of exhausted swearing, though that unfortunately did nothing to quench my thirst, and my legs felt like they would fall off any second. My mom was the only one out of us all that could still stand up enough to notice the waterfall roaring a few hundred meters away. The excitement seemed to propel us forward as a disarrayed bundle of sweat soaked family members skidded to a halt at the base of the waterfall. Sheets of crisp water cascaded down the jagged dark rocks, contorting and convulsing until they gushed into a pool at the bottom, sharp droplets of water spraying into the air. So, we went swimming. And it was awesome. The water felt like ice against my burning skin, but it was worth it.

On the way back up the trail later, I noticed a ‘no swimming allowed’ sign next to the waterfall. Oops. So we raced back down the mountain, which was considerably easier, albeit more dangerous than the way up. I hurdled into my little sister once, who then hurdled into one of my brothers, who then hurdled into my other brother, who then hurdled into a tree. My parents were at the top laughing.

I guess it was sort of a reminder that although hard work and pain (so the climb up the mountain) will bring you success and a beautiful, fleeting moment of contentment and happiness (for those of you who believe in such an idea) there will always be a hurdle afterwards.

Also a reminder that your parents can be evil trolls sometimes.

Satin Tablecloths

I was cloaked in the delicate chiffon of a rose dress. I was wearing heels. A gold bracelet was wrapped around my wrist. There were fresh flowers and satin tablecloths. There was music. Loud music. But not the kind I liked. There were people. Happy people. But not the kind I knew.

The second day of my vacation found me lost in the midst of a wedding.

Since this was my cousin’s wedding, I was expected to play a bigger role than usual. And so I interpreted this as a viable excuse to hide in the expensive bathroom at the end of the hall and wait for someone to come in and give the all clear sign. No one came.

Given the liveliness of the occasion, and the excitement I was expected to feel, I knew it was wrong to hide. But I couldn’t take it anymore.

The arms of countless relatives and people I barely recognized and strangers enveloping me in what was meant to be a welcoming gesture only left me feeling claustrophobic under the pressure of their limbs, and paralyzed at the notion of having to reciprocate their actions.

So after standing completely still through oh so many hugs, and giving weak smiles at all the “You grew so much taller since I last saw you!” and Congratulations on (cousin)’s wedding!” (I don’t know what in the world they were congratulating me for. After all, I had only found out about the wedding last month.), I was beckoned into a line where I filled my plate with food that looked better than it tasted, sat through heartfelt speeches to the bride and groom (through which I resisted the urge to both scoff and puke the red velvet cake all over the polished floor), and was eventually prodded onto the dance floor to join my relatives who were all busy clapping and swooshing to the rhythm of “Happy” in a circle around the bride and groom.

Unable to bring myself to mimic their ebullient movement for a) I have no damn idea how to dance and b) I hate that song, I stood stiffly at the edge of the dance floor, lamely clapping to the beat and almost getting tripped over by two of my uncles thrice.

I hadn’t been feeling well all night. Even before the event, I had been feeling apprehensive each time it crossed my mind. I couldn’t really pinpoint why, but suddenly, the dreaded feeling I’d been having in the pit of my stomach since I’d first learned about the wedding last month grew like a fire, burning a whole through my gut and eating away at any pretense I’d had that I could find a sliver of enjoyment tonight.

I couldn’t take it anymore. So, as soon as my aunt averted her pressing gaze from me and turned her attention to an older lady, who’d come to probably congratulate her on her daughter’s wedding, I made a run for it. Well, more like a stumble through the room and down the hall considering I was in ten dollar heels and a bridal dress.

I cautiously pushed the bathroom door open, expecting someone to be there. It was one of those bathrooms that felt more like a room, you know? Fancy mirrors, upholstered seating, curtained windows, and then a small doorway leading to the stalls and sinks. To my immense relief, the room was empty. I all but crashed onto the bench, groaning in exhaustion, the sick feeling washing over me like a wave lapping against wet sand.

Why? Why couldn’t I just enjoy the wedding? Everyone else was enthusiastic; their smiles radiated everything I failed to feel. Everything I should have felt. Why couldn’t I be happy for people? Why couldn’t I like people? Why? Why? Why?


I began, as I always do, to blame it all on anyone or anything other than myself. I blamed it on my social anxiety. Then on my cousin for making me wear a pink dress. Then again on my cousin for even deciding to fall for the illusion of love and get married. Then on my mom for giving birth to me. Then–shit.

My ‘let’s point fingers’ session was cut off by a sudden surge of bile through my throat, and I dashed into a nearby stall just in time to empty the remnants of the dinner and cake into the toilet in the form of half digested puke. I guess those speeches really were disgusting.

And maybe watching the contents of your stomach spiral down an overly polished toilet is particularly moving, because as I rinsed my mouth and slumped back onto the bench, the answer sprang out to me, like the beam of a flashlight in a blanket of darkness.

I. That was the simple answer. I am me. I am socially awkward. I have a hard time laughing. More often than not, I am selfish. I have few friends. I curse too much. I rarely attend parties. I hate dresses. I hate pink. I hate bright colors. I like the rain. I am a pessimist. I like thinking, so much that I do it all the time. I haven’t made my existence matter. I disappear easily, and I like it. I prefer records to people. I shouldn’t be me. I shouldn’t like this or like that, or do this or do that, or hate this or hate that. And saying there’s room for improvement is a major understatement. But I am me. And that’s that.

And it was with this thought in mind that I gladly bade my goodbyes to all the relatives who had congregated for the celebration and occurrence of something I didn’t believe in, but which everyone else seemed to put their whole hearted faith in. And it was with this thought that I was able to stare at the passing cars and ignore the snores of Alec as his head slumped over my shoulder on the late ride back to the motel. And it was with this thought that I changed out of my dress, prepared a cup of tea, and settled down to write another depressing poem that night.

This thought is common sense. It’s a fact. I am I. I am me. But even now, it seems like a revelation to me. You could just call me a dumbass or an overthinker or a pathetic loser searching for a deeper meaning behind everything, all of which are true.

Or you could opt for the truest and most depressing truth of all, and call me, me.


I woke up at the ungodly hour of four am on a Friday morning.

Friday being last Friday, the first. I know, that’s almost a week ago. It took me so long to write this though due to three reasons: 1) Writer’s block (killing my soul) and 2) Terrible wifi and 3) For once, being busy. I’m sincerely sorry though.

Seeing as a) I usually wake up at like noon b) I frequently stay up till two and c) My mom was shoving drenched mops and metal dust pans into my arms, I was in a rather crotchety mood.

After we were all violently lugged out of our beds by our mom (who had woken up at three that morning), we spent three solid hours cleaning the apartment.

My mom has this weird thing where she just physically can’t leave the apartment for a trip without performing a complete and utterly torturous deep cleaning. And so such it was that I scrubbed halls clean and straightened cheap vases and vacuumed through the slumps my brothers have the sanity to call their rooms, before I conformed to the perhaps more torturous task of molding my overnight caved in face back into place and subsequently getting ready.

At 7:32 AM (yes, I remember the time we departed, don’t judge) my dad finally steered the minivan onto the main road (after a triple check that the doors were locked) through a cloud of dust and dawn sunshine, marking the launch of our none too eventful journey.

As I had feared, I was shoved between one of my older brothers, known on here for his nickname; Theo, and the sticky car door. Our parents sat in the front two seats, and Aileen was happily bouncing in one of the seats all the way in the back (the other two back seats had been clapped down in order to provide more room for our massive luggage).

I had a small bag on my lap, filled with the following; Paper Towns (if car sickness permits it, I shall read for the majority of the ride), a Journal (road trips can be inspiring; I need to catch all that jazz in somewhere), Pencils (refer to previous explanation), Headphones (When I’m not reading, I’m listening to music), and my phone (um, no explanation needed).

An enormous fabric zip up bag of food was stowed between Theo and the center console. Unfortunately, the delight that results from the prospect of a seemingly endless supply of food deteriorated at an astonishing speed as we eagerly zipped open the bag only to find mountain piles of fruits, water bottles, and pre-packed plastic containers of homemade oatmeal.

“Mom…are you kidding me?” Alec groaned, falling back against his seat.

“What? Are the peaches not ripe enough?”

I face palmed, and Theo let out an exasperated sigh.

“Mom, when you said snacks we thought you meant, you know, real snacks. Like chips, and cookies, and candy. You know, the usual.”

At this my mom shot us a series of disapproving looks through the rearview mirror. “You know how bad all those things are for you! You babies should be thankful for this healthy food, or else you could have diabetes and be in a hospital right now. Now eat.”

Aileen, having finally caught on with the current calamity started whining, but we were hungry, so we spooned cold thick oatmeal into our mouths anyway, gloomily staring out the splotched windows.

I was busy shuffling through my playlists for Twenty One Pilot’s Stressed Out (my current life theme song) when my dad decided to randomly turn on the radio.

My dad does this occasionally, probably just to break through the silence that’s fallen over the car. I like silence though, and I hate the radio. I’m sure you can see why this was a problem.

“Dad, I’m listening to my own music,” I finally declared after what seemed like the screams of a guy getting kicked down where the sun don’t shine sifted through the car speakers. “Could you turn it down?”

My dad frowned, but twisted the volume dial down a bit anyway. Here comes the “you should spend more time with the family” lecture again…

And the lecture came. But it wasn’t as long as I had expected it to be, for soon my brothers took control of the radio via a series of buttons on the center console, situated just out of my reach but in a supreme position for theirs.

“Oh, that song. I like that song.”

“Pft, loser.” One of my brother’s would quickly switch to the next station, leaving me no time to bask in the temporary perfection of a three minute harmony of notes and words and poetic aesthetics.

Then again maybe it was for the best, because not all of my music is necessarily approved by my parents…

Oh, I also took pictures, though most of what we passed looked like this:

image3 Or this:


I found these flowers nice:


And this cloud is on point:


Oh and that was my notebook and bag:


And I only barely caught some of the sunset:


Soon enough, the car was stopped at a gas station, and my father and mother switched seats, my mom taking her turn at the wheel.

We were driving cross through the middle of Indiana, Paper Towns clutched between my hands, when a terrible smell sifted in through the newly opened windows. My brothers jolted out of their half sleep, groaning in disgust. I looked out the window, and realized we weren’t on the highway anymore. In fact, I didn’t even know if you could safely classify what we were on as a road. We were in the middle of nowhere, it seemed.

“Mom, did you veer off the route or something? And what’s that smell?”

“Of course not, I just took a quick detour. I mean, look at all the beautiful landscape around here. I couldn’t afford to miss it, it just reminds me so much of my childhood in Greece.”

I stared out the window, and resisted the urge to face palm again. We were driving through fields. Fields. That’s it.

The smell, however, turned out to be cow shit. Literally (“oh, it’s used to fertilize you know. Ah, I remember…”)

So while my mother was up in the front seat drowning in her own nostalgia, her eyes almost as clouded with pleasant memories as the dusty path on which we drove, the rest of us were busy puking over the back seats, gasping for some form of non-cow feces contaminated air.

I was sure we’d need oxygen masks.

However, after a few minutes, my dad finally managed to convince my mom to drive us off this dust trail and back onto a proper highway.

After an indeterminable amount of time driving through sticky summer air, our third stop (the first two were bathroom breaks) found us at the parking lot of a run down Mcdonalds. Now this was odd, for my parents never, and I mean never, take us out to eat. Not even on road trips.

The rickety door’s creak was an unnecessary extra reason for the few heads to turn as all six of us stumbled into the building, hair strewn from falling asleep on the leather car seats, skin pale from sporadic bouts of strong air conditioning, and mouths frothing from a lack of proper nourishment in the last eight hours.

My lack of tea in particular was having devastating effects on my mental, physical, and emotional health so as soon as I found my dad ordering himself a coffee with a cheesy smile, which was returned in the form of a bored glance from the cashier, I raced to him, practically crashing into the counter as I added “and a large tea please. Thank you, thank you.”

Turns out they only had iced tea. I went with it anyway, my mood considerably better as I joined the rest of my family at a booth in the corner. The cushions were torn in a multitude of places, foam peeking out from beneath the red, the tables smelled like bleach and the floor was stained with brown and yellow splotches.

Seemingly oblivious to the unappetizing surroundings, my mom proceeded to pull out all our “snacks” from the bag, handing each of us an apple, grapes, and a container of oatmeal. I only ate the grapes and the apple.

The oatmeal was seriously too much.

I was sure we all had fiber overdose as we headed back to the car for another massive amount of driving.

We arrived at our motel near Charleston, South Carolina after a fourteen hour drive. It was around nine thirty. Unfortunately, I didn’t mark our exact arrival time. I should be ashamed, I know.

It was dark, yet the night’s warmth was stifling us like a net as we headed into our cheap motel.

I had to share my bed with Aileen that night. I didn’t mind though. She was small and I was tired. And her breathing had a nice rhythm, almost therapeutic. This isn’t creepy, I swear. I slept surprisingly well that night.

And I leave you with some of the depressingly pathetic notes I jotted down during periodic, afflatus infused intervals in my journey.

1:37 PM

“I’ve been reading Paper Towns.”

Yeah, I know. All hail the damn creativity of Thalia.

3:04 PM

“The radio is overrated. Record players are better.”

7:58 PM

“Rest stops are oddly insightful.”

8:20 PM

“Some of these little houses basked int he golden light of dusk would be inspiring to live in. Others would be depressing. And others would just feel empty.”

9:17 PM

“I wonder what the trip alone would be like.”

Trying Not To Crush My Dreams

Okay so I just found out, today, that I’m going on a road trip on Friday. This news might spur excitement in the hearts of most loners like me, who can count on one hand how many times they’ve left the house this summer, and it did spark excitement in me. It really did. Until I realized my siblings were coming…

One of the worst struggles I face in life is a jam packed car of blood related kids ranging from toddler to should-have-a-job-by-now-but-lives-in-basement status shoving me from one end of the stuffy vehicle to the other.

But more on that later (AKA when it actually happens on Friday, and my recovery process allows me to reiterate the events to you in virtual form at midnight with bad wifi from some random basement in Nevada).

So until I have more inspiration for a blog post, I have brought you a challenge today! Dreamsandmoviescreens here created this awesome (yet quite terrifying) challenge called The Future Challenge. And she made it a challenge instead of a tag just for that extra goosebump. Thanks homie.

No but seriously, check her out. Go sayこんにちは! She’s pretty amazing!

The Future Challenge


  • Thank the blogger that put you up to the challenge! This challenge is so you can get a clue of yourself and what you want in life currently and then see in the future if you’ve changed your mind.
  • Share 5 things about your ideal future (job, kids, marriage, travel, etc.).
  • Tag 5 bloggers and put them up to the challenge!
  • Link back to Dreams and Movie Screens, the creator of this tag, so she can read about this stuff too (because she’s incredibly nosey interested!).

I don’t blame her. I’d be interested too.

Now let’s get to the challenge, because I’ve spent enough time boring you guys with my idle speech already (not to say what’s coming is any better).

  1. Just like dreamsandmoviescreens, I’d like to major in criminology or journalism/something to do with writing and literature, for those are my absolute top two fields. If someone asked me out, I’d probably just say something awkwardly dumb like “Well you know, criminology and I are in a pretty stable relationship at the moment. We’re getting married in a year.”
  2. I’d like to live, or at least have temporarily lived in one of those small studio apartments. The views out of those things are damn inspiring.
  3. I’d like to have taken a trip around the world by the age of twenty five, preferably with some friends. This is one of my ultimate goals.
  4. I’d like to have at least attempted to publish a book by the time I reach my late twenties, or else I will be severely disappointed in myself or severely angry with every publishing company to ever exist on this pollution stricken planet. Probably both.
  5. I’d like to finally have met my aunt. Or visited her maybe. (There’s this one aunt in our family who lives pretty far away and is like a complete family recluse, and I haven’t ever met her but apparently everything I do is just like her and I’ve seen pictures of her when she was my age and we look like twins. So it’d be nice to be able to determine whether all those “ah, just like my sister” statements that my mom throws out daily actually hold some truth.)

So there, that’s the end of my list of things I’d like to accomplish in the future but I know will never happen because life is a troll and dreams can be crushed way too easily.

Either way, I hope you at least semi-enjoyed that (we didn’t).

Now as for my nominees…(I always use those three dots, it’s so ominous of me.)






Have fun relishing in your temporarily bright looking future. Oh that snake in the back? No, don’t pay it any mind, it’s just reality coming to poison your aspirations and hopes and joys. The usual.