What’s love anyway?

I feel like I am ruined, my past makes me fear being alone and in fearing that I cling to love like a life boat when love is the ocean trying to take me under.

And I’m drowning.

Murder By Death

My first concert. Well, can I call it a first if I went to Fort Rock for a couple hours before the heat took over me? If so, then this is my second concert. This really feels like my first though, it feels like I never experienced anything this surreal; even meeting Brandon for the first time!

A little back story is up I suppose, Brandon is my boyfriend. We met online via a game called Don’t Starve Together. Crazy, I know. I never expected to find a life partner in a game, especially that one. Long distance is hard, we are making it work the best we can. Currently trying to find a place so we can move in together.

Back to the concert though! It was amazing, I had such a good time at the Terminal West venue. The acoustics in the place was great, the band sounded just as good or even better than the recorded  version! This trip was at first pretty scary but now I am really looking forward to the next time I will be in town.

(Continuation soon)

Georgia pt. 2

The hike at Kennesaw Mountain really wasn’t that bad, at first. I got a lot farther than I anticipated but I also didn’t think it would be that long of a hike. This is what happens, in my mind I think it’s going to go great and I should definitely go exercise and be active! I call this self-punishment. Either way, I am proud I was able to finish and drag my unwilling self to the truck.

The hike, my heart says it was 5 miles. I honestly can’t say how many it actually was, my phone falsely peddled the idea that I only took 32 steps. Even now it is saying 3 miles but when we used the GPS to find our way back to the car it said it was 2 miles away. Disappointing. I usually have my Bellabeat Leaf Urban fitness tracker, which works fabulously, but I didn’t this time because my bracelet broke (it didn’t really break, it’s made of leather and me sweating in it made it stinky). Needless to say, I am very unsure how far I walked or if it would even be considered a far distance. As someone who hasn’t exercised in a very long time, it was difficult.

At first I was all about it, taking pictures, walking ahead at times. I felt good, it wasn’t too hot; there was coverage under the trees to protect from the sun. I snapped some great pictures, I felt great, saw where the racists died. Overall I was having a fantastic time.

I started to get a little hot, so I drank some water. Then my feet started to hurt so I took a short break. I felt fine, my feet stopped hurting so I stood up and began to walk again. Biggest mistake, that break was the worst decision as once I began to walk again I felt like I couldn’t lift my legs. My thighs and turning stomach were the issue. I pushed on though. I wasn’t at my breaking point yet. I started an uphill trek, and that’s when it hit me. I was walking uphill, out in the sun, and I saw a stump and took a seat. A man said “Can you imagine those Yankees walking hundreds of miles in 100° weather?” My response was “And they won.” That was the motivation I needed, I made it to the top of the hill, took another short break because I honestly did feel like I was going to vomit. I was burping up breakfast. Less than 100 steps later the truck was in sight! I was so relieved I noticed I picked up the pace and practically ran to the truck. In the back of my mind I was just so relieved that we didn’t bring the jeep. I have a very hard time climbing in and out of the jeep without being completely exhausted.

I am pretty lucky my family isn’t fat phobic and my sister’s boyfriend isn’t either. They were very understanding and willing to work around my needs.

No one wants to be fat, this was definitely not a situation I want to be in again. I wish I could say that I am overweight because of eating fattening foods or such, but the real reason I gained weight was because I just stopped exercising. I ate the same, I behaved the same, I just stopped going to dance classes, and no more P.E in school, and no more walks with friends or runs around the neighborhood. It always amazes me how no matter what I do now as a 25 year old woman, I will probably never be able to get to that point of being active as I was and feeling good about it. But this topic is for another piece, and perhaps I will cover it someday.

The hike was great, but the next hike I go on wont be because I requested it.


Georgia pt. 1

I’m a Miami girl, not as Miami as the girls I sat next to on the airplane though. I have only flown from Spain, and back; to Nicaragua and back. That has always been with family, never alone- ever. Navigating the airport was probably the hardest part for the trip here, Georgia. That wasn’t even too hard as Fort Lauderdale airport has everything you could ever really need when it comes to signage and assistance. A window seat wasn’t too bad on Spirit Airline, I am a fairly large woman; it wasn’t bad.

Anyway, I land. Where am I going? No clue. My sister calls and passes the phone to her boyfriend, he tells me to take the tram to baggage claim and let him know what terminal I end up at. Ok, sounds good. Easy enough. I get onto the tram, its amazing how ones social anxiety can disappear when there is a complete focus on getting to a destination. I looked around, made myself as small as I could. I don’t know why but I did.

The doors slid open and I was finally outside, it’s hot. How far north do you have to go to escape 90°F weather? Apparently 9 hours worth of driving, an hour and a half worth of a plance trip and 663 miles is not far enough- yet. I say yet because I hear it snows here, I hear it gets pretty cold, I hear the trees change and the leaves fall into different colors. Palm trees? Yeah, no they stay the same. Winter? Miami doesn’t have a Winter! It’s an eternal summer and spring.

Georgia, never thought I would come here. My older sister moved here a couple of years ago and found a home, a life. In a lot of ways she inspires me to look for more, find more, even be more. She has had to work very hard and she isnt afraid to get her hands dirty. She chases money in ways I never really had to, or wanted to. Cooking seems to come easy to her, the foods she makes are  not necessarily a fusion but are something more soulful. An identity, one she had to find and create all by herslf.

I still struggle with my self identity, and my happiness. In that way my sister has always been someone I have looked up to when it came to knowing and doing what she wanted. I want that decisiveness, that directness.

The pumpkin flowers are blooming in the little garden in front of their house. The whole front yard is decorated for Halloween, skulls and blood and graves. Even a female doll bloodied up with one of her own eyeballs in her mouth. She is so realistic looking (since she was a sex doll) that I asked her for permission to touch her. As weird as that may sound, it was just as weird to move her fingers and touch her face. How anyone could utilize her is beyond me. I now know that is something I am definitely not interested in.

Juiced carrots, ginger and lemon topped with some cilantro leaves is the beverage of choice. Surprisingly not too strong and not overwhelming at all. The eggs had such a kick I got the hiccups! A dried chilli pepper in 3 eggs can do a lot more than one would think, especially when the seeds are left in. Then of course, there was bacon. What kind of American family doesn’t incude bacon in their breakfast routine?

This makes being vegetarian and vegan very difficult for me. I recently had steak so bloody it was dripping down my chin, I wouldn’t have it any other way to be honest. I don’t like to eat meat with every meal, it just feels too dense, but if I am eating meat, I am really eating it; bloody, rare- perfection.

The wilderness, exploring into the woods for what feels like the first time, I am sure it can’t compare to the mountains in Spain. Different atmospheres, my first real adventure in Atlanta, I am excited to see where it takes me.


I am shifting in my seat, I feel you coming closer. I know what is going to happen and I honestly can’t wait for it. Your tongue moves out of your mouth and across your lips. Here it comes, your breath against my jaw, down my neck and to my collarbone. The heat, is it coming off you or me? Doesn’t matter. Do I have to ask? Is it something you will know? You like it when I am quiet, so I will stay quiet. Only if you do what you know I want. I feel it now, your teeth scrape along my chest. I smile, it’s finally going to happen. You’re going to eat me alive.


It’s crazy because I can sit and think for hours and completely blank when it’s time to discuss my thoughts. My mind just moves so quickly from one thing to another it’s hard to keep track of decisions and ideas. To you I may be indecisive; to me I am too decisive. I know what I want but I care about the repercussions of those wants and needs. Who will it affect? Will it hurt anyone? My dad would always say the old cliche, “no good deed goes unpunished”. I think about that a lot while I am driving. How I stop at a stop sign and let someone go first at the expense of the person behind me. It disrupts the order, causes chaos but it still considered a good gesture for the person who goes first. It isn’t like I really shaved off any time for them, maybe 10 seconds. I suppose that is the truth for either direction. I shaved off 10 seconds for one person, added 10 seconds for another. This makes me their time master and they will have no choice but to bend to my will. Because I am the one who got to the stop sign first. If my first thought was to disrupt the person behind me so be it.

Why is it that when someone is more in a hurry while driving everyone around seems to think it is good/funny/fair to take longer. Waste their time. If they are in a hurry could it be for a reason that is out of our norm?

We will never understand what happens in the life of others. And as I learned in my creative writing class, life is stranger than fiction. With that my professor mentioned to us how difficult it would be to write an autobiography as no one would ever believe the events we are claiming took place were real. Instead tweak them and write them into a fiction story where you can manipulate the emphasis and hidden meanings.

It is crazy how somethings stick with you and somethings just leave your mind completely. I felt so ahead in that class, like I knew my stuff and others were playing catch up.

But I was never one to be so precise.

Morning gifts

I wake up, sigh, it’s too early to function and yet my body is already becoming more alert.
Curse of the morning person I suppose. I think to myself looking around. 2 dogs on the floor, snoring; One dog along my back, also snoring and a dog cuddling my feet under the covers. What’s that rule about a sleeping animal? I guess that means I can’t move, huh? I shake the sleep off, take a deep breath and say, “Good morning!” As if a bell tower had rung these dogs all become alert at once. The pug goes from sleeping along my back to her snout in my face and a million face kisses; just for me. The dachshund wags his tail under the covers and slowly creeps out, giving a long stretch before walking along the edge of the bed towards my face. The Rottweilers eyes are wide open as she stares at me from the floor, she is so unwilling sometimes. “I said good morning, aren’t you ready to go outside?” That did the trick. The Rottweiler claws her way to her feet, and she walks towards the bedroom door, which is still closed because our biggest challenge is hogging the dog bed: The American bulldog, she doesn’t even open her eyes. But I see them blink. She is awake she is just too lazy to get up! And she knows it’s 6:30 am and everyone in the house is sleeping so I can’t be loud. “You got me, Mia, but it’s time to go outside, let’s go! Up!” I try to be as encouraging as possible but she opens one eye at me, I think it’s working. I move out of the bed, running my hands down the back of every dog I nudge away to make space for myself. I bend beside Mia, “come on baby” I coax as I cup her face and pet her head. Cookie, the Rottweiler, just can’t take it anymore and she gets in my face and gives me a lick! “Ok! Ok! We are going without Mia then, bye Mia”
The small dogs, Tinky the Pug and Charlie the dachshund jump off the bed, nose in the door. I open the door slowly but it doesn’t matter, they run into the door and they run out the door. Mia lies motionless in bed. Guess she will have to hold it until my parents wake up. I get to the backdoor and open it for the babies, they all run out but as soon as the door closes behind them, they are crying for me to sit outside with them. I’m feeling the time pressure. My job requires me to be somewhere by 8 and it takes 20 minutes to drive there. As if in sync, the moment I check my phone I get a text from my boss (who I consider my second mother) “can you stop by my house first on the way to the warehouse?” I have to add an extra 10 minutes to make it to the warehouse in time now. It’s 7:10 am. I have about 15 minutes. I hope they use the bathroom but it’s also my turn. I race to the bathroom and that’s when it hits me;
Surprise poop.


Sometimes it is easier to write when my eyes are swollen with tears, but it is equally as important to write about the average times. Or even more importantly, about the times where I am happy about an event or decision.

Now is definitely one of these times. I have decided to pursue grad school. I am aiming to apply for Washington or even southern British Columbia, Canada.

I plan on writing more and keeping up with this blog better than I have been. I really want to be a member of this community and feel comfortable expressing myself. It  isn’t easy being truly myself a lot of the time. I just need to find a place where I can be who I am, and grow into the person I want to be.

I know most of my writings have been pretty down lately, I will work on it. I also plan on self publishing a book soon.

Cant expose everything yet, but believe me! I am moving forward to better myself and becoming the person I know I can be- and you all deserve.


My first encounter with writing had to be when I was in 6th grade, I started writing in a diary. I had to cry to my mother who then had to force my older sister, Autumn, to teach me how to write a diary. “Small letters,” She said. I remember writing that first line, too bad I don’t remember what it said. I excitedly asked if I did it right, “Yeah, good.” And with that my sister went to her room. Ready to be rid of me,  but I didn’t care because then I knew the secrets of diary writing.

I can’t say I wrote every day, that is still impossible, but I did write often. Eventually, my writing went from cute, young excitement; too dark, emotional hatred of existence. That may seem over exaggerated, but believe me, I was ready for death- just scared of how it would take me. I felt abnormal, it was something that was looked down upon. But was it really? Was I all that crazy? I would battle myself in writing, making valid points to myself on how awful things could be. Before long my writing went from suicidal to filled with love, or the thought of it anyway.

How love engulfed me, and not just love but, sex. Things I had never really experienced, but I was good at writing it. Everyone wanted me to write a story describing them through the eyes of a lover. I would write fan-fictions about my friends and show it to them too! They loved it and begged for more. I was so happy with this, I then enrolled into creative writing in high school.

I learned about poetry, prose, fiction, non-fiction. My heart soaked in pain and lust was nurtured and blossomed by poetry. There is no wrong in poetry, no real rules. This meant to me: I can’t mess it up. I began to get cocky with my writing, wanting to show everyone (except my class). Proudly sharing it with my parents, my dad would always say “Writers only get rich when they die, so what will you do in the meantime?” I didn’t know, I didn’t have an answer and I didn’t need one. My mom jumped in, “John! Stop that!” then she turned to me “If you do something you love, you will never work a day in your life”.

That really stuck with me, I would never work a day in my life? The only catch is I would have to do something I love? Deal! So the journey began. What do I love? All I could think about, dream about was poetry and non-fiction. Fiction to me was solely about sex, it’s all I could do. I couldn’t write a “good” fiction story to save my life!

The years were not kind to me, the more my life went on the more difficult it became. It wasn’t until college that I got on good terms with my mother, and it wasn’t until college that I got Woke.

All of these experiences have pushed me to not only write but create a blog to share with people.

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