"There are many detours, washed-out interrupted raw places"

I am filled with the desire to post, but all my thoughts end up half-formed and incoherent.

I feel like I'm doing well, but I can barely say the words. I feel like I'm in a mostly good place. I'm not feeling especially needy, I'm not especially angry, I'm doing my damndest to get to a bemused place about my boobs.

And I'm superstitious as fuck. I'm convinced if I ever say I'm good, I'll immediately jinx whatever the hell it is I've got going on. I know that viewed from a particular angle, anyone's life can be viewed as a series of tragedies, things to be overcome, opportunities to be graceful. I'm not anyone's victim, and I don't have a cosmology that allows for a belief that the world is out to get me.

I want to claim this. I want to say that this is interesting, and fun, and maybe I'm even getting to a place where I don't feel so desperate, where every failed attempt at establishing a friendship with someone isn't because I wasn't good enough (and find a place where I can actually say "their loss" and mean it), where I go to the doctor only when I'm sick, where I have the nice things (or as many nice things as one can have while graced with four small furry mammals) I want, where I can handle little pieces of disappointments, where I can feel competent and wanted and interesting, where I cover myself with an ever-growing collection of tattoos, not because I need to reclaim anything but just because I like my symbols.

Practice, practice, practice.

"There are many detours, washed-out interrupted raw places"

I am filled with the desire to post, but all my thoughts end up half-formed and incoherent.

I feel like I'm doing well, but I can barely say the words. I feel like I'm in a mostly good place. I'm not feeling especially needy, I'm not especially angry, I'm doing my damndest to get to a bemused place about my boobs.

And I'm superstitious as fuck. I'm convinced if I ever say I'm good, I'll immediately jinx whatever the hell it is I've got going on. I know that viewed from a particular angle, anyone's life can be viewed as a series of tragedies, things to be overcome, opportunities to be graceful. I'm not anyone's victim, and I don't have a cosmology that allows for a belief that the world is out to get me.

I want to claim this. I want to say that this is interesting, and fun, and maybe I'm even getting to a place where I don't feel so desperate, where every failed attempt at establishing a friendship with someone isn't because I wasn't good enough (and find a place where I can actually say "their loss" and mean it), where I go to the doctor only when I'm sick, where I have the nice things (or as many nice things as one can have while graced with four small furry mammals) I want, where I can handle little pieces of disappointments, where I can feel competent and wanted and interesting, where I cover myself with an ever-growing collection of tattoos, not because I need to reclaim anything but just because I like my symbols.

Practice, practice, practice.