15 year writers block.

It’s been 15 years since I wrote.

When I was 12, I wrote fiction religiously each day. I would spend hours at my desk with a pencil and paper after school and fill up a 3 ring binder with pages of story. The next day I would bring my works to school for my (two) friends to read. When that wasn’t enough external validation, I wrote stories on fanfiction.net. I had over 10 stories and was really proud of the readership I received. Several of my works had over 25,000 words and hundreds of comments.


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Go away summer.

Sorry for not posting last week. Lately I’ve been feeling like a chicken with its head cut off. Constantly rushing from place to place, constantly being late for things. Attempts made to complain to ‘adults’ always result in them telling me, “Oh trust me, it’s way worse with kids.” so I guess at least I have that to look forward to.

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Screw dieting. I still look like I have chicken pox.

I started my phototherapy treatment last week. Really I should’ve been on it in February, when the dermatologist first recommended it, but I was stubborn and wanted to heal myself ‘naturally’ through diet. Well – at my last checkup when I was despairingly flailing around my psoriasis graph to him “BUT IT’S GETTING WORSE AND NEW SPOTS ARE APPEARING FASTER I HAVEN’T BEEN DRINKING WHY ISN’T IT GOING AWAY HELP ME”, he looked at me with exasperation and told me “just go to zees and you’ll be bettah in no time.” (he’s French)

I got the sense that he simultaneously wanted to pat me on the head for being dumb and backhand me for being dumb.

Well, anyways the important thing is that now I’m doing phototherapy.

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Well, I guess that jig is up.

I have to be honest with you.

I’m far less interesting now that I’m basically off alcohol. I tried to keep up my charade the first few months of 2017, telling myself that this is all so temporary and I’ll get my psoriasis under control and I can go back to my happy hour cocktails and beers once again. I’m still hip. I’m still funny. I can still go out and socialize.

For the past decade, alcohol had been my go to socialization primer*. I imbibed in it often enough to tell myself I’m not really introverted after all, I’m just a mild extrovert. (Sure seems like it when you drink every night.) Without alcohol, I struggle to get most thoughts out of my head. With alcohol, there’s no gap in response time or hesitation, whatever I want to say I can say without any issues.

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The ocean is always bluer.

Check out this view.

This is the view off my balcony.  On sunny days, I can sit outside and gaze at the people biking or running along the seawall. I can watch the Pride parade go by from the comfort of my own home, and in the summer when there are fireworks. I just take the elevator downstairs to the private concrete terrace and avoid the hundreds of thousands of visitors.

I can go for runs along the seawall, and there is no housing closer to the beach than mine. It’s almost literally my front yard.

It’s pretty swell.

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Hi, I’m Tracy.

I’m flattered that people willingly come here to read about my neurosis. This blog started as a documentation of my ‘decluttering journey’ because I wanted to hop aboard the minimalism trend, but it ended up becoming a place where I dump details about my life I otherwise have no outlet for.

To commemorate this joyous occasion of tricking 50 wonderful followers. Here are some facts about me that you may not know.

(I really do appreciate you for reading.)


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