For a dear friend.

Even though sometimes you annoy the shit out of me.


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I think I’m overweight.

“Your vomit smells like anorexic girl.” Said my friend, the morning after a night of binge drinking which resulted in my throwing up on her brand new shoes.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that your vomit doesn’t stink. It smells sweet because there’s no food in your stomach.”

I felt oddly pleased with this comment.

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But I am not one of them.

I haven’t been blogging a lot recently because I don’t feel well. Physically there isn’t anything wrong with me, I’m still maintaining a relatively healthy diet and exercising at least 3x a week – I try to get 8 hours of sleep a night and I drink lots of water. If muscles are any indication, I’m fine.


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A note to my ego.

I downloaded “Introduction to Psychoanalysis.” by Freud but never managed to get through it. The language is difficult and it was hard to remain invested in his teachings, given the information is from the early 1900s and psychology has advanced significantly since then.

Instead I’ve been delving deeper into Jungian psychology. In particular, reading about the cognitive functions. There are eight cognitive functions which represent how people observe the world – each person uses four of the eight functions in order to respond to things. These four functions are used in a dominant, auxiliary, tertiary, and inferior order. I used to be a little skeptical of the function stacks because it seemed inflexible – but the more I read about them in relation to myself, the more valuable the information becomes.


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I’m not old, dangnabit.

What’s the deal with aging?

I turned 27 a few months ago, and all of a sudden people around me have started calling me ‘old’. This to me is nonsensical – each day I’m only 24 hours biologically older than the previous. In fact, at 27 years, I’m only 24 hours older than 26 years and 364 days of age, yet I guess on paper the difference seems bigger.

The first instance came when people kept wishing me ‘happy 21st birthday’ on Facebook or joking that I was 19 again. I didn’t really understand … why do I want to turn 19? I was poor at 19, had low self-esteem, and my life was at the whimsy of others. Even at 21, I was a bit of a derp and spent much of my time making big deals out of small things. (yes, even more time, can you believe it?) Don’t get me wrong – I still am prone to emotional meltdowns, but I’m much happier where I am, doing what I do today, than I have been in the past.

I work in a military band where the average age is between 40-50. Almost everyone there is older than me by decades, and I get a sense of contentment and peace from them. People there will gently make fun of themselves for their age, “I used to have more hair 10 years ago, etc.” but there’s no visible anxiety or denial over growing older. I guess they’ve had more practice, after all.


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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 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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