(Source: deathswasteland)


3D-REX: A 3D Printed Tyrannosaurus Rex Sculpture

Move your wall hangings into storage, namisu from Madrid and Edinburgh has created something a bit different for your wall. Their Kickstarter project for 3D printed Tyrannosaurus Rex Sculptures aims to bring together the tradition of fossil collecting and displaying with new technologies. In doing so this design team has played with nature’s creations to influence some of their own. The sculptures they have designed are wire frame fossils created with Selective Laser Sintering, which the team states “feels and looks more like something between wood and stone, rather than plastic. It actually feels like a fossil!” The project comes in two designs, one for walls, and one for tables. You can check out the rest of their Kickstarter project, and their video discussion, here

- Lee Jones 

"Feminism never made me hate men. The reaction to feminism did that."

— Comment from If You’re Getting Discouraged… » Greta Christina’s Blog  (via airborne-firebreather)

(Source: brutereason, via anjanana)


See the new documentary ‘Fire in the Blood’ at IFC Center in New York City through Thursday. An intricate tale of “medicine, monopoly, and malice,” it tells the story of how Western pharmaceutical companies and governments aggressively blocked access to affordable AIDS drugs in Africa and the global south, leading to ten million or more unnecessary deaths. It is also the inspiring story of the improbable group of people who decided to fight back. Get details


See the new documentary ‘Fire in the Blood’ at IFC Center in New York City through Thursday. An intricate tale of “medicine, monopoly, and malice,” it tells the story of how Western pharmaceutical companies and governments aggressively blocked access to affordable AIDS drugs in Africa and the global south, leading to ten million or more unnecessary deaths. It is also the inspiring story of the improbable group of people who decided to fight back. Get details


I think I’ve seen #thehelp too many times for it to be healthy. It’s taking over my life!


I think I’ve seen #thehelp too many times for it to be healthy. It’s taking over my life!

(Source: tabannpal)

(Source: lydiathings)

The end of the road…and the beginning of another

It’s been about a year and a half since I moved “home” to Florida, and it has gone ANYTHING but according to plan. Most of this has a lot to do with some severe, underlying issues between my father and I, but over the last few weeks, it has come to my attention that life is tough shit sometimes, and we just have to do the best we can with what we have. 

My parents are still married, and my brother and sister have thus far lead very different lives than I did.  That trend promises to continue.  I’m happy for them, because I was always so inexplicably sad growing up, but I often feel defeated over the fact that they will probably never understand why things are the way they are.  They will probably always know me as the “rogue” sister, and not in the “marches to the beat of her own drum, but still gotta love her” kind of knowing.  They will always think less of me, always think of me as the one who could never succeed, and that is thanks to my dad.  They will never understand the problems between my dad and I, and while part of me desperately just wants them to see the truth, there’s another, more dominant part of myself that knows they’re better off never knowing.  I’ve written him countless letters that have all ended up trashed, whether virtually or by actual trashcan, and that is only because I worry about the impact those letters would have on my mother, brother, and sister. Who wants to spread their hurt? Transcending the misery that comes from wallowing in your own lack of understanding and realizing that not even YOU are forced to suffer may just be the key to not wanting to share it with company. 

For the last 13 or so years, our relationship has been tumultuous yet incredibly simplistic—-he hurts me or lets me down in one fashion or another, I swear him off, I ultimately forgive him, and the cycle repeats.  I have given him chance after chance not to disappoint me, but I suppose disappointment is the only thing he’s always followed through with.  I’m certain I’ve disappointed him equally, what with my choices that never fit his mold, and daring to form an opinion of my own; but as much as I want to guilt myself, I remind myself who played what role.  Who was the adult? Who was the child? Who was supposed to always be the role model, example setter, and proverbial boo boo kisser? 

I’ve let things slide that I probably shouldn’t have, buried things under the rug that may have done better being swept into the light.  Rational discussions never ended with anything but guilt trips and blaming me some way or another, never admitting fault of his own.  I think that’s one of my biggest issues—-his disregard for any fault that may lie within himself, and his inability to apologize.  

He consistently manipulates whatever he can to try and make it seem as if he is blameless.  Whether it’s bad mouthing me to my own family, telling my friends who used to call while I was grounded for one ridiculous thing or another sob stories of how he wishes he and I could “get along” (it was always pinned on me, of course), or trying to win my boyfriends over in an effort to discredit me, he has been trying for years to lessen the person that I am by any means possible.  It stops today, because today I finally realized that no one has that power.  I am who I am regardless of the words and efforts of others. 

I owe my father very little in the scheme of things.  He did the necessaries and not much else, and all the while, he name-called and belittled me, refusing to acknowledge any hand he may have had in my stumbles or slip ups.  He is a blameless fool who will never grow as a human being until he can break down the inner workings of his own selfish mind to admit how very wrong he can be.  He will hold what little he DID do over my head like a dangling carrot, as if raising a child and giving them everything you could renders some sort of debt, and I hardly think I was given much to brag about.  I have tried and tried and TRIED, and now I’m exhausted.  It’s time to lay it all to rest. 

It has taken time (and will continue to do so) for me to gain confidence in the things I believe in and love and what I feel is right for myself, for MORGAN, a midst so much disapproval and, to be honest, what I believe is a secret hope that I fail.  That I wave the white flag of surrender, screaming “you were right! I can’t do anything you don’t deem worthy of a person’s time,” so that he can continue his strange, anti-bragging fetish of putting his first born child down.  He wants to be right so badly that he’s willing and wanting to watch me crumble into nothingness.  To say that it is unhealthy for me to be around is an understatement. 

I’ll turn 25 on my next birthday, and it’s time.  It’s time to let it go and forget what I can about it and move on with the kind of a life I want to have.  It’s time to become the person I was born to be without hindrance or hurt feelings. It’s time to realize that if my mother can’t stick up for her child, that she too may be ostracized, but to refuse to see what has been in front of your face for so long has consequences.  And it’s time to realize that my brother or sister may never understand, but that I can still love them just the same.  

I write this for many reasons, and if you view it as “dirty laundry,” that’s your opinion, although I don’t agree.  I didn’t write it for attention or sympathy, but for understanding and empathy, hopefully towards anyone else who may be struggling with parental issues.  It is no easy plight, it is not something to take lightly, and it can damage a person for years.  But it is something that can be overcome, and while it is unfortunate that the person on the brunt end of all the issues is often the one who has to pack up their efforts and move along, it DOES instill a sense of power and self-worth that may have been buried until that point.  

I write this for those of you who have chastised me for not worshiping the ground that my dad walks on, and as a reminder that no one truly knows anyone else’s story.  I write this for anyone who is suffering through the same and feels as if they are alone and childish in their desires to just have a father who respects them. And finally, I write this with hope that some of you new or future dads out there will realize how highly your daughters hold you in their minds, and how irreparable certain kinds of damage can be. 

I will end with three quotes that I find appropriate, inspirational, and chronologically accurate as far as this type of healing process goes:

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." —- Eleanor Roosevelt

"Do in your heart what you feel is right —- for you’ll be criticized anyway." —- also Eleanor Roosevelt 

"You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy." —- C. JoyBell C.

Natural/cruelty free products I lurrrrve (pt. 1)

After doing some snooping last night on gocrueltyfree.org, I was beyond thrilled to find out that almost every single one of my hair/skin products that I’ve tried (and often stuck with) over the last several years has met the STRICT criteria of Cruelty Free International.  It’s not easy to gain this badge of honor, so I was pretty pumped.

What excited me even more was seeing high-scale brands I’ve been scared to try, like Pureology, on their list!  Seriously, it’s awesome when salon quality meets ethical creation.  Beyond that, there’s an entire section of household products that have been deemed cruelty free, and it has truly inspired me to start filtering out what I have and purchasing products that are ethical in their creation.  

All of you pinning “natural” cleaning, hair, face, etc. products on Pinterest need to LISTEN UP and check out the list!  Being “natural” without being cruelty free is kind of like someone pooping without having any toilet paper to wipe with—-and by that, I mean it doesn’t make any sense. 

I guess I’ll start with shampoos, and I want to follow up with skin care and make up in the next few posts. I want to make it clear that it was really hard to decide, because I can count FOURTEEN different natural/cruelty free shampoos that I’ve used over the last three years, and I’m only picking the ones that worked best for me.  I have extremely oily skin, but using something too cleansing on a daily basis leaves my hair feeling a little dry, so shampoo is always a challenge for me.  I want my hair and scalp to feel clean without feeling too dried out, but the last thing I want is to walk around lookin’ like a grease ball. Yuck. 

I’ll also be including, as with the rest of my posts, products I cannot wait to try! :)

1. Burt’s Bees Super Shiny Mango

Love, love, love. It’s my number one pick of any overall, daily use shampoo.  My hair looks and feels both clean and soft, and I don’t find myself having to mix any cleansing shampoos into my routine.

2. Paul Mitchell’s Tea Tree Shampoo


Before everyone gets their “THATSNOTORGANIC” panties in a wad, you’re right.  It’s totally not organic.  But Paul Mitchell doesn’t participate in animal testing, so I’ve always been a huge fan of their products for that reason alone.   My biggest complaint about some of the “green” products on the market today is that they aren’t green at all.  Being “green” is about respecting your planet, and pouring shampoo onto a bunny rabbit’s open wounds (I’m not exaggerating) doesn’t exactly fit that bill.  Garnier, for instance, has a new “green” shampoo, but they still participate in barbaric practices, so I can’t support their products.  Animal testing for beauty products is outdated and unnecessary.  And really, really fucking cruel. 

Back to the shampoo—-this is one of my “cleansing” shampoos, and it is by far my favorite.  Lots of scalp tingles and a wonderful minty smell accompany one of the most refreshing shampooing experiences you’ll ever have.  I have used this both in tandem with other shampoos and entirely on its own.  I recommend purchasing this straight from the salon, to avoid using a product that is expired. 

3. Giovanni Tea Tree Shampoo


Another great cleansing shampoo, and about 1/3 of the price of Paul Mitchell’s.  I prefer to use this one along with another shampoo versus on its own.  I’ve only seen this at Target, but it’s almost guaranteed to be there, and at around $6-7 a bottle. 

4. Paul Mitchell Shampoo 1

Paul Mitchell Shampoo One, 10.14 fl oz

Perfect for every day use and it smells PHENOMENAL! I do typically mix a cleansing shampoo with it weekly or bi-weekly, though.  Again, just my hair type. 

5. Paul Mitchell Shampoo Two

Paul MitchellShampoo Two10.14 oz

My hair LOVES this shampoo! It has a really nice citrus scent and it is a good cleanser.  It works well for me in tandum with Shampoo One.

6. Gud Red Ruby Groovy


This is my final “fav,” and although I have other shampoos I like better (like Renpure products), but they don’t pass the Cruelty International test for whatever reason.  This could mean that they buy their ingredients from companies that DO participate in animal testing, so let this be a lesson to you all—-just because it says it doesn’t participate in animal testing doesn’t mean it’s true across the board. Organix was also no where to be found on the list.

I enjoy this shampoo overall, but with my oily skin, I do still have to mix it up with this one.

To try (and update you all on, of course)

Basically, everything on this page.  I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on their hair care! I just picked up a new bottle of my fav Burt’s Bees shampoo, and as soon as I run out, it’s onto LUSH products.

Happy shampooing!  And remember, look for the Cruelty International bunny (or check out the list at this link: http://www.gocrueltyfree.org/search?product-type=cosmetics&country=232) before buying.






I want to take some time to talk about moments some of us deem to be the results “growing pains;” things many of us look back on and refer to as periods, as if we were Picasso or Monet going through our Blue or Pointillism Periods (respectively, of course); what some of us label, and often disdainfully, as phases. 

I feel as though we are pressured at such young ages to find “who we are” and what our “purpose” is in this world, when in reality, we are too dimensional to settle with this one proverbial SOMETHING everyone else wants us to find.  I mean, seriously, am I the only 24-year-old out there who’s been writing about how lost she feels for over 1/3 of her life? And every time I feel as though I’ve consented to the radical idea that maybe I’m not supposed to become one-dimensional, I stumble into someone else’s grand idea of simplicity, and although it seems so sweet at first, I ultimately end up disappointed.  It never fails. 

The Hayley Williams, Justin Timberlakes, and Stephen Kings of the world know how they want to spend their days as soon as they’re able to articulate these desires, and probably before even that.  But me?  And so many of the rest of us?  We’re not so certain. 

And so we go through these so-called phases that we often look back at and cringe over (y’all go look through your Facebook activity log page. click two years back. tell me you don’t smack yourself on the forehead at least once and I’ll call you a liar), but I think we’re supposed to.  If we didn’t try and fail, how would we learn?  Stop being so judge-y, world.  Wouldn’t you rather have us explore for a little while, honing our talents and finding out footing before setting out into you? 

The most unfortunate part about realizing that we are MORE than just a job title, that you can fight for MORE than ONE cause?  Our entire world is based on singularity.  You must find one career, one love, one passion.  Any more than that and not only will you run head-on into the harsh judgment of those who find your multifaceted desires childish.  More importantly, sadly, being singular is the best way to make sure you can do things like eat and pay rent.  There is little room for exploring past the age of 18 with our society’s current set of rules. 

I’m tired of referring to myself as “lost” or “confused.”  I think I’m pretty normal, aside from the fact that I’m willing to admit what others view as shortcomings in the whole “what do you want to DO?” department.  I feel as though I have a solid grasp on my heart and what it deems important, and I have to wonder when the emphasis on that started to wane. 

I want to make it clear that I’m not complaining or whining about the privileged world I live in.  I’m simply commenting on what I see and feel. So much of my writing revolves around this topic, and it’s because I’m frustrated over the lack of creativity we’re encouraged and allowed.  There are so many things about my life and my purposeS (emphasis on the plural, thanks) that I can’t try to predict any longer.  I have GOT to stop telling myself I want to go to OT school, that I want to be a teacher,  be an environmental scientist, etc. etc.  But I can already tell you that the “normal” jobs have yet to work out and probably won’t for a while, if ever.  Most days I just want to drive.  And write, and love, and see. 

And ultimately find something I don’t hate for the whole, you know, making money thing.  

Good luck to the rest of you in exploring the infinite abyss,

Anonymous asked: When are you people going to visit us people? And thank you for sharing part of your story.

what people where? and fo sho! sharing is caring. 

Look at that! I’m still a shitty blogger.

It’s been exactly ONE YEAR since I’ve last updated this blog, so before you go on, I’ll give you a brief refresher. I know I’ve (somehow) gained some new readers, so I’ll backtrack for a moment before moving on with what’s new in my crazy, crazy life. 

So, I was a student/bartender/professional tequila shooter in Tuscaloosa, AL for three years before deciding it was time to move home.  In my final year, a catastrophic tornado tore what had become my bubble of a town in half, and the destruction didn’t stop there.  I watched so many people I had grown to love so much suffer through things that are unimaginable to the average American, and I was surrounded by devastation that was a constant reminder of what so many people lost that day.  There was no healing period, but instead just a slow and constant numbing of all my senses until one day, I realized I wasn’t well and it was time to go.  That coupled with an absolutely miserable living situation and a 65 hour work week, I was chomping at the bit over the idea of moving home. 

Although it didn’t go as I planned for the first several, several months, I now realize that it was all for a much greater reason.  My relationship with my dad has finally begun to mend itself, I found my best friend and, dare I say it, soul mate, and I have at long last had an enormous eye-opener as far as the service industry goes.  And that, people, is a fucking miracle. 

I think I got really spoiled in Mobile and Tuscaloosa when it came to how I was treated by my employers.  Between McAlister’s (both locations), Wintzell’s (all FOUR locations), Steamer’s, and The Houndstooth, I managed to accrue quite the resume of stellar supervisors.  I never understood why people griped about their bosses, and I chalked it up to the fact that I was a good employee.  Qualities people wished for in their own bosses were qualities all of my own employers possessed—-respect for their employees, a “teamwork” attitude, and the ability to look at your staff as human beings rather than expendable cronies that can be replaced in a few training shifts.  And all of us worked for the same people for years!  YEARS!  How utterly unheard of in this industry!  How bizarre to have worked with the same crew under the same management at multiple locations for so many years.  I should have realized that I was lucky, and I should have counted my blessings right then and there. So here’s a quick shout out and a giant thank you to Vince, Matt, Francis, Chris K., Pat, Justin, Mary, Fred (oh, Fred), Jon A., Robert & Kristina, Cheree, and so many other phenomenal management members who I’m probably forgetting for treating me and the rest of your staff as human beings.  I hope all of you realize how much you’ve taught us ALL by just being kind and respectful.  I was truly lucky to work under each and every one of you.  

Because Florida hasn’t been so kind.  

I will now embark on the “I’m going to say whatever I want” section, because frankly, if anyone were to actually gripe about it, I could nail them with enough legal, shall we say, mishaps? of their own that some whiny white girl’s blog would become the LEAST of their worries.  Besides, if I’m not saying any names and someone feels as though any complaints or criticisms pertain to themselves, a long look in the mirror—-rather than pitching a fit over a blog—-is probably the wisest reaction.  

One job seemed phenomenal at first, and for the most part, it was.  I truly enjoyed my coworkers, the hours were fairly reasonable with closing times well before 3 AM, and best of all, it got me OUT of my house, which wasn’t feeling so “homey” at the time.  But I had my very first ugly surprise as far as management and ownership, and I let it shatter me.  I questioned everything I thought was true about myself as far as my career—-was I not talented enough?  Did I not work hard enough?  Should I have done something differently?  After much time spent worrying and wondering over the answers to these questions, I finally realized that yes, I was more than talented, and of course I worked hard enough.  Harder than almost any other female bartender I’d personally worked with in Alabama, and even harder than some of the males.  What I ran into was a bad, bad person who had no idea how to handle a personal disdain for someone in a professional manner.  They accused me of stealing from the drawer (literally impossible), blamed me for the shortage of liquor, dared me to file for unemployment, and made up many more excuses and lies for why I was fired, something I had never had happen before.  These people even went on to seek out my future employers personally to tell them to “watch out” for me, which is completely illegal and beyond immoral.  Had any of my former employers gotten this warning—-people who trusted me with their children, with balancing their entire restaurant’s revenue down to the penny, with training other employees, the list goes on and on—-they would have undoubtedly had a few choice words for their caller.  I was thankful enough not to have their personal vendetta affect my employment.

From that point on it was pretty much downhill.  Getting fired via text message, being told I could bartend while watching others with no experience get the chance (everyone deserves the chance to learn something new, but don’t make false promises, managers), getting in trouble for being sick, and working through one of the most emotionally and physically challenging times in my life, of which no blog is a place to discuss.  But after three straight weeks of scary bleeding and checking my schedule to find myself working over fifty hours from Friday to Wednesday, I made a choice and promised myself that it had to stop there.  

I took a long, long look at my life and started to realize that there was nothing I prioritized over work, save maybe my dignity at certain critical points (listening to a crazy Pakistani “boss” telling me to lie on the bar so the patrons can do body shots off my stomach is not something any decent bartender should have on their resume, so I quit. Sorry, not sorry). School, family, my health, my dog, my relationships all took the back burner.  In fact, most of the time, they weren’t even on the stove.  And for what?  I was always sick because I was always working.  I couldn’t get more than 5 hours of sleep a night because I was either at work or worrying ABOUT work.  I missed far too many holidays for someone who only lived a few hours away from her family, and I went to extremes to get to and from jobs that barely paid for my groceries.  

For a while, I blamed Tuscaloosa entirely.  ”Tuscaloosa made me sad.” “I felt obligated to stay; I can’t leave NOW.”  But I was in charge of my own happiness, and I let it slip away into depression that I managed to distract myself from by working non-stop around people.  I was always talking and laughing and moving and doing SOMETHING, so I was always too busy to realize what kind of a place I had fallen into.  When the frustrations were still present a year later and in a completely new zip code, I knew it was time for a change.  It just took me coming close to hemorrhaging to finally do something about it.  

The service industry can be unusually cruel at times, and once again, I think I got lucky for so many years before finally seeing “the light.”  I think my luck could be attributed mainly to the fact that I was in a college town (while in Mobile, I worked at two places that were filled with college students), and the atmosphere and people, managers included, were just different.  The Pensacola area has opened my eyes to what I always knew this industry was capable of, and while I do feel a bitter sting of disappointment at times, I’m also relieved.  It’s time to change my pace for longer than a two month stretch. 

I cannot stress enough that I love being behind a bar in so many ways.  It will always feel like home.  I love creating new concoctions and there is no adrenaline rush (not even crossing a race finish line, sorry folks) that can compare to seeing a sea of people in front of you while you find your rhythm.  Your groove.  It’s almost poetic, and I love it.  I loved going to different bars that helped me hone different skills—-speed, craft beer knowledge, making the most innovative cocktails—-which is probably why I held so many different jobs at one time.  But all good things come to an end, and my time as a beer-toting, tin-shaking, shot-concocting woman has run it’s course. 

I’m sure some of you think I’m absolutely ridiculous for seeing the end of a bartending career as something significant enough to blog about, or even care about.  But it has been so much more than a series of jobs for me.  It has been late nights with best friends, a Jimmy John’s sandwich clutched between my teeth while I sweep at 3 AM, regulars who became family and team members who became heroes.  It has been sunsets that became sunrises, hazy afternoons, more laughter than a person should be allowed, and a kind of confidence I doubt I could have found in any other field.  

I’ve taken a Marketing job, and I’m the first of my name with the company, so I can truly make it my own.  Soon it will extend into teaching classes and fieldwork, and I have the highest of hopes.  And, for once, I also have the surest of feelings. 

One day in the distant future, maybe I’ll sling a drink or two for fun.  For now, though, I’m satisfied with laying my bar tool to rest and being one of those “I’ll just have a vodka tonic because your martini will never match my expectations,” bartender-turned-patron, cussing random people for their rude attitudes and shitty tips.  

I think it will feel nice to sit on the other side of the bar for a while.  

Tip yo’ muthafuckin’ bartenders!




Life update—-aka: sorry I’m the worst blogger ever

(I edited this piece from June 2012)

Not that I’m pretentious enough to think millions were sobbing over my absence.  But to the few hundred thousand of you who religiously read every shitty piece of writing I post, I extend my sincerest apologies.  I suck.  It’s true.  

Alright, so on the reals…

I guess I haven’t really given much of anything at all since March, and 4 AM is the perfect time to remedy that.  

I left Tuscaloosa…which I’m sure you all already realized.  But the why’s and how’s and what now’s are what’s left.  I guess it was for a multitude of reasons—-severely, SEVERELY miserable with my living situation, frustrated with working shitty bar jobs after having tasted what a GOOD bar job was, even more frustrated with my “big girl” job that paid little and wasn’t “me,” and depressed in general over memories and bad feelings I just couldn’t seem to escape.  I don’t think (okay, no, I know,)I ever got over April 27, 2011, and that in itself just isn’t normal.  I believe it’s in part due to the fact that I’m sensitive and empathetic to an often unhealthy point, and also because that one day facilitated so many events and decisions and relationships over the next year of my life that I couldn’t ever seem to have just a “normal” day.  I could go on for hours and hours about how it affected just about every aspect of my life from there on out, but that’s exhausting to both the reader and the writer.  What I will say is that my depression and anxiety got so out of control that the nightmares and the constant blackout drinking were only the tip of the iceberg, and sometimes I wonder how I made it out of that phase alive.  Nevertheless, I did, and I’m thankful on a daily basis.   

I decided what I needed was a change, and I made one of the worst decisions possible when I took a day job that was wonderful, but I was still in no position to stay in Tuscaloosa.  The town had gone from memories of happy (sometimes challenging, but always happy) experiences to constant reminders of pain and suffering and loss. I was a fool to have thought it in my best interests to stay. 

I was still having to bartend to make ends meet, so my work weeks were never under 65 hours, and eventually I needed a god. damn. break.  I went to Hangout Festival, and I’m fairly certain that weekend saved my life. Depression causes this horrible grey bubble to form around you, and it feels as though no matter how sunny or bright the outside world and the people it holds may be, you’re stuck behind a layer of sadness, and you just can’t seem to get a grip on anything outside of the grey.  I don’t know if it was the water or the music or the meeting of so many stellar people, but somehow, I just…woke up.  It sounds stupid and cliche, I know, but it’s true.  

I knew on Sunday, the last day of the festival, that I was done with Tuscaloosa.  That I SHOULD have been done a long, long time ago.  I felt as though I owed it to the town to stay and continue to be a part of it’s strength and progress, but what happened instead was a darkening of my views on a place that, at one point, had facilitated nothing but personal growth and sheer happiness.  So many parts of my life were becoming tainted at such a rapid rate, and for what seemed like an eternity, I felt I couldn’t escape.  But that Thursday, I left work with nothing but the word “HOME” on my mind, and that’s where I went.  

It has most definitely not been the homecoming I planned, but I know my parents (namely my dad) will never understand, nor care to understand, how and why I left a place I was content to call “home” for so many years basically out of nowhere.  He thinks I “bailed” and “couldn’t handle it;” he’s told my mom I’m 23, that I need to grow up and “get my shit together,” and blah blah blah same old same old “Morgan is such a failure.”  It’s almost stopped hurting, which is surely a side effect of listening to it for the last 12+ years.  The fact of the matter is that I didn’t come home to satisfy anyone else’s opinion; I have had quite enough of that for the moment.  I came home to find myself, and what I’m starting to realize is that fulfilling society’s expectations has caused me nothing but heartache, and it’s time to buck up and try and different route.  I have ALWAYS worked and I take care of my own life.  Of COURSE there were bumps in the road and hell no, it hasn’t been “easy.”  But I never ended up on drugs, or unexpectedly pregnant, or in jail, or really anything all that bad.  I’ve just always felt lost to a point that would be comical if it weren’t so sad.

I’m beginning to realize vital things about myself and about life in general, and I so hope this little soul-searching journey I’ve been on continues forward.  I realize now that I do have an outstanding affect on other people, and that I can use that in whatever way I see fit.  I’m realizing that I’m lucky enough to be smart, personable, and determined…and those traits are the perfect combination for both success and flexibility.  And I’m finally seeing the light with the whole “pick one field and stick with it” BULLSHIT that has caused me more inner turmoil than I even want to think about.  I refuse.  I have never done well with coloring inside the lines, and my age should have no bearing on whether or not that changes.  I lead a phenomenal life that is so full of potential, love, empathy, laughter—-all the components necessary to make me feel full rather than empty.  All this time I’ve been searching for the “one” thing that will make me feel complete when in reality, both my interests AND my heart are far too big to settle with just one thing.  And that is a-oh-fucking-kay.  

I know there will always be those who don’t understand; there are those who will label me a “mess” or a “waste of talent.”  There will be those who pity the lack of solidarity in my life, and there will be those who will never love me as they love others because they view me as a “disappointment.”  But I’m the happiest I’ve been in well over a year and the only thing that’s really changed (besides my zip code) is my view on myself.  If you can’t get on board with that, you’re probably too wrapped up in your own deeply buried unhappiness that you can’t see past your own line of thoughts.  But instead of defending my position or begging you to understand, I’ll simply wish you the best in your own soul-searching excursions.  The world is a whole lot brighter once you finally find the bravery (or in my case, desperation) to look into the often scary depths of yourself and find whatever it is that makes your existence worthwhile.  

I always like to share things like this in hopes that someone else out there feels just as “lost” or uncertain as I did/still sometimes do.  I never want to be too heavy or sad, but sometimes life is both of these things, and that’s a fact we’d do better to accept rather than avoid. 

No judgment allowed on the writing…it shouldn’t even be legal to be awake for this many hours on end. 

—-Me :)