A Future Full of Writing.

Last night I lay in bed and had the overwhelming and uncontrollable itch to write.

Like a natural coping mechanism, my mind went to work forming sentences out of the myriad of thoughts swimming around in my head, trying to make sense of the many things troubling me.

Of which there were many.

There was the obnoxious voice of a downstairs neighbor who obviously didn't realize it was midnight on a Tuesday and that people were sleeping, or trying to, in my case.

There was heartbreak tugging at my conscious, the realization that I might be losing one of my best friends over an over-reacted response to a cancellation.

There were the forgotten keys of my roommate that woke me from my slumber, to allow her access in.

And then it was all tossing and turning, with the eventual lull of my silent weeping that I fell asleep, a lullaby of sniffles and wet cheeks.

But there was one situation in particular that put me in an upset state in the first place, and it had to do with someone of the male varietal. 

I can say this in confidence because I know for a fact he does not read my blog, but this particular creature has been playing games with me for the past few years. Leading me on, saying all the right things, promising possibility, all tried and true scenarios that have left me frantically in search of my journal as my thoughts begged to be on paper. 

It was during last night's texting that I finally let it sink in that he never really had the intention of following through. He could talk the talk, but was never able to walk the walk. It stung, as rejection always does, and in between my blurry blinks, I wrote with a fury I was all too familiar with. 

As each day goes by, as the disappointment of the male species continues to sink in, and as more situations pop up that warrant excessive entries in my journal, I realize that writing is my future. It's been my past, it's in my present, and I cannot imagine a future without it. 

In this particular case, and like almost any other case, I write because it's my way of healing, being my own moral support. Since moving here, I've found it difficult to confide in anyone, as I'm not exactly surrounded by good listeners. I have so much to say, so much to ask, and no one to share it with (except Mom, who's always just a phone call away!).

When I'm not writing, I'm constructing stories in my head, blog post beginnings, and my fingers itch to get ahold of a pen or a keyboard. It's the strongest feeling I've had in awhile and if there's one constant, one comfort in this turbulent and whirlwind ride, it's that I have the ability to write about it. 

In the above instance regarding this male individual, it reminded me of my wise and forewarned journal entries I had previously made, of which I had so prudently ignored. 

It took a couple read-throughs of past entries for me to come to terms with the fact that I had it right all along, that this guy was an arse and that I deserved better.

It also made me appreciate how quick I was to write it down in the moment, as I try to do (when I'm not two weeks behind in my person journal, like I am right now...). It's in the heat of the moment that it matters most, and I can now confidently look forward to a future without this peculiar man (really he should be called a boy).

A future free of boys who look like sunshine but are the reason behind tear soaked pillows and devastated journal entries.

Instead, let it be a future full of writing



Dear Mom,

I don’t know where to begin or how to start, so I’ll begin with what is the wake up call for us both: coffee. 

Thank you for allowing me a sip of that Starbucks tan mocha when I was four years old and clamoring for more. Since then, I’ve become as big a fan as you and it bonded us in ways I could never imagine. When I decided to stay and help you open 602, I never thought the train ride would be as impactful as it’s been, and though it was hard for us both when I left, know that it was you who inspired me to go and chase my own dreams, as you were doing.  

Dear Mom, thank you for always being a phone call away. You are my best friend and the one I always call when I’m walking to work or needing to chat, and I always look forward to those good morning texts from you, followed by “coffeetime!” 

Dear Mom, thank you for always being wise and understanding. I overthink a lot and whenever I need advice, cheering up, or assurance that spending $300 on vintage clothing was a mature choice, I call you. Moms know best, and you’ve never let me down!  

Dear Mom, thank you for your generosity and selflessness. You’re the type of person who offers your food when someone else is still hungry at the table, and your care packages are always filled with the types of things that cheer me up.  

Dear Mom, thank you for birthing me! I know I was a big baby, but more than that, you raised me. And I look at all your wonderful qualities and smile because I know that when I grow up, I will be just like you (and Dad too, but your day is coming!). If I can be half as generous, kind, creative, strong, brave, and splendid as you, my life will have been well worth it.  

Dear Mom, thank you for all of your love and support. I sit here in my new apartment and I look around and thank you for helping me get to where I am. I couldn’t have done this move without you and I just want you to know that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  

One Mother’s Day doesn’t do justice to how much love and admiration I feel for you and all you’ve done, but it does do something and I want you to know that you’ve paved the way for other strong women to follow suit in your creative, pasta filled, kind footsteps.  

Though I am in sunny California on this day, saddened that I had to stand in line at Safeway and witness the flowers purchased for mothers that other lucky folks got to spend their day with, I knew that you were here in spirit. 

And just a phone call away. 

I love you Mom.