The One-Winged Girl

Three years ago, as part of BEDIS, I wrote an entry about tattoos, a little bit of the history on my interest in them, and a conclusion with the fact that I was still very on the fence about taking the plunge.  I made some good points as to why it might ultimately be a risky decision, but as we all know, I'm statistically full of shit, and for the purpose of dramatic effect, I go back on the things I say, all the time.

What I mean to say is, dear friends, it's happened.  I have gone under the needle, and I will never be the same.

Dedicated to the person in Acme who almost made me cry.

Dang.  It has been too quiet here.

Since my last entry is literally the 3rd most depressing thing that I have ever put to writing, I told myself that I wasn't going to come back to Blogger until I could post something that was a complete 180° in tone.  

Unfortunately, it's been remarkably difficult to write anything of a positive nature for the past few months.  

You see, dear readers, my life has been in a state of flux since the middle of December.  To make a very long story moderately short, my previous position became excessed, and I spent most of the beginning of 2016 trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life.  The fact that I am here does not signify that I've really figured it out, but I am in a more stable place, and like it or not, creating things helps me remain (relatively) more stable.  

Trigger Warning.

Oops.

I was on track to keep going through September.  Really.  I was.  Up until my birthday, when I missed an entire weekend +.  Well, hey - no problem.  I'll just back-date some posts to make up for it. My blog, my rules, right?  Right.  Except, that never happened, and I got too disheartened to make the attempt, and it kept slipping away from me.

That's life.  Stuff slips away.

I'm disappointed in myself for a couple of reasons, first and foremost that I didn't meet my record for even Year 2.  Second, there were a few entries that I had every intention of posting for artistic and personal reasons.

As punishment, here's one that I lost sleep over while wavering about making it public, and yet still strongly wanted to post.

Confession:  I am not a great dancer.

Confession:  I am a glutton for misery.

***N.S.F.W. -- You have been warned.***

Dear Coffee: What happened to us?

An Open Letter to my Coffee Addiction:

My Dearest Coffee,

We seem to have hit a rough patch of late.  Maybe it's spite.  Maybe it's biological resistance.  Maybe it's just that I'm getting old.

Don't know what I'm talking about?  Well, coffee, let's take a walk down memory lane.  You and I had a bit of a rough start.  From my very first taste and all through high school, I thought you were absolutely disgusting.  Coffee is bitter and flavorless and overall just empty.  I never could stomach it.  When I went to Starbucks, I drowned my cup so much, I might as well have been drinking coffee-flavored milk.

And then my first internship rolled around.  I needed to be up by 7:00 AM if I wanted a decent day, but I was not exactly cognizant that early in the morning.  And there it was -- the break room coffee pot, only 10¢ per cup.  Plus, all the cool old people were doing it.  I took the dive.

Eeeeeeeuuuuuuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Nope.  Still disgusting.  BUT, in my poor-college-student scrounging activities, I found something else - free bags of cocoa.  If I mixed a small teaspoon in with the brown muck, I could actually make it tolerable.

And therein were the beginnings of my downfall.