My life isn’t always pretty. I grapple with anxiety on a daily basis. I cart around entirely way too much baggage. I have daddy issues and motherless daughter issues and weight issues and insecurity issues. I fall down a lot. Sometimes I feel as if I’ll never be able to get back up . . . but I always get back up.
I smile and laugh . . . a lot. Part of that is likely due to a twisted sense of humor, but I’ll take it. I love my life despite any traumas or difficulties I experience or have experienced.
I write because I don’t know any other way. I write because words are embedded in every fiber of my being. I write because I think too much and feel too much. I write because it allows me to be everything I’ve ever thought about being.
I’ve always had trouble narrowing down my interests. In a past life I could easily see myself as a scientist, a veterinarian, a teacher (well, I was one of those in this life too), the Doctor’s next companion, a politician, a psychologist, and so much more. Because I write, I don’t have to choose.
This blog is self-indulgent, but I think all blogs are self-indulgent. I write about everything that means anything to me. Many posts are inspired by my amazingly quirky, intelligent, creative, smart ass 8-year-old daughter. Many are political or philosophical — I am an extremely left-leaning, feminist, equality-seeking hippy . . . and damn proud of each of those labels. Many posts will expose those not-so-pretty parts of my life. Some posts will just be random silliness. But everything I write here will be me.
“A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.” ~Kurt Vonnegut