This is where I am.

Questions with simple and not so simple answers:

Am I a finished product?

Is anyone ever a finished product?


 

I am writing not to update an online audience but I know this is for selfish reasons entirely and while the thought is uncomfortable, there is no use in denying it.

I suppose I’m writing to update the audience within my head. I huff at the thought.

This is my way of saying this is where I am.

So…this is where I am.

I am in my final semester of my Junior year in university. I know that when I look back at this, I’ll laugh or smile or feel this scrambled mushy twinge in my stomach and heart alike much like I have done browsing old posts today.

I student teach and recently I did something that I would tell you was impossible if you were to ask me years ago.

I went to a modeling audition on a whim.

Very shallow, right.

The feeling of being objectified out of choice is something I could never really explain to anyone in sense.

And I passed through the audition. And I got a callback.

And I passed through that.

So, I am a student teacher who models some and I guess that’s interesting.

Modeling is not a passion but something that I use to prove something to myself.

Does that make sense?

Oh, and I passed all of my teaching exams and I talked with one of my old professors about the possibility of teaching abroad so there’s that.

I feel that the Universe and I have an understanding. Not that it is especially kind or finicky,  but just is and I understand.

I understand that when you truly are meant to

that it will be

and when things happen, they are meant to.

I understand that sadness is not sin and anger is not sin and love is

love Is.

I have never loved but I have. I think a lot of people feel this.

Anyway, I’ll attempt to write more here because it feels good.

Also, I should post previous writings I’ve done that I haven’t shown.

-d.h.

 

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I actually CAN NOT

I’m actually elated

No I am actually a mix of feelings i dont even want to use proper grammar at this point

I completely forgot I had this cavity of musings

This capsule of sentiments

This stupid blog of my childhood

documenting my growth

what the actual f-word

What led me to think of this

led me to recover my ancient email to type with shaky hands

to imagine that I’m okay where I am

Well, to be less dramatic,

A few weeks ago, I’m digging through my old stuff buried deep beneath my bed, beneath years of

I would say years of trials but that seems so cliche and not even close to enough

but back to the point

I’m digging through old stuff to find some cardstock that I KNOW I HAVE BECAUSE I USED IT LIKE NOT EVEN LESS THAN A MONTH AGO

and I really really really want this lesson for my classroom full of mini heathens to be absolutely spectacular

Instead of cardstock, my hands trail through dust that covers old journals that have been tucked away for

years

and I read those bitches like I read them and cry and not like cry because I feel bad for myself or I feel bad for the girl who wrote them but

FUCK

That girl was just so

I’m so happy that I got a chance to meet her

I’m bittersweet about actually having had to be her so long ago but

The universe knows

Anyway me finding old writing has nothing to do why I recovered this old thing

I was reading this astrology blog that I am absolutely indebted to and I was checking placements and I’m like wow wordpress what a funny little…

and yes that’s how I’m here.

I wonder if I should update the look of this blog or write about current me or just throw the keys away and never come back and enjoy this single moment for what it is.

I’ll decide after going through this whole thing.

Cringing and squealing and biting my cheek and yeah.

-d.h., 2018

Renaissance

anglesIsn’t it funny how in the aura of writing and typing haunting thoughts and raving emotions, one can feel so in sync with what they express, but then when one revisits the words they have written, these same musings seem so foreign and unjust.

I wonder if this reflects me somehow.

bippity boppity boo

I’m terrible with flirting and dating and everything to do with attraction and sexuality and I totally blame it on my up-bringing like 10,000%.

Also, I’m supposed to be studying for this huge mid-term tomorrow as well as finishing some work due in like five hours, but despite these things, I feel that this is more important. Actually, I’m just a huge procrastinator.

My best friend recently cut all of her hair off and is all liberated about it and all and I’m so proud of her I could scream.

This same girl convinced me to leave my number for this waiter. WTF? I know.

The setting: dimly lit café on a beautiful spring day; total hipster, alternative scene.

The motive: scoring a date with a guy who is totally potentially a gazillion years older than me but it’s totes alright because I’m legal.

What happened: I left a sticky note with a stupid hat doodle wearing a mustache that was all in pink ink and my number.

The outcome: no comment.

Lets just say that movies are not real life which is why they are movies and not real life.

But COME ON UNIVERSE.

Can I have one movie moment? Maybe two?

Can I have a Breakfast at Tiffany’s back of the taxi awakening?

Can I be Ms. Aaron Samuels?

Can I please just have one magic carpet ride with Aladdin?

Is that too much to ask?

 

 

 

 

 

the cosmos

what if we really are the universe. what if all the galaxies are actually fallen loved ones. what if what we see glimmer in the night sky are the dead. what if when we pass on, we become clusters of stars and planets. what if our souls are miraculously encased in vulnerable flesh and once we are released from this life, our energy tears through the concept of time and crushes the notion of order and we explode into universes. what if the heavens are really different heavens. each galaxy made up of souls finally set free into our true forms.