Even though it’s the dead of winter here in minnesota, I’m cleaning. I have three trash bags full of clothes now as we speak it’s been racked up to 5 and two backpacks. The person can’t drive me today but that’s okay. So lately I’ve been mentioning how I’m not right in the head in my past posts. That’s just me being honest, I can’t hide that there’s something wrong with me. It’s hard to admit this to even myself, but mentioning this to you guys helps. It makes me more aware of at least trying to change, even if it is small. In this case big, I have one closet full of clothes. One whole small dorm closet full of my wardrobe, this is huge for me. This also means get ready for repeats till I get rid of all those clothes, aka summer cleaning. With this less clothes I’ll be focusing on things I enjoy. Yes fashion is one of those things but I’ll take that slow. If I get something, I have to get rid of something else. Like I got rid of all these clothes, I now have more room for nice wigs or skin care. I don’t really know what I’m doing in all honesty but at least this is start. It started with spring cleaning and hopefully it’ll keep changing. In advance I apologize for the repeated clothing and shoes, I can only do so much in the winter. I think through this whole process I’ve come to realize that I don’t really need that much stuff. I just need time, which is the worst thing for me right now. At least I still have my books, tea, and you guys to help pass the time.
So one of the classes I am taking this semester is improv for non majors, man does that class get me out of my comfort zone every morning. We start with getting our blood pressure up, like warming up before practice or a game. Walking around, stretching, sitting up straight, it feels weird to me. We also do these exercises where we get up in front of the whole class and walk or something. Though after that class I’ll realize two things, the first thing is my tea is now at a good temperature to drink. The second thing is I’m much more confident or more than I usually am. I think this class is good for me and so far I’m glad I’m in it. I can already see that I’m improving slightly from it, this past Tuesday I spoke at this spoken word event. I would’ve never done it if it were say two years ago. Confidence is hard to get at but I think through this blog, my class, and my photography page, I’m getting there.
This is to makeup for all the selfcare sundays I have missed this month and last month. At the beginning of last semester I talked to this person, and I thought we would just become friends. That isn’t what happened, I have written a lot about this person and I don’t know if I should be happy about that or not.
I would say I have someone to blame but its really myself. I warned this person from the very beginning that I wasn’t good for them but they wanted to help me, I pushed them away. Though they kept coming back to try and help but I knew I would just use them. I didn’t want to do that since we would see each other around on campus. Time passed and I talked to them again, to try and figure out what we were now. I thought we would go back to being friends or something along those lines. But I went back into the mindset that I could use them. So I dropped them again, I didn’t talk to them and they didn’t talk back. I didn’t want to do this to them, or to anyone for that matter, so I isolated myself. I was scared of seeing them again, I hid in my dorm room and only went out to class. I guarded myself when I went anywhere on campus alone. I didn’t want to see them because they could have talked to me.
During that time though, I was in a dark place in all honesty, I wasn’t taking care of my body like I normally would. I had these unhealthy coping mechanisms that I did not want to go back to so I tried to think of something to distract me. Time passed and I remember crying one night in my friends room, that is when I had my laptop up there so I tried to keep myself busy with writing and Youtube videos. I was thinking of starting a Youtube channel but realized I didn’t like being in front of a camera to talk. Then I thought about starting a blog, then I thought ,how hipster do we want to get? All I knew is I needed something to keep my mind off of them. It’s only a big deal if we make it one right? So I found my old blog and thought why not actually start this up? I did a couple of clicks and had is all set up, now just what do I post about. At first I thought about book reviews but I didn’t read as much as I did in the past. Then I thought about my outfits, until then they were very bland and not fun. I have always loved fashion, I love watching project runway, america’s next top model. So clothes, fashion, my style, my makeup game. I knew this would connect my two passions of fashion and writing, so I took a shot in the dark.
I know this is only the beginning for this blog but I’m going to work to branch outside of my comfort zone. Now I know through this experience that people will not always come back into your life. I know that person will never care for me like they did before. I still see myself as a young person so I still have a lot to learn, literally, I have homework. That aside I just want to thank my beautiful people for sticking with me. I hope the rest of your day is great and I will see you guys soon.
So awhile back at the beginning of the semester in my english class we had to write this profile about a place that meant something to us. I decided to write about my grandparents home, I used to spend a lot of time here as a child and this place still means something to me. I think it’s good to reflect on the good things rather than the bad. Below is what I submitted to my teacher.
One of many visible gravel roads, the busy highway in sight, surrounded by fields of soybeans and corn rotating each season. Train tracks across the highway, where on Christmas Eve we would all stay up and watch the train pass. The bright fluorescent lights that would make the shapes of candy canes, Rudolph, pine trees and snowflakes. A white two story house stood tall and proud, ‘built’ by my grandpa, or so he says. An elevated porch with one moldy wooden ramp and freshly built plywood staircase. Five tall trees scattered in the vast front yard like the ideas for a new book. Small pear trees on the edge that we never ate because we always forgot about them. An old worn trampoline that lost its cover next to those abandoned trees. Old cracked tar mixed with the gravel road and sand like dirt, that’s the driveway. Dandelions on the small hill right next to the porch that would bloom every year, front yard.
Sticks that fell like raindrops from the many trees because of all the fat birds, hiking staffs or swords. My older brother and I would whack the sticks against the trees to make sure they were strong enough to play our games. If they broke right away like eggs against a mixing bowl they weren’t strong enough. When you felt that vibration as if you were feeling the hum of the train passing in your hands, it was good. We would fight each other, as if our front yard had turned into some vast fantasy land. The small hills were now mountains, the clothesline was our only escape from the villain. The beat up trampoline was the headquarters. The driveway was the desert to cross over to the industrial dumpster where another headquarters lay. The ramp and porch though was always the pause spot. That was where we would keep our warm sticky sweet soda to reenergize us. Outside that house was where our imagination grew before we begged to get the newest gaming consoles or toys. The other half of this map was a place I always explored and had infinite question of why everything was there.
Three skyscraper pines right outside my grandpa’s stadium sized pull barn with red walls and white doors of thick sheet metal. I used to think that it held all the night creatures hidden inside because he would lock it up every night. Where my footsteps would crunch loudly like fresh cereal under the gravel. A grid of plywood up to the ceiling on the far end waiting to be used to create something. Very few things were actually in the barn, just tools and beat up diner booths. As if the barn were for decoration, the six by six and their dead wheels made it what it is. Sometime he would bring a tractor up and he would let me climb them as if that was my jungle gym. On cool fall days I would wander in there, curious of what he was working on. Always working on something, I would sometimes have to go find him to say dinner was ready. My barefeet always unfazed by the cracked tar and gravel.
On days when I wasn’t the imaginative child, I was the curious adventurer. When the weather near was perfect, the leaves still falling and the sun shining I would go outside by myself when my siblings would be playing video games. Those days would usually start at a scratched up clear varnished oval oak table in the dining room. Usually drawing then I would look outside and hear the birds as if they were calling me to come outside and explore those unknown woods behind the house. I always told my grandpa I would be gone for a while outside to the woods a few feet away. My uncle who lived across the vast field of usually soybeans owned that land. There used to be a dirt trail that connected the two. He would tell me to be careful since I would be alone usually and if I wanted to bring our dog Hoover to do so. An old german shepherd that I swore up until his death was a grandpa in a past life. This dog used to play soccer, my aunt had taught him before she left for college. He was usually resting so I went alone, into the woods. My walmart tennis shoes crushed the tall wheat plants, searching for the entrance to the vast woods. Once I had found this gateway to a new place I kept to the trail. Shades of orange lay on the floor like a moveable carpet. The kick of my foot sent the leaves flying as if they were grasshoppers running from me. My uncle had three hunting stands but back then I thought they were tree houses. Some were higher than the two story house, yet still I climbed them. I felt as if I were this small bird back then ready to take flight. Now when I climb them I feel that same rush of how high I am, this is what it must feel for a bird. The trails would lead to a river I assumed but some lead to a different place. I walked and talked to myself about the small ideas in my head of something I can’t remember now. I walked without a destination in mind and ended up in a small field of clovers. It was open so I saw the sky and clouds, clear like the blue raspberry icee at the gas station. That place wasn’t really home but it was somewhere in between.
With all I this said, thank you so much for reading this. I hope your day is great and I will see you soon.