Jane Austen, novelist
So, I’ve decided to start writing again.
Except this time, not to gain more followers through robustly unfiltered posts and witty remarks punctuated here and there in my paragraphs like swearwords rolling around in a sailor’s mouth, but rather…because I quite miss the outlet of self expression – my head can only hold so many words before it feels the need to projectile vomit all over a cursor marker in Times New Roman pt. 12 font.
This time around, I’m not so interested in the newest patent Saint Laurent is stamping all over, nor do I give two and a half sh*ts about the drunk girl stamping around in it.
I’d rather talk me, shrink, for real. I’m quite literally begging for someone to ask me a question and not listen to my response. Please, ask me, “and how does that make you feel?” and politely keep your advise aside.
So, that’s what I’ve decided to start writing again.
My long, drawn out answer to how this effing world is making me feel with the hopes that you, dear reader, are only listening with one eyeball and out the other.
Instead of going down a randomly numbered “How To” list that would drive OCD people headfirst into a straightjacket, I’d rather just type with the point aside and ditch the chicly found Google images.
Like, how about we stop talking about how un-cool and 2008 it was of you getting it on in the SOHO House bathroom and talk about the fact that it took me 2 years too long to finally get over my boring ex and not want to publicly trash him anymore. That it was actually his engagement to his ex-girlfriend (I know, right, sucker punch to the vag) that offered me a real sense of closure and assurance that everything in this wild world does in fact, happen for a damn good reason.
And who, by the way, even cares about whether or not to check your Louis Vuitton luggage. Checking bags at the airport is a pretty freaking subjective topic to me. I’d rather talk about the overweight fees I paid on the beast of a bag I checked moving to Morocco with only one very heavy suitcase. But please, let’s not bring up the fact that I should have listened to my dad and split my new simple life into two smaller (and much cheaper) suitcases.
Speaking of my dad, I miss him a lot being away from home. He’s no doubtedly my favorite person in the world and I haven’t spoken to him once since I’ve been here in Morocco. I know he’s gotten word through my mom, and I tell her to tell him hi all the time, but still. I think I’ve avoided talking to him because I know if I did, I would turn into a big baby and start crying my organic, plant-based (and very un-Chanel) mascara down my face and want to go home – and I don’t want to be homesick yet!
This is a solo mission and I’ve still got some boxes to check.
So, yeah, I guess I’ve decided to start writing again.
Let the words begin...