eclecticallyquirky
Bland.
This page is terribly bland.
I guess that's the point. If it were ornate, or detailed, or strikingly beautiful (or, on the other hand, completely hideous) I'd never get anything done.
But even know I'm rambling, my words spilling onto the page, nonsensical, pointless, just... words.
So even my words are bland.
You do a lot of little things that drive me crazy.
Like the way you wrap your arms around my waist? I feel giddy every time.
Or the way you tell me I'm beautiful? I still sometimes can't believe you.
But the thing that gets me the most?
When you smile at me, just so. When your lips curl upward just slightly, and you show just a little bit of teeth, and sometimes a small chuckle falls from your lips.
That's what gets me the most.
And I love it.
Despair can be brought on by so many things.
Sometimes it's what someone says to you, demeaning you, putting you down.
Sometimes it's looking at your own life, and realizing just how miserable you truly are.
Most of the time, it feels like it's completely out of your control.
But that's a lie.
You can get out.
You can free yourself.
So do it.
Don't let despair devastate your hope, because sometimes, that's all you have left.
There was a game we used to play at camp called Pretzel. Some people called it the Human Knot. The idea was the same.
You stand in a circle, and grab hands across from you and create this giant mess of people, and you don't know where on person starts and another begins.
I hate that game.
It reminds me too much of my own imperfections.
Stereotypes say that it's the wife who should always be domestic.
I hate that.
Why pigeonhole us into something that some of us were not meant for?
Me? I was meant for greatness. I was meant to be wild.
I was not made for domesticity.
See, she has this mole on the back of her neck. And at first she thought it was the ugliest thing about her.
But when he saw it for the first time, in all its nakedness, he simply kissed it there, whispering in her ear, "you're beautiful."
And now she thinks it's the best part about her. And she wouldn't trade it for the world, because that little mole is what makes her, her.
Tempted.
I am tempted.
Tempted to what, you may ask?
Tempted to dance with the devil.
Tempted to push my luck.
Tempted to be selfish.
Tempted to get exactly what I want.
I am always tempted.
But I rarely give in.
Although I have to admit - sometimes I wish I did.
Curiouser and Curiouser, down we fall through the rabbit hole.
They say that curiosity killed the cat.
I say it makes life worth living.
If life were completely full of surprises, I don't think I could handle it.
No, I'll let my curiosity get the best of me, thank you very much.
I have not forgotten.
Maybe I have forgiven, but I have not forgotten.
Forgetting is foolish. It leads you to get hurt again. It takes advantage of you when you think you've done the right thing.
I used to forget.
But now I just get hurt.
Forgiveness is not the same as forgotten.
And I will never forget.
I'm a fan of vodka. I'm a fan of alcohol.
I love that tingly feeling I get, all giggle and happy, wondering why everything is just so amazing...
And then I just feel sleepy, and depressed, and why is this happening to me, and why did I do that?
I hate vodka.
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