this year was like a very unappetizing meal—that you can't help but consume because you are forced—and after its been shoved down your throat, you have a nasty belly ache and your insides endure a so-not-worth it ride, like the gravitron. at the fair. that you used to love.
oh, l-o-v-e.
and, to top my rebellious insides, i'm aging. yesterday i caught myself admitting that while i may look 12, in reality i am actually 42. or, like, 80. i joke that these three chunks of what-used-to-be platinum were actually my hair's way of fighting my anti-aging attempts. and when going into battle (that'd be my job), wear ass-kicking boots. high-yahhh.
call it anxiety. call it depression. i'm over it.
so. before you go this way, and i go that way, i wanted to tell you that i hope to let you in on a little more. soonsoon. once i have mental space to stretch. like, mental yoga poses.
namaste.
