Stress.

This is going to be quick, simply because I have work to do…so much work to do. But, the amount of stress I am under the moment I get back from my vacation is insane. I cannot even check my Facebook or Email without being bombarded with requests from political organizations, my two jobs, and the 14 hours of computer work due by midnight tonight (this is my only break). On top of that, my car broke down right before I left for vacation, so I’m carless at the moment (spelled that careless at first…HA that’s far from where I am).

But, YES, yes, Yes yes YES. That is my life right now.

/rant over

Oh, and did you catch that subliminal messaging right there? Oh noes. 

Them lips, yo.

The sensation of physical contact.

I can’t seem to help myself; whenever any physical contact is available from someone of the opposite sex, I latch onto it. I’ve felt cut off from human interaction for such a long time. I crave a hand to interlace my fingers through, a back to trace my finger along, a neck to kiss, or simply arms to hold onto when I’m in need of comfort.
I’m a physical person. I crave touch and affection. As long as a part of me is resting or touching another human: I feel peace. I think perhaps I’ve lacked that specific peace in my life. But, is it so wrong to desire the comforting touch of another?
Possibly I became this way due to him, due to his preference of physical contact as often as able. In a big way, touch was a method of understanding the emotional state of one another. It has become my “go-to” method of reading another individual’s emotional state of mind.
Physical contact filled me up with an immense sense of comfort and peace. I’ve missed that peace for so long. It is a trait not easily found in men; to comfort without requiring sexual benefits.
Many men are willing to “touch” me, but very few will allow my fingers to trace their veins, grasp their hand, play with their hair, sit side by side with knees touching, or simply lay on their stomach with no sexual contact necessary.
I’ve realized that is the type of man for whom I’ve been searching. I lust after physical contact in its simplest form: comfort. It is a peace I no longer feel with those around me. The few situations where I have been comforted through simplistic physical touch..afterward I am used, abused, and objectified because evidently the price for comfort is sex. Maybe I’m just horrible at choosing guys to be with. The few I see any future with, are all in a position where we cannot date. I’m looking for someone, Lord knows I have been for over a year now; but after so many failed relationships, I’m as picky as a porcupine. Or, if I’m being honest, I’m might just be looking for him. And obviously, there will never be anyone quite like him. Oh, it’s two a.m., I need some sleep.

They aren’t even my kids!

As a nanny, I thought I had seen it all. I mean, kids are insane, right? I figured all the challenges were behind me and was rather excited for a new summer spent with the children. But this summer, I experienced something I never thought was possible; these children were mistaken as my own.
With the accessibility of a working car I have been taking the three children all over town. The first time I realized adults thought these children were mine, I was shocked. But it was the comments that horrified me: “Maybe you should have stopped with the first. You could have had a future.”, “Have you HEARD of protection?”, “I bet they all have different fathers.” Oh the list of scrutinizing comments goes on and on.
The looks and judgmental scoffs I receive because I’m viewed as a teenage mother are painful the say the least. I have beautiful children I nanny, and to see them feel stared at and judged…it’s awful.
This blunt judgement needs to stop, I can brush it off, but the children who don’t understand think it is their fault strangers look at us rudely. I can’t possibly imagine how any teen mother must feel.

First black and white photo in a long time.

For you

Lyrics I hope give the desired effect I’m hoping for. This is my wish for you. Remember if one door closes, another opens.

“I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow
And each road leads you where you want to go
And if you’re faced with the choice and you have to choose
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you

And if one door opens to another door closed
I hope you keep on walkin’ ‘til you find the window
If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile
But more than anything, more than anything

My wish for you
Is that this life becomes all that you want it to
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small
You never need to carry more than you can hold

And while you’re out there gettin’ where you’re gettin’ to
I hope you know somebody loves you
And wants the same things too
Yeah, this is my wish

I hope you never look back but you never forget
All the ones who love you and the place you left
I hope you always forgive and you never regret
And you help somebody every chance you get. “

It’s been a while…

So, I guess I owe this community an apology as I’ve been disappearing a bit lately, and my last post didn’t exactly leave any positive feelings on this blog. Although, I highly doubt anyone is waiting on their hands and knees for my next post, I still feel obligated to apologize for my absence. I’ve been going through some personal issues, and haven’t had the best luck in the support-department with my friends, or lack thereof.

But, I won’t post anything depressing et centra. Actually, I’ve had 13 drafts of posts, but I scrapped them all. None felt..right. I’ve sat at Starbucks, staring at a blank screen wondering if my inspiration to write simply got up and walked away. More often than not it’s times like these, the most trying and difficult times in my life, that I find myself most inspired. But, I’ve been a blank slate.

I could write about love, but I’ve exhausted that topic, besides, those I love are well aware of it and do not need to validation of a website to remind them. I could whine and moan about my deteriorating health, however it’s consistently deteriorating, so why bring it up? And of course, I can always post pictures, but all that would do is give anyone who stumbled upon my blog the assumption that I actually do have a life. Here’s a pro tip – I don’t. My instagram, twitter, tumblr, and facebook are all just versions of who I would like to be perceived as…specifically someone busy and always surrounded by people who love her. But, that’s completely untrue. My life is a cycle of working, sleeping, eating, and freaking out about my newest television obsession.

I have a boring life, but this wordpress at least captures the closest to the purest form of who I am that any social media website could possibly convey. I write when I’m upset, I try to be honest in my written words. I was never good at writing in a diary because I wanted other people to read it. I would deliberately leave mine out in the open in hopes my mother would stumble upon it, read it, and pay attention to me. At least here, people care about what I have to say. My voice is heard…and that, in and of itself, keeps me sane. 

So, to the people who comment or like my posts: You’re keeping me alive. Take that however you choose, but I do hope you know I appreciate your consistency in my life; especially when everyone and everything has found a way to switch up. I no longer know what is what, who is who, and where the hell I am. But, at least some people are here for the ride with me, and that is all I can ask for at this moment.