Happy birthday to me


It was my birthday recently. A month ago — but still. For the for the first time, this birthday I woke up actually feeling a difference. Perhaps I felt healthy from Justine’s vegan mac n’ cheese. Or maybe the wine was good quality and didn’t leave me hungover. Whatever the reason, I observed a healthy detachment. Twenty-five is going to be a good year for me as it was an album for Adele.

My friends got me an adorable cake! Feelin’ hashtag loved.

I am ready to spring into action. I wake up the perfect amount of tired. I fart. I trap my fart by making my bed. I have a solid morning routine. I have shifted my focus from getting my shit together to mastering myself. I’m moving on from my breakup. I got a tat I’ve wanted for a long time. I even got a new digital watch to reflect my inspired change.


New ink


Cropped out my impressive pit hair

Life seems like a dichotomy. I’m either traveling and all the Instagram worthy things or I’m sitting around, writing my 750 words and waiting to press my coffee.

It is scary for me to feel settled. Change is when I overcome challenges, grow, [insert synonym here]. The present feels like I am in-between cups of coffee. The same feeling I had in the year building up to come here.

But the reality is I still don’t know what is going to happen next. I can write anything.


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