ready

I am ready to start living a boring life.

To paraphrase both the book by Chuck Klosterman and the song by Black Sabbath, I've been killing myself to live. I don't know if it has been out of ignorance, self-loathing, or denial, but whatever it is kinda sorta totally has to stop. But where do I start?

I have to be vague on this blog. I don't want to cause worry in the hearts of some of you tenderhearted readers. I should start a secret blog! Should I start a secret blog? Have I already? Guess I could just go old school and write in a diary. Like, an actual, physical diary with pages and a lock and I'll hide the key inside of my womb. I mean, my room. Under my uterus. I mean, under my mattress.

But okay, anyway, where do I start? I start by giving up certain substances, or at least putting them on pause, and taking up other substances, such as multivitamins that don't turn my pee neon yellow. I start by being honest with myself and others and refusing to apologize for the honesty. I start by slowing down my day-to-day, which I hope will trickle into my life. I am meant for a slow life, one where I can wear overalls and chew on wheat and tell travelers that this here town don't care too much for city folk. I want a dog, too. Just a dog and a yurt and some books and overalls with a 3-button flap on the rear so I don't have to unbuckle the suckers every single time I need to do what girls NEVER do... But I'm no girl! I'm a lady! A lady with a butt flap and a hankerin' for some desert sunsets from the comfort of my back porch. Yurts have porches, right?

So maybe one day I'll stumble upon the root cause of my boo hoos. It's probably fairly important that I do. I don't want to stumble into my hippie dippie life with a bunch of demons tied to my back. I've been stumbling for years now and am ready to shake my feet awake. I have paths to walk, crooked as they may be, and I could use all the arch support I can get. Speaking of arches, I'm placing my yurt directly underneath a red arch. Come find me if you want.