Today, I wanted to write a blog post

But I don't know what to write.

So I'll post a picture.

TAKE THIS

Ha ha, Prilly. Got you with your own picture.

Had a bad day? I would like to make it better.

Before you begin, I have to tell you that this post will take a while. Not in words, but if you do it right, then it'll probably take thirty minutes to an hour.

Okay, you'll need five things for this exercise, and I need you to get them.

You'll need:

A pen
A piece of paper
A bowl
A match
And a mirror

Do you have everything you need? I know this seems silly, but you'll feel better afterward. Trust me.

Pick up your piece of paper, and your pen. It is very important that this is an actual, physical piece of paper, and not a text or word document.

Right now, I want you to write down anything going on in your head that's bad. What do you think about yourself? Your job? Your significant other? What happened today? Did you miss your bus, so you had to walk to work? Did you delete that novel that you've been working on for months? Did she leave you? Did you find out that he's cheating on you? Are you feeling down on yourself?

Write that down. Write down all of your bad thoughts and feelings, even if they don't make sense. No one will read this but you, it doesn't matter if anyone else understands it. Go on, write it. Scribble all over the page, if that's what you're feeling.

Is it all down? Alright. Time for the fun part.

I want you to take that piece of paper, and crumble it up. That's right, smash it into a tiny ball.

Good. You've crushed their defenses. Time to take the army. That's right, I want you to tear it to pieces. Tiny little pieces. Can you still read some of the writing? Then the pieces aren't small enough. Do it again. And again. And again and again until you can't read the writing, or the paper is dust. Whichever comes first. It's a lot more fun than it sounds.

Put the pieces in a bowl. Alright? You got it? Get your match, and light those motherfuckers on fire. Make sure the bowl is big, so there's no chance that the flame will catch to the good things. Like that girl you like, you don't want her to catch on fire. You also don't want that book beside you to catch fire, you might read that soon. Who's that by again? I dig that author.

Alright, sorry, we got off topic. Are the pieces ashes now? Okay. Go flush them down the toilet. I'll wait here while you're doing that.

...

Do it. I wasn't joking.

You did it? Sweet action. Now the healing can begin.

Let's talk, okay? I want you to tell me what's wrong, out loud. Laugh, cry, scream if you have to. It doesn't matter if anyone else is listening, okay? Let it all out. Tell me what's wrong with your life, right now, what is making you sad, even if it doesn't make sense. I promise not to judge.

I hope you got it all out. This part may get a little hard, but I need you to do it for this little exercise to work.

Take a deep breath. If you're crying, then blow your nose and wipe the tears from your face. Another breath. In and out. You're totally an expert at breathing. Keep that in mind for what I'm about to tell you to do next.

What are your hobbies, what's your special talent? Tell me a little about that.

That's really cool. It sounds like fun! Maybe I'll try it sometime.

This part will be harder.

Look deep inside yourself. No, I won't tell you to find your spirit animal or to go to your mental health cave or whatever. I don't know anything about that, why would I tell you to do it?

No, look inside yourself. We got the bad out, so you know what is left in there?

The good.

Tell me. Tell me everything inside you that's good, list them one by one if you have to, I don't care.

Now I'm going to tell you what's good about you.

You are attractive, no matter what anyone else says. Treat yourself like you are. Dress up a little, get a flattering hair cut. Don't be ashamed of your face anymore. That's a beauty mark, not a mole. Go out today, buy a new shirt or pair of pants, and go out to dinner, be it with friends, co-workers, or with yourself. If you can't go out, make yourself something nice. You deserve it. No, I don't care if you're on a diet, eat that cake. You've wanted to for days, just do it. It's hard work being awesomely sexy, so just do it.

You are talented. Let no one tell you anything otherwise. I bet you're a great artist, or mathematician, or musician, or author, or cook. So what if what you made wasn't as good as what the person next to you made? Who cares. You did great, and if you keep working at it, you can only get better. Even if you're not the best at what you do, that doesn't mean that you should just stop. Try harder, keep pushing forward.

People love you. I love you, and I might not even know you. Look at your friends, your family. Would they even associate themselves with you if they didn't love you for exactly who you are? Probably, because you're awesome, but that's not the point. They think you are amazing and, while they might be jerks sometimes, and, while you might be a jerk sometimes, that will never change. They will always love you. I will always love you. This will never, ever change.

Look at yourself in the mirror right now, and tell yourself "I love you." Say it a few more times, in case you misheard yourself. Tell yourself "I will be better to you from now on." Tell yourself "You are the best, and nothing will change that, even if you burst into flames because that bowl wasn't deep enough. You'll still be the best."

I think all that needed to be said has been said here. I hope you feel better.

Next time you're down, maybe we can talk again?

MANDATORY SEX PARTY

I was reading Hyperbole and a Half and I decided to write a post about mandatory sex parties.

So here it is:

MANDATORY SEX PARTY MANDATORY SEX PARTY MANDATORY SEX PARTY

The end.

Someday I'll be a grown-up. Maybe.

Lupe and I were talking today about adulthood and growing-up, specifically the subject of cleaning.

I am probably the worst cleaner in the history of cleaning. Cavemen had better cleaning skills than I do. They were going about their caveman days, probably using a corner in their caveman caves as a toilet, and their living space was more clean than mine.


So it is plain to see that wherever I inhabit on my own, it will be very, very messy all the fucking time.

That is, if I'm not living in a box.

So, whilst Lupe and I were discussing this, I told her she would have to clean the bedroom, or else we would never find anything and it would be completely uninhabitable and we would have to live in the living room, which incidentally is not meant to be slept in.


Oddly, this inability to clean doesn't really span to the rest of the house (except the bathroom, because I try to keep my time in there to a minimum). I keep the living room and kitchen in my own home fairly decent (and by decent I mean you can see the floor). It's just my room that is dangerous/disgusting/horrible to look at. I'm a little frightened that there is something living under my bed, and that it isn't one of my two asshole cats.
I remember one time, I was very thirsty. I wanted a glass of milk. It was four o'clock in the morning, and I wanted milk. Damn it, there was nothing that was going to keep me from my milk.
So I ventured forth, unafraid of the dark or of the rapists and vandals and other n'er do wells lurking in my home, waiting to jump out of the dark and attack me and use my intestines as a jump rope. It was just me, and the kitchen, and milk. It was like there was some kind of race, except I didn't actually run anywhere. I felt like I needed to, but I didn't, because I was tired.

When I finally got to the kitchen, I was very excited. You wouldn't have been able to see it in my face, but inside I was about to explode from success and happiness.


I drank my first glass, and then I decided 'why not?' and poured another glass to take with me to bed. Little did I know that that milk would turn not into a delicious beverage for nighttime thirstiness, it would turn into an instrument for pure evil.

I fell asleep that night, milk still sitting by my bed, sirens blaring off in the distance, the comforting hum of street lights lulling me to sleep like some over-sized she-baby. I had totally forgotten all about the milk I had been so desperate to get, and did so for almost a week straight.

By the time I got around to throwing the disgusting milk away, it looked something like this:
It. Was. Disgusting. I had never been so grossed-out by myself.

So, it is plain to see, that I will probably never be very good at being an adult. Maybe when I'm living on my own and can't convince my mom to help me clean, I'll be more inclined to break out the vacuum every once in a while and the glass cleaner and eventually un-messy up my environment.

But probably not.

Your life: in phobias

Some people have been giving me crap lately about my phobia, which has gone from a 'this makes me slightly uncomfortable' fear into a 'HOLY CRAP PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS, I WILL SERIOUSLY DIE IF I DO, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS' fear of immense proportions. They don't seem to believe that, yes, this is a legitimate phobia and lots of people seem to suffer from it. I am not making this up, or trying to be lazy, or just trying to get out of going to school. It's super cereal.

Yes, I decided that I would rant about it on my blog, I'm such a teenager.

I also decided that I would put it into simple terms that even the most uncouth and Neanderthal-esque human being would understand.


Imagine your Fear Zone is a huge building. It is filled with every horrible thing you can imagine. Anything that scares you right to your very core, instills in you a fear so primal you are reduced to nothing but a quivering pile, crying and trembling and spouting off nonsensical babble about how you are absolutely positive that you are about to die. In the wake of this one thing, you are nothing. You are only fear.

Inside the Fear Zone, anything can reside:

ANYTHING

For our purposes, we're going to say that, inside your Fear Zone, is spiders.

Now, you are stuck in this room full of spiders- this building full of spiders, and there is no escape.
Imagine this. You are trapped here, in this room full of spiders, for seven straight hours. No matter where you go, you are stuck. There is nowhere you can go that the spiders won't be there too. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere that is safe. You have been plucked from your Safe Zone, which is spider free and comfortable, straight into your Fear Zone, which is clinically proven to make you shit yourself in terror.

That is what school is like to me. Being there, in a building full of over two thousand people for seven hours, is probably about as close to hell as I can get while still breathing. It is the worst thing ever. Simply being in a hallway during passing period has nearly made me burst into tears. Simply put: I. Am. Scared. Yes. And I am running away, and I bet you would too, from your own little version of the Fear Zone.

And that is why I'm not returning to public school this year. Amen.

Say your final goodbyes

Yeah.

That's not why I haven't been posting anything, but I did think everyone needed to know.

The past few days have been a blur of pain and confusion. I cannot remember what I did yesterday, or most of today. And what I can remember seems kind of fuzzy.

I'm prone to migraines anyway, but this is ridiculous. Even the light from my computer kind of makes me want to shoot myself in the face. So I'm kind of tempted to go put on my sunglasses, but I don't want to be one of those putzes that wears sunglasses indoors.

Anyway...

I forgot where I was going with this.

I'm gonna go curl into the fetal position and let myself die.

Giraffe hat