Things I avoid thinking about:

1. My parents aging.
2. Some people have carpeted bathrooms.
3. You will probably never find someone exactly like you, or someone who understands you fully.
4. I cannot control everything no matter how hard I try.
5. Tuesdays.
6. Student loan debts.
7. The way that people love will always be different than mine. And sometimes it won’t be good. But that is not my fault.
8. That deep deep down, I would rather be sad over things that have already happened, than put myself in a place where I will always have even more to cry about.
9. People who can do things without music, without a soundtrack to their lives.
10. Sometimes, people are only their actions, and nothing more.

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An Ode To Used-To-Be Saturdays:

One second, your eyes open remembering what it was like to wake up with them on Saturdays, to your arms synchronously wrapped around each other, because despite deep sleeps, 3 AM darkness, and snores, that is what your bodies willed your arms to do. Sneaking small glances and small kisses here and there until one of you officially wakes up first is a love language perfected on the Saturdays meant for just you both. The light peaking through the blinds of the midday sun whispers against your sleepy, half-closed eyes that you should probably eat, but you don’t listen, because their arms are wrapped around your waist and yours are gripping theirs. Your nose is nuzzled into their skin and it’s nice, it’s familiar. It feels warm, outside and within, and nothing is wrong, and you could stay that way forever.

Another second, you wake up with sun shining through curtains, an empty space next to yours, a phone next to your pillow. The screen shines “9:27 AM”. It is Saturday, and there is nothing left to do but get up.

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An Ode To The-Now Saturdays:

My cabinet occupies 6 different types of face masks, all promising to fix my problems in 18 different ways.

My shelf has 4 more sheet masks, all consoling me that it’s really okay to walk around my house with it on while I do other things to keep me “busy”.

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Word of the day:

Busy

[biz-ee]

adjective, see synonyms for: distracted / having-no-plans / picking-up-the-phone-9-times-per-minute-just-to-put-it-back-down / rotting-on-the-sofa

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I place whitening strips on my teeth every other day. I have an after-brushing whitening paste for the days in between.

I dust.

I read. With sheet masks on my face. I make excessive amounts of Coffee.

I go to the movies. I try on new clothes.

I jade roll my face in 19 different ways. I pluck my eyebrows, and try to use all 57 skincare products in my cabinet equally so none feel neglected.

I drink wine on my sofa, and with it in hand, think about the following existential-crisis-inducing question:

If I were wine, which wine would I be? If everyone were wine, would I and the people in my life look nicely displayed against each other? Would we be coordinated and wonderful to look at through the glass doors of our wine cabinet’s windowpane? Who would pick the cheeses we pair with? If we are wine, are our partners cheese?

Or is cheese the metaphor-within-a-metaphor for our lives?

Because if I am Rosé: light, sometimes sweet sometimes dry, sometimes sparkling sometimes dull, with hints of berries and fresh flowers, crisp, bright, pinkish hue; then is the life that compliments me Brie?

Brie: subtle, uniquely flavored. Soothing, mellow, a slight nuttiness to it? Voluptuous and whole. Versatile. Soft. French?

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Word of the week:

Nuttiness

Noun, as in crazy.

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These are The-Now Saturday’s. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t becoming a fan.

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Book of the Week:

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On My Mind:

A Secret Anti-Motivational Excerpt:

Sometimes, I don’t want words of motivation. Sometimes, I want someone to tell me it’s okay to leave things where they lay. So I told myself it was okay.

It’s tiring; the picking-up of things and the putting-them-down of it all. I keep placing things onto my shoulder, always hoping that I am strong enough to keep it there. Mind you, a million weights fall on to this thing I am carrying more often than I’d like, and every time I think I am never going to pick it back up again, I find myself lifting it once more, as heavier and heavier as it may get. It’s tiring. It’s okay to stop.

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Song of the Week: