My Muse is an Asshole

A story of a girl avoiding personal responsibility.

Fantasy Flats

These flats represent the person I would like to be. Tomorrow, I’m taking them to the consignment store, because I think they might pay me for them.  They’re new, barely worn, vibrant, and, I suppose I should add, terribly uncomfortable.  Feet-blistering.  I am supposed to keep wearing them mindlessly, because they are pretty, and I …

I have a bit of a problem

My harrowing adventure with perfectionism and getting lost in the details

Note to Self

I have a tiny whiteboard on the sidewall by my desk that I use to jot down blog post ideas.  When I first bought it, I thought it would be the holder of to-do lists and reminders.  Instead, my bathroom mirror serves that purpose, and my poor whiteboard became a blank, shiny waste of command …

Hamster Wheel Head

When I first started my blog, it was me and my keyboard, trying to write something artsy enough to be good, good enough to be artsy, and funny enough to be worth the read, if I could manage it.  I quickly learned that these criteria were far beyond the writing I could muster, and thus …

The ghost of nighttime past

The past, present, and future versions of myself have always had a rocky relationship.  They’re constantly at odds with each other, arguing about what I should have been doing before, what I’m doing right now, and what I should do later. It’s really hard to get along with me. But as I go through college, …

Waffleboi

The last place I expected to be hit on was a poster session.  I mean, it’s a conference where people bring three-foot long glossy posters and explain their research to passerby.  Which was exactly what I was doing: giving elevator pitches to all that dared make eye contact with me.  It was a Thursday afternoon, …

On Patriotism and Making Things go Boom

While the state of California may literally be on fire, the rest of our nation is too, at least figuratively.  The Muslim Ban was ruled constitutional, immigrant children still haven’t been reunited with their parents, central American women seeking asylum from the brutal forces of gang violence and rape are no longer welcome here, and, …

A day in the life of an abandoned ping-pong ball

I’m writing this blog post at my internship.  I’m probably not supposed to, but I’ve decided to take a lunch break and write anyways, because the more time there is in between posts, the more anxiety I have. Also, I’m bored and there’s really no work for me to do.  But I signed a contract …

Why I’m afraid of the gym: A string of horror stories

One day at recess when I was in the third grade, a girl named Sydney materialized in front of me, yelled, “Think fast!” and promptly launched a soccer ball at my face and succeeded in hitting all of it.  My equally unpopular friend Andy as my witness, this happened. Coincidentally, I have been hit dead …