Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
Almost got the job, almost had feelings, almost lived in a city, almost graduated, almost there. It’s just the worst thing in the world. That constant anticipation leading up to it, and the often underwhelming feeling that comes after. Nothing hurts more than an almost. Maybe it’s because I’m an all or nothing type of person. Black or white. I’ve never met in the middle ground. And I always wonder why it didn’t work out. Some of the best advice I ever heard was: If it’s not a hell yes, it’s a hell no. Apply that to any scenario in your life and you have your answer. If they don’t want you like a hell yes, then it’s a hell no. If it’s not a hell yes to staying in your job, then it’s a hell no. You get it? There is no maybe, no almost there, no middle. This is the way I plot decisions in my life. If someone isn’t giving me hell yes, they’re giving me hell no. & vice versa. I wish everyone could skip the almost. You either want it or you...