The Drafts.

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

Today I noticed this blog had 95 drafts spanning the last 6 years.

My face at that moment. Obviously.


So I have decided to clear through them in the hunt for some gold.

The first one is titled Perverts in the Park from April 19th 2013. Upon opening it up, I realize it is completely blank. Bad start....delete.

Another has no title and the entire contents was a simple list...

Meat Pie
Sausage Rolls
Paddle Pop
Golden Gaytime
Sausage Sizzle

I'm going to go ahead and assume I was quite hungry and missing Australia on that sunny July day. Anyway, delete.

A few weeks later in August I had two separate one lined drafts. It rained in New York Today and then five days later the not quite as clear It rained in New. It must have been a rainy and boring few days. Delete.

My next, more lengthy post is titled wHITE GIRL COMPLEX, and that title alone means I'm probably about to open some really high-brow content.

I don't understand it. This weird world of only eating asparagus and a few raw almonds. Health is one thing but this is INSANITY PEOPLE! The other day a friend of mine almost bore a whole in the floor of her apartment doing jumping jacks because she was determined to lose two pounds before we went out for the night. TWO POUNDS? Cut of your big toe and call it a day people!

Yikes, I was opinionated back in 2013 huh? My favourite line of the whole thing was about having no problem yelling that I was a size 6 from the rooftops. Oh sweet little child, gone are the size 6 days let me tell you, delete.

Two of my favourites from that Fall again have no content, just a cutting headline and a blinking cursor. People I hate followed a week later with Things I don't understand about Guys. Apparently as the weather started to cool, so did the feelings in my 20 year old heart......and boy did it cool quickly

(August 13th, 2013) ...Who decided this was cool? Who decided making women uncomfortable as they walk from point A to point B was anything other than annoying? I can't tell if it is a mans attempt to be flattering, if they really think they will gain anything from such an exchange or whether they just want to swing there penis around because I am man hear me roar.

Yikes, delete (but still a completely valid point!)

By mid-October I had moved on to 50 Facts about Myself. I started 3 different posts on this very topic and never got past #8, riveting and delete. 

On October 29th, I decided to drop a complete cliffhanger.

My life is one blunder after the next. The fact that I am still alive to speak of my stupidity stuns me every day.

The blunder most recently?

AND THEN NOTHING! I'm genuinely curious what that mishap was...delete.

Then things took a really bizarre turn. To preface this, I started this post I'm currently writing before I started going through my drafts, with no idea what was inside. I genuinely didn't think I had every done this before, but I just stumbled on a post from October 30th, 2013 title? Saved Drafts. and don't worry the content is equally as thrilling...

Today I went back and read all the draft post

"Today I listened to a hell of a lot of Fleetwood Mac, ate Crif Dog and then immediately wanted to kill myself because of my poor choices and wanted to rip my ovaries out."

Damn. Nothing really has changed in 6 years....annnnnd delete.

After wading through a few more weeks of Untitled Posts with nothing but a blinking cursor and the odd cryptic post such as Sometimes I... I stumbled into a section of emails I had drafted to an ex-boyfriend...delete, delete, delete, delete, WHY ISN'T THIS DELETING FASTER!

Today I thought about calling the dentist and making an made me feel like a real adult. But then I remembered I hate talking to people on the phone and I chickened out. So Close.

Still mostly true. Delete.

Fast forward to February 2014 and a post titled Things I need to STOP DOING

Telling people I can't go out because I feel sick. 

WRONG! NO! The reason I don't want to go out? I went out yesterday and I hate people so that was a massive stretch. In all actuality I have always been quite an introverted person. Don't get me wrong I love my friends and spending time with them but I also love being by myself. It's almost as if being around people, especially large amounts of strangers, exhausts me. I need my own time to recharge and think deep philosophical things....and watch tons and tons of really bad TV shows.

Forgetting to look at the weather. 

My least favourite thing about NYC is that you are constantly forced to take public transport, a)because I hate people remember! b)I love driving. I suck at it! But I have a blast doing it. and c) it means lots of walking long distances and general inconvenience.

Telling people to suck my dick.

I don't have a penis which is reason enough to stop, but

Still all true. DELETE.

A post titled I've been looking for you Lone Star? 

With just a single picture...

Google tells me this is a quote from Dallas Buyers Club. My roommates and I did sit around and watch this around about that time, so I mean...checks out, but delete.

I've been listening to Kelly Clarkson's Christmas album wrapped in red on repeat for 3's March. Deleting, while simultaneously rocking around the fucking Christmas tree. 

While Run, Run Rudolph blasts away happily in the background I come across some pure, confused 20 year old emotions...yikes...

(March 14th, 2014) The important thing to remember is that there is a reason the names you hear around in stories from your new love are in the past. If there was still something there, they would probably not be with you. 

(March 22nd, 2014) At one point this boy had literally been my other. We spent all night watching terrible TLC shows, he made me watch hockey before I was ever a fan, we got kicked out of the studio together for being too utterly obnoxious. He was always there. Even when I screamed at him to not be, he was there. He was the most familiar thing in this foreign city, and I made this stupid decision to discard that.

(March 23rd, 2014) Is it possible for your morals to grow?

(March 24th, 2014)Today whilst having a little chat with my roommate he said something that literally embodied every thing I've been feeling these last couple of weeks.

"I don't even feel like they are my good friends, they are just people I get drunk and have fun with."

My last post from March 2014 was simply titled March. and was completely blank. I'm sure it was supposed to be a scathing review of the month I had just emotionally battled through because seriously...yikes. Don't worry little me, I'll keep your long winded March posts exactly where you left them.

Everything is coming up April...

Hey do you ride bikes? Do you want this bike? I will sell you this bike.
No thank you.
I look black don't I? But I'm not, I'm Panamanian. Don't I look black?
Uhmmm...I guess?
I'm not though! I'm Panamanian.
That must be nice.

and of course,

Dermot Mulroney isn't aging as well as 14 year old Jordyn would have liked.

Delete, and a personal apology to Dermot Mulroney, I am still very much in love with you.

Holy Shit, remember how I said we left dramatic emotions in March? Wrong.

This time I wasn't crying because of the physical pain I had surging through my veins leaving me hot, but instead to mourn the loss of the fresh, young girl with a life untouched by this venomous city. That girl was gone, brutally maimed and replaced with whatever this was, a battered and broken little girl living deep within this strange robot exterior.

Hmmm....2014 is off to a smashing start. 

The next entry is titled Kardashian Nation and contains just a single line,

The other morning I woke up covered in cereal and clutching an empty bottle of wine.

She's back ladies and gentleman, she is BACK....and delete.

By June I had decided to look a the positive with a post titled Things I love. What was on the list?

Cool Ranch Doritos
Puppes was a start. Delete.

June continued with a single post titled Haunt Me.  That contained just a single excerpt from a conversation...

"Hey Jordyn, I read your blog the other day where you said you liked certain words. My favourite word is ejaculate. Isn't that a great word? Like you literally ejaculate the word ejaculate from your mouth."

I literally have no idea who had originally said that, but I am judging them. Delete.

An August post titled I Haven't Packed was written right before a trip to New Zealand and contained just a single screenshot...

Great content. Delete. (Sidenote. That picture of George Clooney covered in spots from W Magazine that was my background is still one of my favourites!)

Bored yet? Great, let's crack on!

Time to wade through some mess...

Said Mess. 

(November 8th, 2014) breaking the law breaking the law- infraction.

I am as confused as you are.

Anyway as the emotional and messy months of 2014 come to and end, I decide to begin reminiscing about my thrilling childhood.

Once in the 3rd grade my best friend and I decided we needed the worlds largest ball of blu-tac. I'm not sure where exactly this fascination came from, but we did a lot of weird things (we had pet rocks with googly eyes, we made flyers for our own chocolate factory we planned on opening, and we avidly supported left handers day). So this thought was not unusual and so we went about collecting blu-tac. It was an addiction, a really weird, nerdy addiction. It wasn't until the posters began to fall from the walls of the classroom that people really started to get suspicious. Eventually our master plan was foiled when the ever sweet Mrs. Patterson had enough of falling artwork and demanded we stop stealing her precious supply. Heartbroken we gave up. To this day I'm not sure what exactly happened to that giant (albeit a little bizarre) ball of 'tac but I'm sure he is living well...or in the trash...who really knows.

See I wasn't just a weird adult, I was also a pretty weird child. My partner in Blu-Tac crime is also the friend who unfortunately took a dunk in our very dirty pool in the middle of winter, and who cut me off as a friend the Summer before 6th grade. What a great time in my life to remember, deleteeeeee. 

By the time my next draft rolls around it's already July of 2015 and I have some really hard hitting information to share.

How does Harry Styles rock white skinny jeans so well? This should be a major turn off...but I'm totally into it.

The saddest part of this post is that shortly after, my brother informed me that Harry Styles actually looks exactly like my old roommate which became a sight I couldn't unsee and therefore the end of my Harry Styles phrase. RIP + DLT.

November of that year brought us squishy friend moments...

Sidenote, There are very few things I truly miss in my life. But that friendship is one of them. Alas, we roll on.

The next few drafts fall into two categories,  completely blank or personal emails to individual people never intended to be posted to strangers online.

Finally, I have reached my last draft.

Today I threw up on myself, washed my clothes in the sink at work, stated a juice cleanse (and followed it up with a rice crispy treat), and then hysterically bawled my eyes out watching Survivor.

22 is fun.

22 is easy.

Talk about a full circle moment....TOLD YOU I LOVED SURVIVOR!

Let Me Tell You Astoria

Tuesday, July 16, 2019

I've had a couple of different blogs in my day.

This is my most long running, but maybe not my favourite.

That crown sits with Let Me Tell You Astoria, a blog I started when I was 17 and right about to move to New York City (Astoria...obviously...I still think that's a great name!)

I vividly remember when the idea to start blogging struck. We were sitting around a lunch table, on the verge of graduating high school and splintering off in different directions when suddenly it hit us. Let's all start blogging as a way to keep in touch. 

One friend who was in Staten Island branded herself Living In The Forgotten Borough, and would write deep posts about blogging being a form of therapy. Another was Lost in Boston who retold tales of watching ladies faint in CVS and cute dogs roaming the streets of her new home. I wish I could remember the rest, but unfortunately we chose to use Xanga as our platform of choice, so I'm not able to link to all the fresh out of the hometown womb goodness we all shared with the world. But let me tell you, it was great. 

I signed off every one of my own posts with the same sentiment, With Fingers Crossed, and honestly I don't think I could sum up that time of my life any better. 

I feel like I remember every single second of every single day during my first six months in the real world. It was this blissful bubble of what if's and figuring shit out, filled with tearful phone calls and not being able to afford my rent. Recently I downloaded all my archival footage from that old bubble, and honestly, it could have happened yesterday....

My first New York home. A shared apartment in Astoria with a complete stranger found on Craigslist. She was around my age now, Bulgarian and would have loud shouting phone calls and even louder sex. We would spend some nights talking about our weeks, and some weeks without talking at all. I remember the smell of this apartment so vividly, I remember the way I felt inside it. I remember the market at the end of the block that was open all hours, for me to stop at 2am to buy bread, fruit, chocolate and chicken salad. I remember the oversized care package my Mum sent me full of food, candy and Subway gift cards. I remember the time I sat on my front stoop crying because the boy I liked was with another girl. I remember the drunken night that left my new friend Alina asleep on the couch in my room. I remember the time my roommate left a giant tree right outside my bedroom door that I lovingly kicked in the dead of could have happened yesterday...

An 18 year old in a laundromat. Fun fact about this picture, my hair is actually 100% fake. I can explain...Picture if you will, a naive little girl on the corner of Lexington and 22nd St is approached by a complete stranger. I love your hair...where do you get it done? The stranger asks leaving said little girl flattered and willing to talk. At the time I had no idea this kind of marketing existed, so I handed over my debit card information and bought some pampering service at a random salon on 5th Avenue before tottering into class, confidence boosted. Fast forward a week or two, and there I was getting cut and colored, living my best life. The fateful moment came where the hairstylist spun me towards the mirror to reveal his work and my entire heart almost fell through the floor, my hair was gone. Picture a buzzcut with front bangs, that was my life. I cried. I have never cried at a haircut before, but there I was.

I left in a flurry, wandering over to Madison Square Park to go and meet up with a friend (the aforementioned Living in the Forgotten Borough) We spent the day walking around, eating candy from Dylan's Candy Bar and Indian food from Pongsri in Murray Hill. I almost forgot about my hair until I saw my reflection in the Subway window while crossing the Queensboro bridge on the way home. I was days away from starting a new job, and had plans to meet up with a guy I was mildly obsessed with (....more on that some other time!) yet I actually wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

I went home and instantly got to googling my options. That was the day I learned that lace wigs were even a thing, and luckily enough just a few blocks over was a salon that specialized in just that. Now please bear in mind that at this point in my life I was incredibly poor. I was just about to start my $9 an hour job, and would just be making enough money to scrape by. But I threw all that straight into the wind, and shelled out a hefty chunk of my savings for this hair. It was shiny and new, almost my exact hair color, and the answer to my tears. I left that salon floating, hair swishing around me. Confidence safely returned to my could have happened yesterday.

The Picture I took the exact moment I got home with my new hair....mildly threatening...

A few months ago I was back in New York City visiting my brother, and we took a wander through McCarren Park. I got felt up in this park once. I retold while pointing to the exact tree it happened under. Let me explain...When I first moved to New York City my first friend was a girl called Stephanie (I have had three separate close friends called Stephanie in my get's confusing.) We went to school together, and were surprisingly the only people we met at school who were new to the city and without a friend. So we stuck together. One day in particular she messaged me about a free (our favourite word at the time) play of Little Mermaid taking place in the park, so we went along. Full of Polish food from Krolewskie Jadlo, we sat with a group of 15 strangers under a tree, and watched the Little Mermaid (the dark and scary version....see above monster....Disney who?) play out in front of us. All of a sudden I felt a hand on my leg...weird. I pretended I didn't notice, hoping it would stop. There it was again, this time higher, and rubbing. I looked at Stephanie for help but she didn't notice. Psst, I whispered to no avail. Being young and scared of this strange man, I let it happen. This went on for a good 15 minutes before I was able to get her attention, HELP, my eyes screamed. With the creepy beast puppets still floating around above us, we got the heck out of there. Our pierogi filled bellies laughing at the scene we left could have happened yesterday...

Oh Fashion's Night Out. Now for those of you unfamiliar, Fashion's Night Out was a night in the fall where the retailers of New York City would join together to It was put on by Vogue, and was filled with free champagne, celebrities and stores all over the city held parties with exciting attractions to entice a crowd. In 2011, FNO was so exciting to me. Leighton Meester was singing in Tiffany's, Sarah Jessica Parker was signing books at Manolo Blahnik (the line was so long we couldn't get in....BUT Stephanie did snap this picture as she was being whisked off in her car) and I was young and full of free could have happened yesterday...

My first night out in New York City. Two girlfriends and I spent the night dancing at Avenue before retreating to dive-y El Sombrero on the Lower East Side for cocktails amongst the hoards of other college kids doing the same exact thing. It's always good to know the bar's that don't card (Here is looking at you Blarney Stone on 47th....the number of nights I spent in you. Oh Blarneys, I hated you dearly but miss you fondly) Speaking of, I actually visited El Sombrero by accident a few years back, I genuinely did not recognize the place. Gone was the dirt and crime, I was so shocked I took to Yelp in true, New Yorker fashion! could have happened yesterday....

Sometimes you just have to give credit, where it is due.

Oh 18, you lovely, beautiful, mess. Thank you for happening. Thank you for the night I climbed a three-story fire escape. Thank you for the night I spent hysterically crying on the phone to the boy who, for some reason, was were I dumped all my 18 year old confusion. Thank you to the afro'd Greek man who said he loved me every Sunday in the laundromat. Thank you to Cuban SpiderMan in Times Square for his nightly fist pump. Thank you to my Mum for sending me rent money when I couldn't get it together. It all feels like it truly happened yesterday. 

Life is Lovely. Part II.

It's currently 3:37am, and I've been sitting here for past few hours reading the 200+ blog posts from the last 8 years of my life.

I was smiling the whole time.

Although views on this blog have been consistent, engagement never was. I saw people were clicking but I often felt like I was yelling into an abyss with the only certainty being that my own Mum would be applauding back (now if that ain't a fact of my life I don't know what is!)

But then suddenly, I realized as I sat here in my little apartment in Hermosa Beach, smiling at my memories and laughing at my own jokes, it was all worth it.

Some posts were just a few sentences, spit out by a busy 20 year old on the go.

Other posts were lengthy paragraphs filled with run-on sentences from the mind of a confused 22 year old.

But every post took me right back to that moment, to the times that have been and gone, and I was beaming.

It made me realize that no matter if I'm in a peak or a valley, my life is A-Ok with me.

One particular post called Life is Lovely, written almost exactly five years ago today, stood out.

It began with me celebrating the fact that I deposited money into a "Move to California" account (Well past Dordyline, you have actually lived in California for two and half years now....three cheers to going out and getting what the fuck you want!) before veering off towards a list of things I love.

Just a 21 year old little bean being content with her world.

Five years on, life is still lovely and here is another ramble-y list of things that make me happy...

Living by the Beach.
Do not get me wrong, I loved the years I spent in New York City, filled with hustle and bustle and weird smells. But being able to stand on my front step and see the ocean, or walk along the beach smiling at dogs, amazing.

Old Friends.
There is something really beautiful about the people you loved when you were 13. The people you figured out life with, who saw you at your messiest, your funnest, your most insecure. There is also something really beautiful about living completely different lives, yet crashing together every now and then to reminisce and commiserate. 

When living by the beach, and old friends combine.

I just realized that my two year blog hiatus means that this blog never saw me in my Hamilton loving glory. I still go to bed every night thinking everything Lin Manuel Miranda touches is gold.

My InstantPot.
Remember when this blog used to be about drunk escapades? Yeah, I'm old now.

A "Passionate from Miles Away" Cocktail from Di An Di in New York City.
I literally stalked the restaurant for the recipe and bought all the ingredients to make at home. I have never been more deliciously punched in the face by a drink in my life.

Keeping yourself humble.

Hey, sometimes it's good to shake off the cobwebs and party like you're young, dumb and broke again. 

Don Lemon. 
I recently watched his interview on "Red Table Talk" and I was actually taken aback with how much I fell in love with him 

Ok, hear me out.....I'm a huge fan of Survivor. I think I may have mentioned it on here over the years, but I'm not 100% sure/ I don't know what it is about it but I've watched my favourite (Micronesia, Heroes vs Villains,Redemption Island) and least favourite (Nicaragua) seasons multiple times and I even watch strategy videos on Youtube in my spare don't get me started, because I'll never shut up and it will get embarrassing. Also, yes I am aware it is no longer 2002, thank you for the observation. 

La Croix.
Basic Bitches, Unite. Tangerine, all day.

Trader Joes.
I didn't have Trader Joe's growing up because I mean...Australia.... I never went to Trader Joe's in NYC because I mean...too busy...would rather die. It wasn't until I moved to Los Angeles that I truly leaned in to Trader Joe's freaking hard. Personal Favourite Snack items I hear you yell? Freeze dried mangos, lentil chips, the knock-off Terry's Chocolate Orange,Salty Honey Toffee Milk Chocolate Covered Crackers (I shit you not, I took a picture of these back on November 16th, 2018 and I just scrolled back to remember what they were called...)

Yummy Mummies on Netflix.
Biiiiitch, I started watching this almost as a joke, but the jokes on me because when season 2 was released I finished it in less than a day. 

Stay With Me by Rod Stewart.
Growing up my Mum and I would always argue. I thought he was a dude, my Mum thought he was gross. Well jokes on you Mum, I'm an adult now.

Stress Eating Capsicums/Bell Pepper's like apples.
Nice to meet you, I'm still that bitch.

Gotta Blast,

Netflix and Panic.

A Dordyline panic attack live in action. (With added "She cries at everybodies party..." comment from random friends mother at the end.....this was my life)

I was an incredibly shy child.

I bawled at the very thought of a Happy Birthday serenade, I crawled on the floor to avoid visitors, I ran away from sleepovers early in fear, and I worried daily.

I never understood my emotions. My family labeled me dramatic, I bottled it up and the world kept spinning. I didn't know how to properly communicate the hefty weight that lived in my chest, or the wind that constantly blew though my head muddling the sound of the world around me. I didn't know how to explain the worry that twisted my organs into balls of bloody matter trying to burst through my skin.

I didn't know how to let anybody know, so I just cried and got on with it.

As I grew, this constant fear and worry manifested itself in peculiar ways. Instead of a mysterious presence running rampant within my body I would try and tie it to tangible things. I would google the likelihood of dying in a car accident, of being doused with acid, or losing mobility of my limbs. I would research how you take care of a sick relative to feel prepared for a future that may arise. I would google how to prevent SIDs in the children I didn't have and wake up my (now ex) boyfriend with a groan...

"I turned the brightness down! How did you even know I was awake this time?" I would complain while furiously smashing my keyboard looking for answers. He would angrily pull my computer away and demand I go to sleep before rolling over and dozing off, most likely to the sound of my accelerated heart smashing against my ribs.

At times, it consumes my entire life. My obsessive compulsive tendencies take over my mind and body, counting steps as I walk and massaging my cuticles in order under the table or during long Uber rides. Counting keeps my mind calm, it keeps me guilt free that if something happens I will not be at fault, because I did my counting.

I'm 26 (well, almost) now, and I wish I could say I was learning to cope, but that would be nothing but a fallacy I want myself to believe. Heck, just this morning it crawled into my Monday....

"Only three pumps of bubble bath? You only want your parents to live for 3 more years" The cloud appeared forcing me to dump 50 full pumps of bubbles into my bath leaving my body slimy, but my brain satisfied.

I used to cope by living a life filled with interesting and obscure stories to keep eyes off my mind. I would roam around town desperately searching for people and experiences to fill the time in between panic attacks.

I loved spending a blurry hour or two in a dive bar with a few friends before running outside, sticking my hand in the air and falling into a yellow cab heading for another adventure.



"The corner of Orchard and Grand"

I would command before staring out the window as New York City wizzed around outside. Three seconds later I would jump out, brush past sidewalk smokers and push my way through a crowd to find my friendly faces.

I would go and go and go some more until I was forced to stop, disappearing fast and quick to cry and worry and overanalyze every thought and emotion I had ever felt.

"Where did you go last night?" My friends would push as I laughed it off with an air of mystery.

"I swear you are doing porn..." A friend once pushed, after I would not explain where I had run off to the night before.

How do you tell someone, who doesn't understand, that every now and then you need to explode in order to rebuild yourself to somewhat resemble a person?

How do you explain that the mysterious week you didn't answer any texts and completely dropped off the grid, you were actually alone in your apartment sitting around waiting to go to sleep again.

How do you pull someone into an experience you don't even understand yourself?

When you find out, let me know.

I have taken up painting pictures while listening to audiobooks to calm my mind....I have no actual artistic talent, but hey it sure keeps my mind busy.  

The Lonely Girls Guide to Figuring it Out

Friday, April 5, 2019


It's been over three years since I even looked twice at this poor little blog, which is sad because I love having this electronic record of my messy 18-22 year old self that's trapped within it's posts. Today I randomly saw that this little pocket of my past had 874 views last month. Now, for a dying blog that hasn't been touched for years I don't think that's half bad! To top it off, I've been going through a bit of a... rough patch...if you will....

So I'm back.

For no other reason than my own sanity. I used to write to make other people laugh, or feel better about their own situation, now I'm writing for my own confused self. In 2019, I'm not sure blogging is really still even a thing. The world now lives in video, or Instagram stories, nobody has time for blogs anymore! So this is really for an audience of just little old me, like a semi-public diary I can look back on one day!

So what's happened in the three years I've been away?

I left New York City via one way flight to Los Angeles a few years ago now. I left confused and unprepared (honestly, slap that on my gravestone) with just three suitcases in hand (and after hysterically crying and having a complete meltdown the night before.) I've gone through breakups, seen friendships bloom and also crumble, had countless jobs, took my ass back to school, searched for myself at the bottom of tequila bottles, dyed my hair, plumped my lips, gained weight, cried a bit and now here I am.

I'm 25.

When I was younger I thought 25 was the perfect age to get married. I thought I would toil away at my career in my early twenties, settle down and have kids by 27.

My younger self was so wrong.

In fact I can honestly say I haven't felt any less together than I do at this very moment. These past few weeks I've either been traveling between cities for work, or working from home which means I've spent way to much time with myself and my mind, and it's crazy how loneliness can really do something crazy to your head.

I used to think my best quality was my confidence in who I was and what I had to offer, my ability to not need any other person. I was always independent and completely fine with doing my own thing. I could do whatever I wanted because I wanted to do it like packing up all my belongings and moving to New York City, or to Los Angeles. I approached each day with an I don't fucking care attitude and was the queen of just keepin' it moving.

But what 25 has taught me is I'm also incredibly scared of a lot of things. I can't be vulnerable. I care too much about what others think of me. I'm so afraid of showing weakness that I just don't try because you can't fail at things you never start. I am guarded, and apprehensive. I don't say yes enough. I'm so extremely afraid of being hurt that I don't let others in at all. I isolate myself and I build everything up inside me until there is nowhere for it to go but shoot out of me in every single direction.

I have decided to make a change.

I want to put myself out there, and figure out who the heck I am! I don't want to look back on the next five years of my life and realize I stumbled around in the same circle through friendships and relationships and jobs and nights out and days in and tears and tequila bottles and ended up at the same place. I want to figure out that rubik's cube that is myself if it's the last thing I do!

This little diary of sorts is how I'm going to hold myself accountable.

Let's see how this goes...