I like netflix and birds.

I find people exhausting.

Well....mainly people who are better at faking togetherness than I am. People who have a perfectly planned path and don't need to write make a list on the top of every to do list to feel accomplished. 

I've always wondered if they really are so aligned. Or if they are just better at cleaning up their clutter. The ghosts of their past might be friendlier and their demons much more forgiving. 

I will never know.

But people exhaust me.

I don't exhaust me.

Puppies don't exhaust me.

You don't exhaust me.

But people as a whole exhaust me.

My exboyfriend called to let me know he misses me this morning....he also exhausts me.

I've had a bad day.

....like a really bad day.

I woke up late, couldn't find my Hunter boots, I forgot my keys so I had to run home,the train was crowded, the alarm at work kept going off, I couldn't open the office door because I'm a human who can't key, and I didn't have time to eat anything.

I was cranky, and that was even before the work day had begun!

But when it eventually did start, boy did it freakin' start. At 9am a shaggy haired painter with a pink diamond grill (sick bro!) came to get my signature for some work bullshit. This is how our exchange went...

"Hi, I was told to ask for Jordyn?"

"Yes?"

"Is he here?"

"I'm Jordyn."

"Oh really? I was expecting like...I dunno a basketball player."

Seriously, 23 me one more time world!

Then I was lucky enough to spend  a good hour trying to do payroll before the computer decided to freeze. I had to start all over again, just in time for it to crash completely....super swell.

That was swiftly followed by a passerby knocking over a mannequin and splintering it all over 35th st. 

After I scooped up her battered body, a man came to install this picture of Adriana Lima whilst I sat there eating a bagle. It didn't help that we were wearing the same dress.Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels? Bagels....and my tears.

Oh and I have a blister....

And a headache...

And I don't have wine....

Or cake...

Or wine.

And to top it all off my friend is dragging me to some random bar to do some random bullshit with some random people.

I keep sending her sad selfies so she will let me stay home.

No dice.

Ugh life man.

Rainy state of mind.

It's raining,which as previously mentioned is my favourite weather and because of this I should be happy as a clam. But, I'm wearing inappropriate footwear (whaaaat? How unlike me!) and I'm exceptionally hung over. This is leaving me with little patience and if one more tourist smacks me unknowingly with their umbrella, I will ram mine so far down their esophagus they....I can't think of anything humorous, I'm too mad. So pick your own ending....but it will be gruesome!

Reflection.

It's a rainy Sunday and I spent the entire day sleeping, brunching and now snuggling with an adorable puppy I stole from my friend and some lame Mac Nerd.

Not a Mac Nerd.

I really like the rain. As I typed that the apartment literally just lit up and I had a very literal flashback to my Mum always making us turn off the computer when there was lightening....is that a real thing? Am I about to be zapped to smithereens? Oh well.

Back to my original statement, I really like the rain. It makes me feel cosy, I even wrote about it a few years ago on my old blog "Let me tell you Astoria" (from when I lived in Astoria...I'm so quirky and intelligent, keep calm). That site has since been shut down but I remembered that post and suddenly had this overwhelming desire to read them all. So I just spent the last 45 minutes scouring the internet for my archives and alas I found them and imported them into another one of my old blogs so I could read them...

It's honestly the most bizzare feeling. It's all so la-di-da, you can barely tell I was imploding.

It was only a few years ago now that I wrote those blogs, yet I feel like I don't even know that person. My first year alone in the city was both the best and worst time of my life all wrapped into one. I was emotionally and mentally exhausted, all the time. I was overstimulated and and probably a little overmedicated, I was so young, yet trying to fill the shoes of someone much older.

I lasted about two months in college before the darkside of the city took it's toll and I was forced to take a semester (or two...) off. I got involved with some of the best and some of the worst people I had ever known, some of whom seem like dreams as opposed to reality. I was riddled with anxiety attacks, afraid to go home at night and would instead choose to spend my nights either intoxicated and crying or wandering around until the business men appeared for work the next day.

People I met and became friends with got to know this weird altered version of myself and associated that to everything I was, forcing me to live this weird blurred existence and constantly feeling like a stranger. I struggled a lot. 

I liked to think I faked it well but looking back I probably didn't do as well as I hoped. The memory of sitting on a bench in midtown at 4am, crying to my friend Danilo because I was so emotionally exhausted and demanding him to hang up the phone is way to clear a memory for that first part to be true.

It's like when you tell a lie and you end up tangled in this web that you can't seem to unravel your way out of, but my whole personality around most people was a lie. The facts I was giving were true (although my hair was fake....I literally had a fake wig sewed/glued to my head....if that isn't a giant red flag I don't know what is) I never changed my name (half true...I did have a fake name for a while with one certain group of people but that's because I didn't want them to be able to find me...always a good sign...) or pretended I was royalty, but my personality was so foreign to me. I was so weak and fragile, I would let peoples words change who I was or how I acted, I befriended bad people, and I lost myself.

Little baby Jordyn....and little baby Jordyn's fake hair.

It's not that I had everything to hide, it's just that I was very confused, all the time. I didn't know what I wanted or where I was going, or who I was. I remember one morning leaving my friends apartment and spending about 15 minutes throwing up into the bushes (luckily nobody saw me...I don't think). I wasn't sick, I wasn't hungover, I wasn't anything. It's like my mind and body was just so tired and confused it didn't know what to do so it imploded on itself.

I'm going to stop rewording the same sentence over and over again now and simply end this here. I have since removed a lot of people from my life, changed my environment and what I was doing. I'm slightly less confused about life. I have re-prioritized a lot of things, and most importantly I'm happier.

Oh and it would totally make a killer memoir.

So there is always a bright side.