The First Post

As I type this, I am sitting on a Murphy bed in my studio apartment I share with my husband in Hollywood Florida. I am slightly overweight, in my underwear, and I called in sick from my job at a law firm - even though I am not sick - because I was pissed about the two days this week that I was sick and went in anyway. I am 36 days away from being 23.

How did this happen to my life?

Now, don't get the impression that I am some miserable bitch whining about how the world owes me something. For one thing, I am not miserable, another thing is that the only person I expect things from is myself.

If I compared my life to the lives lived by the women I went to high school with, then I am far and away out stripping their lives in ways that would make them weep with envy as I told them about my fantastic husband, our awesome friends, the cool shit we do weekly.

I was never one for living my life based on other people.

This is not to say I am better, but maybe I am. I believe all people are born equal. I do not believe that all people die equal. History is a job and you have to earn your place in it. You may not get to pick your position, but you can secure your place. With all of my supposed potential I have been hearing about since I was 9 years old, why have I accomplished so little? If I am one tenth as talented as people claimed, why have I accomplished so little? My place in history is guaranteed.

But not my position.

I am publicly admitting what I have known for so long that I cannot remember the first time my inner voice formed these words. I am afraid of failure. I fear that the thoughts and opinions and projects and ideas that I pour my heart into will be met with scorn and ridicule. I fear those people who misunderstand or twist what I am saying, and fear even more those who understand and disagree. I fear putting my ideas out into a place where there exist whole communities of people who are smarter and more creative than I am.

I fear having my grammar corrected.

I fear that I do not fit into the nice little boxes those who know placed me in, and I fear that other boxes fit me too well. Now, I could never not be myself, I could never lie. But as far as the public is concerned, anyone outside of my tiny circle of friends, I have been no one. Is that really much better than someone else?

This is not a blog about art, or celebrities, or design, though those things may be talked about. This is not a personal diary where I will spill all of my hopes and dreams, although it could be that too. This is an exercise in me telling the world what I think, and dealing with the consequences. The world may love it, or hate it, or be indifferent, or I may be lost to the world amidst the many other voices and opinions, but at least I am putting it out there. That is all I can do.

I am not saying that I no longer care. You will not see me putting "I don't give a fuck what you think" beneath a picture of my pouty face. I do care. I just cannot let that stop me anymore.