I have just spent the better part of an hour transferring all my old posts (pre-2009) to this blog. That's eighteen posts worth of copying, pasting and meticulously entering the original date and time. So please, do me a favor and read some of them.

I am still waiting for my life to find direction. I am still waiting for the universe to assign me meaning. I find it ludicrous that I am having my midlife crisis at nineteen. And yet everything is screaming at me, "Average, average, average," and I want something to tell me that I'm not.

Perhaps that is selfish of me. The universe has more important things to tend to. I am but a small sketch of a girl, too long of limb and big of heart to be much use to anyone.

I am a mess of all the colors it is possible to be, except the ones I want to be most.
I'm full of preconceptions.
I ignore what I don't want to see. And I twist what I do. My vision is misted.
I may not be truthful, but I am not cruel -
I have too many sides to assign me a shape.
Nothing but me separates me from myself.