I told my person some potentially deal- breaker news, because fuck he wants a family too and what if I can’t give him one? And he just. Held me.  For an hour. ten minutes just clutching him when he came in, without needing an explanation. When I spat it out sometime later he just pulled me into bed, rolled over and let out limbs tangle until I was cried out. He told horrible lame jokes and joked around and didn’t stop touching me, grounding me.

Every now and again I realize the breaks and cracks in our relationship are never from spending time together-they are always from being apart too long. I forget how he knows me. I forget how I know him. We can read each other easily, and when we can’t we speak, clarify, comfort, tease. He trusts and respects my choices, advises and tells me when I make mistakes, and never stops forgiving my stupidity, even when I lash out, which is more than I should ever ask from another human being and yet he gives of himself freely.

We went to the mall and he was ok with me holding baby snakes until I felt better. I don’t think he even likes snakes.


Because she is herself,  because her palm, her fingers, her skin is soft and whenever we’re together we hold hands and bump heads,  and generally reach out and touch one another. She is the one who I started kissing on the forehead first, because it was impossible not to adore her. We have this odd connection where, in an instant, we can talk about anything and be. Everything is surface-level and smooth, no deep thoughts no wild ripples but there is this calm warm happiness. We met, we hugged, and suddenly she is one of the people closest in my heart, for no rational reason other than her sweetness and goodness.

I have really, really wonderful friends.

But then, I was addicted to the feedback and instagrat of tumblr.

Let’s try just speaking and being without doing so for other people for once.

I have been eating eggs as though it is my only purpose in life. It may as well be, golden wonderful perfect poached eggs is what I was secretly born for, and now I have my Purpose and Mission.

there will come soft rains, and the drizzle is slow and steady.

there is communication and love and change, tomorrow tomorrow like a drum, but right now, sing me to sleep, slow and steady and sure.

and maybe that’s why there was so many nightmares and panic attacks. But I’m ready, I suppose. To make my schoolwork my bitch. To be a better friend. To be a better lover. To better myself in a shitton of ways.

  • Write more letters.
  • Actually take the time and correct/relearn penmenship
  • Everything turned in on time or a day early
  • Play a damn instrument
  • Grow cacti!
  • Arrange a damn song
  • Learn to make the perfect cup of coffee
  • Be with people, make time for people, go out of my way to hang out with people. No more hermiting.
  • Cut down on tumblr (HAH)
  • Fly kites more
  • Four hundred pages. I think I’ll break into between the two prompts and one document just full of small stories and drabbles.
  • (Secret goal: ACTUALLY COME)

what the hell.

shaking and sobbing hysterically. Like an infant, screaming and I didn’t know why I couldn’t control my limbs but I physically could not. I was paralyzed with fear and my mouth kept making these inhuman noises and I. I don’t know what just happened. Continue reading ‘last night I had my first panic attack’

I will not post angsty shit where anyone can see it, oh no. Continue reading ‘hi, my name is pippin. i like being a passhole agresass’

When I eat it is painful and humiliating, no matter the amount no matter the quantities. I ate an apple? BODY HATES ME. Cheerios in soy milk? ARRRGH WHY. Salad, with the teeniest bit of balsamic vinaigrette? AHAHA FUCK YOU PIP. Welp. Fuckit, having pasta and marinara YOU KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN BITCH. There is seriously *nothing I can eat*. Eliminate gluten? NO HELP. Dairy’s pretty much gone anyways. HOW IS THIS STILL A THING.

Seriously. Do I have worms or something? (Is it sad that I actually started checking my leavings after I said that?)

I am so sick of being on the shitter, I am so sick of being sober, I’m just fucking sick of everything. Give me tea and break.


  • my voice drops half an octave or more when I’m upset.
  • sitting on a toilet seat with your pants on is one of those thisfeelsweird experiences.
  • I am not a good actor. I take out the recycling and do the dishes until I can smile again, and try not to be passively-aggressively upset, where people mope until someone asks what’s wrong. No. If I’m upset, I tell you. If I don’t want you to know? I’m not going to be sighing all up in this joint, I’m going to get the fuck away until I calm my ass down. No one needs my stress on top of this fucking week.

Nothing’s really wrong. I just remembered we are mortal. My Aunts and Uncles are aging, and their health is not following along. I’m pretty sure it was Aunt Pat’s wedding day anniversary of something. Her husband died a few years back. She was in surgery today. I found out via facebook. I don’t know what it was for.

I won’t cry, not from work or memento mori. I just got a text from a wonderful woman and there are so many things in life to love to pieces. I will be fine.


hatehatehatehatehate dreams where someone dies/died/is injured, i dream too fucking vividly not to freak out. last time it was dad and no one talked about him anymore and i basically was sobbing in the bathroom until it was a reasonable hour to call, only i forgot that he was in russia so i ended up freaking out quietly for most of the day. this was a bit better, in that i kept fairly calm and just emailed trev instead of shitting bricks. or maybe it was better because my head goes, this is ridiculous. i think i can better deal with dreaming that people die, not that they’re already dead, because i can slap myself but if i didn’t see it and they aren’t there and i remember the casket, but it is a dream a dream fuck.

fucking shit. i dream with all five senses. it is really, really hard to distinguish dreams from memories, if the dream doesn’t have some outrageous bit that couldn’t occur in reality. most of the time there’s something, a giant crow, disembodied voices, whatever, something that i can point to and go, “calm down, crazy, not real!” but nothing. just the pit dropping out of my stomach and blood on the tiles and a desperate search. and i wake up and i truly do not know if that happened or not. my memory is shitty, i can barely tell you what i did yesterday, and sometimes these fucking nightmares fill in the cracks between class and conversations that i remember.

fuck dreaming.