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Everytime I feel like I need to establish my independence, I buy a pack of cigarettes.  I don’t smoke.  I don’t even like smoking…it hurts and it makes you smell gross.  But I remember, when I first took my step into freedom (away from my controlled life as a teenaged girl with too-strict parents and an overactive conscience) I smoked a cigarette.

and, yes. I always dress all 1940s-ish and use a cigarette holder when I smoke. (haay excuse to put my hot pic up. boom) But don't I just look soo independent?

It’s like my own little rebellion.  My own little “hey world, I know this is bad, I know this isn’t something I should be doing..but I’m doing it anyway..”.  It works.  It makes me feel like a badass, like I’m making my own shitty decisions.  It feels good.  Except on my lungs.  My lungs fucking hate that shit.  Srsly.  

Well, lately I’ve been feeling bogged down.  I’ve been listening to other peoples’ problems and trying so hard to do what’s “right”.  It’s like I’m nonstop focusing on everyone else.  So I bought a pack of cigarettes.

I’ve always been drawn to radical outrageousness. I love people that push the limits Probably because I’m too much of a wiener to push ’em myself…most of the time…I’m getting more vaginal (srsly, vag’s push out like 8 pound babies. If anything’s weak in the genitalia world…it’s the cock.)  

Never underestimate the huge middle finger you are giving to the world when you make peace with your body.

Frances Lockie’s got it right.  You know what’s radical?  Wanna be rebellious?  Fucking love yourself.  Be different from the rest of ’em. I’m talking about just being genuinely stoked about who you are.

I’ve been giving a lot of advice lately. To a bunch of people [including myself]. One thing that I keep thinking about when I talk to my friends about being able to be alone and happy is this cheesy tree reference.  You know: if you’re a tree and you spend all of this time having to lean on a house, not only do you wear that house down but say that house was a victim of some crazy-eyed arsonist (what a dick), you’re going down too.

or, you know, an adorable elephant comes along. don't you wanna be able to help 'em out?

I’m no sexy openhearted emotional genius (who are we kidding, of course I am.  jk. srsly. no idea what I’m talking about.) but from my experience, to become a big, strong, standon-your-own-happy-by-yourself tree, you’ve gotta love yourself.  Roots to leaves.

Moment of honesty: It’s the holidays.  No, really? heh.  And it’s lonely.  And it’s hard not to put your self-worth on the wrong things.  And I’m feeling sorry for ma’self.  Because I don’t know what I’m doing with my life and I’m not getting texts back and my parents are gone for xmas and everyone has New Years dates except me.  SOB.  But you know what? It’s a really good time to practice loving myself more than anyone else could.  (I mean, come on. I AM the best I’ve ever had.  And that isn’t changin’.) 

You know what I’m learning lately? Even when I’m lonely and feeling sorry for myself, keeping my heart open is worth it.

I’m getting back to being genuinely kind.  Not just going through the motions.  Living my life with grace and strength. Two things I haven’t lived by since college.  I may not have a lover or a job that I love, but it’s all coming together.  I’m being someone worth loving.  And that’s fucking huge.

And the ramble ends……..NOW.

Be radical lovelies.