Here's where I write about...being a writer. And money. And life. Everything I write goes out to my email list first, and sometimes I write real personal ooey-gooey stuff that I send ONLY to my email list.
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I arrived early to an event tonight, by about an hour. I thought about waiting in the car, I thought about just going to a nearby coffee shop and working. But I was feeling a little down and a little insecure and I didn't want to sit somewhere alone.
So I did what I always do when I need to cheer myself up or kill a random hour: I went shopping.
Last year, my therapist told me that it’s been proven that traditions = happiness. And the more traditions you have, the happier it makes you.
Well, that was shitty news because Andrew and I don’t have any traditions. We don’t have weekly date nights or a neighborhood bar where they know our drink order. We don’t really celebrate anniversaries and holidays are always a chaotic blur of family.
Okay, you all know that I work as a copywriter and ghostwriter…which means I write for other people. Sometimes books, sometimes email funnels, sometimes web pages or TedTalks (yes, I have written a political speech before and it was kinda’ sappy)…
Last night, I was sitting in front of my fireplace watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and their makeover victim was an 18-year-old homeschooler named Sean. You guys, Sean is a major weirdo. I know that’s mean but there’s no other way to put it. He’s so awkward and he doesn’t have any friends and it’s like you can smell the “outcast” on him.
So I’m sitting there watching this go down and I just start feeling uncomfortable. Because as most of you know, I was homeschooled. And I’ve spent most of my life feeling like everybody can smell the “outcast” on me and overcompensating for it in a lot of sad and semi-pathetic ways.
This story begins and ends with macrame (yes, the weird cotton knotted thing that hangs in bunches).
My best friend is helping me make a macrame hanging for my bedroom. The reason I need a macrame hanging for my bedroom is twofold: #1. I’m endlessly insecure about how not-cool my house is and what’s cooler than macrame, people?! #2. I need something for above my bed and since I’m endlessly terrified of the Big Earthquake coming to Portland, I need something that will land softly on my face as my entire house is sucked up by the earth.
This morning at 1:30am, I finished the 14th chapter of my memoir. I now have only four more chapters to write. I've been working on this project every Friday since January 2017 and the idea of finishing it makes me literally sick to my stomach with excitement.
In 2008, I started a blog about being in college. There was one post, titled "This is my first post"
In 2010, I started a blog that was going to be reviews of books. There was one post, titled "My first post, and why I hate Alice Sebold."
I was talking yesterday to a new friend, a woman who is in her first year of trying to drastically cut her spending in order to become financially independent so she can quit her job and be a full-time mom. We started talking about how hard it was to spend less. Specifically, how hard it was to drive old cars.
I want to buy a house in the next couple months and even though my partner and I are planning on getting married, we're not married yet. Should I buy the house alone or should he and I buy it together? I'm planning on putting down the entire down-payment.