Bitches Love Cake.

Inside the mind of a post grad: socially avoidant theatre artist, writer, lover and corporate slave.

This is an unusual post for me

But I didn’t want to take a selfie and put it on instagram or make a status on Facebook so every family member can know…

I’m training for a half marathon. This is a big deal for me. I have always been a runner at heart but life comes up, especially when anxiety and depression are involved.

Anyway, I was stressing majorly about turning 25 and I decided that instead of spending it bored and drunk like the last four birthdays I’ve had, I registered for a half marathon that fatefully is exactly on my birthday.

Now, I’m training, but part of training is cross training. Cross training days, I have taken to a cycling class that happens to be taught by an ex marine turned triathlete.

I have a calf strain and runners knee from those classes, and I’m really upset because the only reason I took them was because I thought they would make me a better runner.

The past week I have had Such a psychological battle with myself. Instead of adhering to the training program, i have been on the couch, iced up from ankle to knee, inhaling vitamins and fish oil and protein powder and anything else I can get my hands on.

Today, i couldn’t take it anymore. I ran. It wasn’t for very long, more like block long spurts between walking, but I did it. And I’m happier than I have been in a week. They say to listen to your body, and despite my whining knees, my legs were screaming at me to run. So I did. I feel alive.

I just wanted to tell anyone about it. Are there any runners on tumblr? Can anyone relate?

"My response to the “I am not a feminist” internet phenomenon….

First of all, it’s clear you don’t know what feminism is. But I’m not going to explain it to you. You can google it. To quote an old friend, “I’m not the feminist babysitter.”

But here is what I think you should know.

You’re insulting every woman who was forcibly restrained in a jail cell with a feeding tube down her throat for your right to vote, less than 100 years ago.

You’re degrading every woman who has accessed a rape crisis center, which wouldn’t exist without the feminist movement.

You’re undermining every woman who fought to make marital rape a crime (it was legal until 1993).

You’re spitting on the legacy of every woman who fought for women to be allowed to own property (1848). For the abolition of slavery and the rise of the labor union. For the right to divorce. For women to be allowed to have access to birth control (Comstock laws). For middle and upper class women to be allowed to work outside the home (poor women have always worked outside the home). To make domestic violence a crime in the US (It is very much legal in many parts of the world). To make workplace sexual harassment a crime.

In short, you know not what you speak of. You reap the rewards of these women’s sacrifices every day of your life. When you grin with your cutsey sign about how you’re not a feminist, you ignorantly spit on the sacred struggle of the past 200 years. You bite the hand that has fed you freedom, safety, and a voice.

In short, kiss my ass, you ignorant little jerks.”

Libby Anne (via newwavenova)

so. real.

(via runtheriot)

(Source: dumbledoresarmy-againstbigotry, via theatrewarrior)

Goodnight princess

—The sound of my heart melting


Sometimes I have to force myself to care about anything.

I have to suppress the urge to lock myself away with a bottle of wine, my headphones, and a pack of smokes.

I have to ask myself if I want this tattoo or this whatever because I actually want it or if im trying to quiet something.

Then I remember I forgot to take the pills.

So I do.

Then, as I wait for them to kick in, I start to wonder if I take these pills to quiet my anxiety, or to take a break from being myself.


Once you had put the pieces back together, even though you may look intact, you were never quite the same as you’d been before the fall.

Jodi Picoult

To those of you that wonder, we are working things out. So far we’re happier now than we have been in a while.

Day 5

Tonight after the rec league volleyball game my coworker told me nonchalantly “I don’t give a fuck that you got dumped. It does not impact me at all. I mean that sucks but I do not even remotely care. You’re hot enough, go bang some dudes.” With a laugh.

Oddly, that didn’t bother me that much. I don’t demand coddling. However, twenty minutes later the uber gentleman with a live in girlfriend of six years walks me to my car and asks me:

"Hey would it be weird if I kissed you?"

My reply was a quite professional “um perhaps, considering the fact that you have a girlfriend.”

"Good call."

Day three.

I never know what time it is anymore. Time goes by so slowly, I’ll think it’s been an hour when my phone insists only five minutes have passed.

I slept for 14 hours straight last night. My cubemate forced me to eat a reeses and that’s all I ate.

I want to go home…

Life Without You, Day One.

I’m in a strange place, tethered to earth by nothing and at the same time so much that it’s choking me.

Maybe it’s the wine, but at the moment I feel invincible. I’m homeless while you sleep soundly on the bed my mother bought for us. I sob while you drink your fifth Jack and Coke in our home, and pack up my belongings like a nurse rids a parasite from the blood.

"Maybe it’s the wine." Remember that? That’s what I said to you in a dizzy whirl after you kissed me by your truck the first time. I felt your lips on mine for hours after you drove off into the sticky summer night. You smiled and whispered to me, "tell yourself whatever you need to."

I will hurt for a very long time, but I will survive. I will learn to love myself the way I showered you with it for years, accepting with gratitude the odd sweet word or candy run in return. I will not be swallowed by this. But you, in your intoxicating rush of freedom and selfishness, you will wake up some morning and realize what you threw away. Literally threw out onto the street. And I will be long, long gone.