Bitches Love Cake.

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

So I posted a status today about how I was made so uncomfortable by a creepy guy during my run that I went into an asthma attack.  Some phrases said included “bitch don’t act like you can’t hear me.” And “how old are you? What’s your name?” As he made it clear that he could run faster than I could hope.

First comment, by one of my closest guy friends;

"You should just run with your boyfriend."

Is it just me or is something wrong with this picture?

So I haven’t gotten a note or a message from a single soul in months, I just noticed. In almost a year I haven’t gotten a single text or call from anyone but a coworker, my boss, or my mom.

Just realizing that for the first time I have absolutely no one to turn to. If something happened to me, I honestly don’t know who, besides my mom, would care beyond “Damn we used to talk. Sad how things turn out.”

What a comforting thought.

When I was a theatre student I longed for stability and nobility, a career in which I helped people.

Now I work at an agency where I help people with intellectual disabilities find and maintain employment, and all I can do is dream of performance.

I sing showtunes in my car. I read poetry and try to hide my infatuation in my Application Work classes.

All I can think about is writing something that affects someone or saves someone from the fate I suffered.

But hey I live in central il.

It’s this or work at state farm.

Sometimes at night I suddenly become aware of all the things I’m missing out on right now, and all the people who I’m not close to anymore, and all of the good times that will never happen again, and all the people who meant the world to me who have forgotten about me forever, and I get this awful feeling that’s kind of like a mix between loneliness and nostalgia.

(Source: lunafur, via llamativa)

So my dad is still Facebook friends with the high school sweet heart that emotionally destroyed me even though it’s been almost six years.

My dad also is an avid shutterbug that photographs my every moment when I come visit.

So…. that is why I probably have a permanent complex combined with compulsive tendencies and an obsession with body image.

The more you know.

lana-grant-may:

carry-on-my-wayward-nun:

p1ants:

i think freckles, stretch marks, tattoos, bruises, birthmarks and scars are probably the coolest thing, you started with almost a blank canvas and look at u now, all this evidence that you’ve lived and the sun has shone on you and you’ve grown and maybe tripped up a few times and liked an image so much u made it a permanent part of u, beautiful.

That’s one of the most uplifting things I’ve read

This needs to get passed around more

(Source: paintgod, via theatrewarrior)