Dear Atlas,
I thought knew how much I loved you.
I thought I knew the way you made me feel but the distance between us has taught me that I knew nothing.
That I know nothing. Continue reading
Dear Atlas
Tag Archives: lifestyle
And so she wrote
I’m sitting on my bed, fingers fumbling about on the decrepit keyboard of my ancient laptop, prepping to answer the following questions:
Where have I been?
How do I begin again?
Festivus For the Rest of Us: Part I
It’s The Most Magical Time of The Year
Ah, December. What a magical time. Frost in the air, cookies in the oven, stockings hung on the mantle with care. It’s a time when families gather all around and set out as a pack to choose one tree that will serve as a reminder to the other trees not to get too cocky as we parade it through the streets atop our four-door, family vehicles before dragging it inside and decorating it’s withering body with sparkles and various other whimsical baubles. We prefer to put them in front of large windows so that its slow and drawn-out, but none the less beautiful, death tells passerby’s “Hey, hey look at all this shit we can pile on this thing. I know right? Keep it moving, plebeians”.
O Christmas Tree
O Christmas Tree
How much better does your slowly rotting carcass look in our house that it does from that
tacky whore, Debra’s?
Working Nine to Five
Walking into work after class felt like slowly scraping away at a chalkboard locked inside my skull. Mentally, I had just about had it with remembering to open each eye after blinking and the fact that my feet somehow continued to 
shuffle one after another is a miracle. Between analyzing every minuscule detail of Richard the III and decoding whether or not toddlers can be racist based on their Teletubbie preferences, I was a lobotomized mess. The lack of sleep combined with mental anguish was beginning to drive me insane. For some reason my mouth constantly tasted like cotton balls and those weird off brand gummy bears and my hands were always covered in hives. My legs essentially felt like I was saving up for a broomstick harvest at a contemporary crafts festival. It was leggings day, every day for fall was gonna come early this year regardless if it was 93 degrees outside. Wild animals scurried away from me when I went outside. Hordes of vultures circled my house. Murders of crows haunted my ears as I aimlessly plucked out an out of tune rendition of “Banana Pancakes” on my sad little ukelele. There would be no banana pancakes here. Nay, I say! Nay! For they are too happy a thing to reside in the darkness that was my heart in the depths of despair that were these times. Continue reading
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
It was the last day of class. Finally I would be free from the toils of the mountains of essays and the relentless onslaught of writing page after page of dull, lifeless prose that sucked out my soul and left dark rings under my eyes. No longer would I have to sit in the classroom that smelled of wet cardboard and stale kitty litter and listen to Professor Hammond’s twin prattle on about Iambic Pentameter while making a makeshift beat on his podium, losing it about five seconds in and restarting the lesson from the top.
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On a side note here, it honestly scared me how much he looks like my professor. Down to the hat and cane.
I was positive that I had begun to develop a brain tumor out of stress, not due to difficulty, but out of frustration that he insisted on using the space bar when the tab key would indent the correct amount already. I was mentally exhausted from holding back audible screams of rage when ever he would look into my eyes and proceed to center his words using his fast little clicks.
Tiptiptiptiptiptiptiptip “Oh darn, too far” Tack Tack Tack Tack Tiptiptiptiptip Continue reading
T.Hanks and the Tab Key
“Does anyone not know how to log on to a computer?”
I lean back in my desk and feel the glaze on my eyes further solidify as I join the rest of the class in silence. The curve of the chair bites into my tail bone but at least I feel something again. I check the time on my phone from the pocket of my dress. We’re entering hour two of our three-hour tour. I was forming a theory that this was a psychological experiment of some sort over how long it will take for millennial’s to go all Planet of the Apes on an old man.
“Okay, so you start with your name, usually it has this format with a name box and password box.”
Lord have mercy he’s doing it again. I could not count the times that I had seen this exact presentation. It was a good fifteen minutes about the importance typing with the correct fingers.
“Now, some people do, I think it’s chicken beak type style, like this”, he held up his stubby little hands, “Notice my pointer finger is up, like this, and the rest of my fingers are curled under like a fist without the raised finger. Now watch.” Continue reading
Revenge of the ‘Nads
A post about one of the many reasons I have been so busy as of late.
Enjoy.
I awoke early on Saturday morning with a groan as my dog river-danced on my calves, whining to be let out. I glared at him. All night he had forced me to take him outside to bark at toads and his own shadow. Over and over again I shuffled through the house to open the door and shut the door before passing out again, praying that each time would be the last. Yet it never was. I begged for just one R.E.M. cycle but Max had other plans.
Was this my punishment for allowing him to be fixed? I would be angry too if my testicles had been cut off but this was just cruel. I rolled out of bed once more and glanced at my phone. I only had about 15 minutes until my alarm would go off to get ready for my father’s birthday party. My feet scraped along the wood as I limped into the laundry room to get my duck out of his carrier. He stuck his head out of the top as I approached, like a little duck submarine, and began talking.
“There he is! Mr. Amerrrriduuuuck“, I sang to him as I popped the lid and lifted him into my arms.
He pecked at my shirt and nibbled my hair as I opened the back door and set him down as Max ran out.
“Bye bye, duck!”
I shut the door and started on getting ready. My hair was halfway curled when I heard the dog barking to be let in. I let him in and he took his usual position in a leather armchair but his eyes were locked on mine with cold fury. Was this about the balls? I had a feeling it was but I put it out of my head and got back to doing my hair. Continue reading
The Owl Knows
Last week, I got accepted into an actual university. It isn’t a community college or trade school but an actual four-year university with a football team and obnoxious mascots. I bet if I asked around I could even find underground hazing rituals. Ever since I applied I’ve been anticipating its arrival like a Golden Ticket. I only applied a few months ago but I feel like I had been waiting for that Charlie and The Chocolate Factory moment since the day I graduated high school two years ago.
Back then the plan had been to go to a community college, get my basics done and then transfer to a university, but I have always wondered if I made the right decision. As stupid as it may seem, seeing the college adventures of former classmates on Facebook drives a sword of regret piercing through my heart, twisting each time someone posts an obscure collegiate music event. Maybe I made the wrong choice and I convinced myself that I was making the smart decision when in reality I was just scared of the future. Scared of the unknown and yet to be discovered. Even now the thought of it still makes my heart race and my breathing become labored and strenuous because the worse that letter could say was “no” and that “no” would seemingly seal my future in this cesspool of a town. Continue reading
We Don’t Need No Education
While registering for the summer semester someone told me I should sign up for a physical class to get out more and meet new people, which sounds horrible. I don’t want to intermingle. If I was Tom Hanks in Castaway, I would not have ever left and Wilson would have been turned into a funky hat or canteen. It would have been a really boring movie. I crash. I get to the island. I go full Swiss Family Robinson and retire at 19. It would have been very anticlimactic. I’ve seen enough Naked and Afraid to know how to live out there. I would be Naked and Having an Alright Time. Someone get the Discovery Channel on the phone.
Yet there I was at 4:30 humming along the freeway in my car. Off to mingle with other twenty-somethings and talk about Instabook or Facegram and how my sweater was gluten-free-range from local farmers. The thought made my heart race and small beads of sweat form above my eyebrows. This was my nightmare. I looked down over my outfit. It was pretty trendy. It was a bright blue dress with geometric cuts strategically placed along my chest and a square, strappy neckline. Very Modern. Continue reading
Born in the U.S.A.
Back from my holiday hiatus! I’ll be writing about America’s birthday in two parts.
It’s the 4th of July what a day it is. Full of fireworks and the aroma of succulent lips and assholes ground into sludge and packed into a phallus fill the air and they spittle and crackle on open flames. It is a day where we celebrate what makes our country wonderful and we celebrate the day that our country rose up and said “we don’t need no man”. A day where family and friends celebrate their freedom by doing keg stands and mosquitoes feast like the very kings we fought to reject.
Most of all, it is a day for the children with their face stained red and blue from the endless patriotic confections and treats. The children who look forward to the risk of blowing off limbs and appendages with great rockets of fire and spark. Innocent games of football and chicken can be seen all along the shoreline as I looked out onto the great sea that will soon sport a sunset. Then the festivities would begin as stars are replaced by blooms of colored flame. Magical.
Until then there I was sitting in the kitchen as the only twenty-something at the party, avoiding all questions of college and future plans. If one more person asked me what I have been up to I was going to start my own firework finale right there aimed at their open nonsense holes. What did they want me to say? That I’ve been raising llamas in my panty drawer? That I had been giving out free tattoos to children in Africa? That I had been selling my own blood to fetishists in Kazakhstan? I just binge-watched “Orange is the New Black” for three days on netflix. Is that pleasing? It was for me. Continue reading
My Suddenly Okay Life 