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This video is kind of and kind of not relevant to this blog at all. Nothing much of anything is relevant to this blog because it's kind of a random one. I've been having this odd stream of thoughts lately and I'm just going to try to mesh it in here, into one set blog. So just hold tight, if you're reading, you will be confused, I'm confused. I am always confused. But about this video, I would like to point out that I am listening to it as I write on this blog, and it is on repeat, because listening to it is just beautiful. And seeing it is even more amazing. And when I saw it in real life (nearly two years ago now) it was incredible and I just can't describe the feelings that went through me as I watched it. Do you remember the blog post before last when I said my favorite memory is from my first night in Disney World two years ago, yeah, well this show is a huge part of it. And I really feel bad for anyone who can watch this and not see the magic in it.

Sometimes I feel like I am all wrong in life. I read books about adventure when I need to be reading a book about human life and it's precious parts. I watch romantic television shows or movies when I'm feeling lonely. I am so jealous of friendships I see all around when really I'm not seeing the friendships but the outer view of them. I look pictures of people in big groups on Facebook, a big smile plastered across everyone's face. But are those smiles really wholesome? And then there's the whole fictional aspect of it, how a lot of this isn't really life, it's me watching or reading something fictional. I really dedicate myself wholly to the fictional world, and I really don't think people can understand how precious that is to me. And it's wrong, right? To live my life so vicariously through worlds and people that don't really exist. But the thing is, they are stories. And how can I not love stories? In general there are a lot of things that I want to do with my life, but really what I want to do above all is share stories. The other day I was talking to someone about book publishing and they were talking about how easy it is to get published and how many people have, people who are far worst writers than me (and believe me, I have noticed a lack of writing skills in literature. I'm trying not to be conceited here, but you have know, You've had to have read something and thought, 'wow, I could do something so much better than this'). And I know this, but there is a total difference to a novel getting published than a novel actually meaning something. I mean, I don't just want to write stories that get published I want to write stories that get published and really, really mean something. Do you know what the Wishes Fireworks show does to me? It gives me goosebumps, every time I watch it, every single damn time. Even though I've watched it only once in real life and hundreds of times on Youtube, goosebumps every time. And I want to do something like that. I want someone to re-read a story of mine over and over again and love it every single damn time, love it down to their very bones, just like I love a lot of the fictional world. And does that mean there is something wrong with me? Not in the hoping to  have stories that mean something to people but in my own love of fiction. But it's just so beautiful. Above all I feel like the fictional world (of any shape or form) is just an artists way of trying to make sense of the world. And how can you be living without trying to find some deeper meaning in the world. I couldn't get by life by simply existing  I have to be so much more. And so I love fiction with my whole heart, and sometimes it makes me sad and sometimes is makes me so happy, it is my refuge.

There is a lot to the world I wish. And wishing isn't really that bad. Wishes are just more magical forms of hope (oh lord, how cheesy does that sound). And I wish a lot of myself and for the world. In being selfish I wish more for myself than in the world. I saw these posts on Tumblr today, one with a member of the Marines proposing to his boyfriend in the White House. Yes, his, and it was beautiful. He made history, you know, the first person to do that (gay marriage proposal in the White House). I wish for a world like that. And then there was another one, one about girl whose sister tried to commit suicide and the moment her sister got back from the hospital she held her in her arms and wouldn't let go. And oh God, how much that must have meant to her. For people who are suicidal I don't think the solution is to always send them to the doctor and getting them on some happy dope medicine. Sometimes it will just work if you just hold someone, even if they refuse. Because I promise you, no matter how much they want to be alone they don't need to be and what they need is a person who will never let go. And those are wishes for the world. But do you wanna know what I wish for myself, wish for myself more than ever. I wish for a bigger vocabulary. I own a thrilling amount of thesauruses and sometimes I read them (though not as much as I should) and yet there are so many times when I just can't express myself, express how I am really feeling. There is this one quote from Perks of Being a Wallflower, my favorite actually, that says something along the lines of this "I am both happy and sad and I am still trying to figure out how that can be" And I feel a lot like that nearly all the time, but tell me, how do you express that? I think maybe it will come with age, the bigger vocabulary at least. I hold full trust that there is a word in the English language that expresses almost everything, I just haven't found all of them yet. But I really intend to. I'm really amazed by myself sometimes, by every one. The human capacity is just incredible. Think of the thousands of word and thoughts rolling through your mind at any given second. Think of each separate emotion you have during the day. I promise that no one starts the day as happy and stays that way the whole day, and even they do there are different levels of happiness. Let me do some of the vocabulary here; good, excited, elated, okay, fine, delighted, jolly, cheerful. Those are all synonyms for happy and yet they are all different in some way, so do you see what I'm trying to mean here? And I just wish I had the vocabulary to sort it all out, to make true sense of it all.

And I think a lot of people might find me immature. My inane wishing and the obvious obsession with things in the fictional world. Those seem silly right. But what's so wrong with hoping. There are few things in this world stronger than fear but hope is one, and why should I be in fear because of my hopes. It's seems like an asinine thing to do. so I want to cry at one of my favorite characters in a book dying. I want to freak out the whole day over watching two characters kiss. I want to wish so badly for the world to be better, more accepting. I just want and wish a lot. And that could make me immature. But I think of it like this, I'm sitting in Panera right now waiting to go to work. The store is crowded and I'm looking at all the people, all separate but connected  And I think it's our stories, wishes, and dreams that connect us all, right. It's our ability to love and our ability to be silly, not immature  To cling to all those wants and wishes because it is the human thing to do. Not the immature thing. I admire those who know the difference between immaturity and having fun, being silly, and loving something (even if fictional) with your whole heart. You should enjoy life to the fullest despite your age. And if I'm grey haired and wrinkled and the way I choose to enjoy life is by dancing and singing through a store, than so be it. Because that's what life really is to me, at least real living anyway.

I've written a lot more in this blog than I have in previous years. I've already gone past the amount in posts in 2012 alone, and that's because I promised myself that I would write more in 2013, I would try to figure out things more. And so I will. I'm also going to attempt to blog every day in April and August, the B(log)E(veryday)D(ay in)A(pril/August), BEDA, challenge  I've tried it before in August 2011 and failed miserably, but that's when my posting average was once a month maybe, I think I'm more prepared this time. And I intend to live it fully. So just a pre-warning. April and August will be full of blog posts. I'm looking forward to it.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The Tenth City by Patrick Carmen

*I've moved from the Wishes show to the Fantasmic soundtrack during the course of this blog. You really should watch it to, goosebumps again. The best theatrical performance I've ever seen in my life.

The Perks of Being a Creative

*A drawing I did today, something simple that took me like five minutes. It's more in the words not the drawings. What I wanted to do was put the message across that the flower was the self loathing one and the dandelion was the encouraging one. It's close to real life to me, because I see so many people who are beautiful amazing people, and they hate themselves. And I feel like this little dandelion and I just want them to see their beauty *

Sometimes I think I'm really blessed because there are a lot of things I can do. Not that i said do, not things I am talented in. I don't really think anyone doing a certain act can decided whether they are talented are not. Talent is decided by artist really, other people do. But there are a lot of things I can do, a lot of things that are creative. There is the given that I like to write, and then my recent ventures in drawings. But then there are others things, things to me that are creative but may not appear so because they don't fall into the standard ideas of "artistic". Things like making my Youtube videos or writing here in my blog. But I agree that they are not necessarily artistic, but creative, yes? I really believe they are. Because I'd really like to think that I am a creative person. Even if my ideas have been used before, even if I copy pictures I like, I really want to believe that I am creative. I think I approach everything with a creative aspect in mind, like how can I make this different? How can I make this mine? Because I really want things to be mine. I am selfish.

I have a strong belief that everyone should have some type of creative outlet, or at least something they can put themselves into (because there's the whole aspect of sports that people use, I am not a sport person but I do understand why people do it). But really, it's something really essential that everyone just has something. Because i really think the things, the hobbies we have, creative, or not, can help us with things. Hard things and easier things, it just makes life seem a lot more easier. The only problem is that I think people tend to forget just how much those things help them in times of sadness. I know that I do. And I know that a lot of times I think that by working on my creative outlets I am hiding out. Which I am in a way, but it's also good. Because I mean, creative...it kind of means creating. And it's always good that I can actually, you know, create something out of my sadness. Or happiness. It's always good to have something created from happiness or sadness. The thing about being emotional is that emotions are often a huge power source behind being creative as well. And I like that. I like that not only do I do this amazing thing, I create something, but also that has my emotions put into it. Isn't it lovely to look at a piece of art, read something, or hear a song and just know that there is emotion there? There is a another human being who is real and true and has feelings too, someone who perhaps has the same feelings as you. I don't know, there is something so precious to every piece of anything that anyone has ever created. I think we don't really have our souls, because we give them all away to things that we do. Things that could be sporty or creative, or things that are even other people. And I don't have a problem with that, because that's being a human being, that's really connecting with anyone and anything. So giving your soul away is good, because you should put your soul into everything that you do, particularly your passions. I know I'm not really making sense right now. Endless train of thoughts.

I do know that's going to be my personal goal to focus on my creative outlets more. I rally need them, they really do help me. It's just hard sometimes, when I'm so sad I can't even feel anything. But I know they make me feel better and I'm going to try to keep that knowledge. I have things that help me, I have things that I can do. And I really hope everyone else does too.

Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading Beyond the Valley of Thorns by Patrick Carmen

One, Two, Three, and Four

1.  When I was younger I thought myself to roller blade on my own. I don't remember when it happened exactly, only that it was during summers and sometime in elementary school. So my summer days were spent borrowing my sister's roller blades, strapping them on my much smaller than hers feet, and then going out to roll up and down, back and forth, on the granite sidewalks. Somehow I got it into my head that the sidewalks needed some embellishment. There were these plants that grew around the apartments I lived in then, plants with bright pink flowers covering them. So I would kill the plants, evil kid that I was, and pull all the flowers off. And then as I skated along I would throw them behind me. By the end of the day, when I usually went in from being too hot or too tired, there would be a whole path of pink flowers showing my ventures of the day.

2. I always have these dreams about tornadoes. I guess you would call them nightmares. Only, I'm not so sure if they really are nightmares, because they fascinate me all at the same time while scaring me, just like my feelings to tornadoes in real life. For several years of my life I wanted to be a meteorologist, specifically a storm chaser/tornado chaser. There's just something about bad weather that in general intrigues me, I can't say what it is. It just does. And tornadoes, they are even more interested. I think my obsession started with that movie Twister that came out in the early nineties. I've always wanted to see the inside of a tornado, like actually inside of it, not just pictures. But, I have these dreams, these dreams where there are tornadoes. And I don't just mean one or two, I mean a lot. And they always come out of nowhere. Like I'll be driving down the highway in a car or I'll be sitting in my house. And there are always just some many and they trap me. They are these massive, beautiful scary creatures attacking me from all sides.

3. My favorite memory is probably my senior year of high school in Disney World, on the first night. It's just something in the sire of Disney World that makes me so happy. And then it's just that nigh itself. we partied in Downtown Disney and then ran for the buses and tram just to get to Magic Kingdom in time. And then we were pushing through the crowd, closer and closer to the castle. And we were finally good enough and we paused, ready to watch the fireworks. And it was perfect because the fireworks were so beautiful and the songs and messages playing along with them were as well. I wanted to cry when Peter said he wished to "Never grow up, off to Neverland!" and there was the burst of white fireworks. And it was just great because I wasn't really thinking. I was thinking how the air was too hot for a summer night and my neck was should have been hurting from looking up at the fireworks. I wasn't really thinking about the people around me, the friends and not friends. I didn't think what people thought of me, I didn't care that I looked ugly and sweaty and I didn't have my absolute closest friends with me. I just looked at the fireworks and didn't think. I just loved them, and it was perfect.

4. Today I sat in Orr Park for several hours and just soaked up everything. I discovered hidden carvings, filmed some for Youtube, read a book I've been ignoring for far too long, and got chased down by a bumble bee when attempting to lay down in some perfect flowers. And it was just peaceful, it was just amazing. And I thought about things, this and more. It's scary and terrifying to be left alone with my thoughts. But it can also be so wonderful sometimes. I had a good day today in the park, it helped me a lot.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading Beyond the Valley of Thorns by Patrick Carmen

Because Things are Heavy.

"A lot of people don't realize that depression is an illness. I don't wish it on anyone, but if they know how it feels, I swear they would think twice before they just shrug it off."

-Johnathan Davis

 When it comes to depression I have to several things. One is that I have never actually been "diagnosed" with depression. And through that I have no idea if I really have depression or not. But there are a lot of times when I get depressed. But there's a difference to having depression and getting depressed. I do get sad a lot, but I can tell the difference between just being sad and having what I call my "depressed episodes" And if you can guess, I have been having one lately. I've felt trapped in my won sadness. But despite that I'll try to keep this blog as positive as possible. It's not to make people feel bad for me or think everything about me is sad, because pity is not what I need. It's more of an examination of my character and what depression does to it.

           

  As I've said before my depression was perhaps at its worst in middle school. I just hated life everyday, getting out of bed just took so much effort. Because I was just scared of every damn day and how much sadder it was going to make me feel. And I hated myself, really hated myself. I became a cutter, and I did it because I hated myself. I thought I deserved the pain. But somehow I got out of the slump. I became happier, with episodes of sadness every now and then, but never anything too serious. Then my senior year of high school came, and a lot of stuff happened. A lot of stuff seemed out of my control and so I cut again. I'm not sure why, there was really no thought there, I just wanted something to control. But unlike middle school it was only once, one singled event. And I've been good since then. I really have. Until, well, can you guess why I'm writing this blog. Do you remember a few weeks ago when I wrote about how I feel like I want to cut myself again. Well, I did. A few knuckles on my left hand have half a dozen tiny, little shallow cuts. And there are about two one inch cuts on the side of my right now.

           

  A lot of me told me not to post it in here, not to post my problems on the internet. But the thing is, I said long ago that this blog was a lighter (by a lot) version of my journal, and it essentially is. And also, I'm just getting really tired of hiding parts of myself, particularly on the internet forum where I like to express myself. What is expression without truth? I mean, hardly anyone reads this blog. And even if they do and they judge me (or pity) for it, I'm not really going to care. You see, I know how it sounds. I am a twenty year old girl in college and I cut myself, doesn't that sound truly pathetic. But I'm just so fucking tired of feeling bad for feeling bad. Do you get what I mean there? I don't want people telling me my sadness is stupid, or that it's wrong for me to be depressed when I'm so blessed. Why does just feeling something make me wrong?

          

  Yesterday Teila and I were talking and she told me it's not wrong for me to feel the way I feel. We were talking about something completely unrelated to depression, but still, it's been a long time since someone has told me it's okay to feel the way I feel (In fact, I think the last time the person who told me was Teila as well). And do you know how good that makes me feel? It's okay to have emotions, you know? It's okay for me to a damn human being? Because I really don't feel that way a lot. You know the worst thing you can tell someone who is feeling shitty? That's they have no right to feel shitty. Unless you have some magical, complete understanding of a person, you're not going to know how they feel. So telling someone that their feelings are wrong…is the wrogn thing to do, I hope you know that.

           

  And the shit about people doing it to themselves? Really? I know I don't choose to make myself feel a certain way. I don't care what Psychology rules say or anything, I would never willingly make myself feel depressed. It's horrible. It's like everyday just getting up you're weighed down by this fucking heavy thing, and most of the it you don't even know what it is…but it's there and you can't shake it off. And it just keeps getting heavier and heavier and heavier. For me, sometimes it makes me hurt, hurt in places that I didn't even know existed. And I just cry and cry and try desperately to cling to the little shards of happiness I have left, all the happiness that the heavy thing crushed. And other times it's like I have nothing. I am smothered by my depression and I just feel nothing, and I want to feel something so badly. It's like I can't breathe, I have nothing. And I just don't want to exist, because what's the point of existing if you can't feel. Why would anyone ever want to make them selves feel that way?

            

And you know what, I did just cut myself a few days ago, my cuts still hurt, but I'm okay. Don't you dare fucking feel bad for me! I get sad, bad things happen, and sometimes those bad things make me hurt myself. But I don't feel like I broken human being, I just feel like a human being who is lost sometimes. But you know, I have things that help me get find a way a long again. I have writing here or in my journal, or my stories. Recently I've started drawing. I have the books that I read. And recently I've started drawing again, something to make me feel better. I have a lot of things that I love and a lot of things that help me get better in life.

            

But here's the truth behind it, I have those things and I really love them. But when I'm having a moment, like I experienced several times this week, a moment where I'm on my floor crying my eyes out and I feel out  of control. Everything hurts and I want to scream and I have no one that will ever fully understand. I don't think of the things that help me get better. I don't have functioning thoughts; I just have pain or nothing. And that's all I can feel. And that's what depression feels like, you don't think. And if you do think you can only think about how much you hate yourself and how much the world would be without your sorry ass carcass. When I'm like that I do bad things to myself, things like destroying my knuckles or beating myself over the head I really don't think about the things that make me better. But you know, a lot of times it doesn't reach that point. I don't get to the point where there's not some little hope out there, it's just been happening more as of late because everything is hard. And I can't tell you how it is hard, only that it is. But I'm okay; I've felt, well not happier for these past few days, but better. Not so sad, or at least capable of feeling something besides sadness. And I'll be okay. I can't promise if I will hurt myself again or not, Because I think something that should be understood about me, even if no one wants to believe me, is that when I'm like that I literally have no control. But I'm working on the control. I do need help, though; the world needs to help me along every now and then.

Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading The Dark Hills Divide by Patrick Carmen

*along with the depression has come a lack of reading, hence the reason that I am still on the same book*

Sky of the Unknown

So when I was younger I have an outright obsession with giant balls. Okay, that sounded funny. But I mean it in this way, those massive, mostly metallic and sometimes colorful bouncy balls they sell at Wal-Mart. I loved them, I craved them so badly. There was a certain pleasure in hearing the distinctive 'bing' as it hit the ground and flew back into the air, you had to follow it up with your eyes and catch it again. It was just so much fun to me, I would spend hours doing it. I also remember having to get a new one every few months, because somehow, though I never specifically remember how, they would always pop or deflate. And after begging to my Mom or Dad for a few minutes, I could go there to that massive black wired bin and look through all of the them for the one I wanted. I was a difficult little kid too, I always had to get the one in the center or way down at the bottom or up at the top. It was like certain one would call to me and I just had to have it.

But I always got them, I always played with the, and after a while my neighbor Diego and my nephew Troy would join in with me. Deigo was four years younger than me and Troy was five years younger, I kind of grew up with these boys, even though I was older them. A good majority of my life have been devoted to spending time with younger friends, it even is now. My only close friend who is older than me is Marina. Anyway, all three of us would play with the balls all day. We would have giant kickball games, competitions to see who could bounce higher, and a good 'ol toss around in a circle. But then when we were done, at night, we would put our balls on the ground, lean back on them, and look up at the sky. We always did this, always at sunset. And it was just such a wonderful time, something I can never capture again. It's not exactly because it was in childhood, but because it just was. All these sunset ball watches existed in a certain time and place, something I could never replicate. I think its with how I felt so connected to those two, or the smell of the green grass, or the crickets starting to sing. It's just something so amazing and rudimentary to that time and that time only. Sometimes we would talk, no we would talk a lot. There was one particular time when we were talking about what we were going to do in our lives, I was probably around eleven then, and I probably couldn't really see past the age of thirteen and Peter Pan. Deigo said something, maybe he was telling me what he was going to do and I responded accordingly, or maybe he actually asked me. But somehow I felt this sense, this weird sense of everything. Have you had one of those moments? All your sight becomes HD, and you're just aware of everything. I could feel the rubbery texture of the ball under my head. I could hear cars passing on gravel and the wind flirting with the trees and brush. Beside me breathed to hard, excited from the game we had just finished earlier and Diego was touching a few of his fingers to mine (one thing I should mention is that he had a massive crush on me, this was probably some attempt to hold hands) and it was just so clear. And so I told Deigo, "One day I'm going to be like the sky."

You should understand this, the sky, it was extraordinary  Have you watched a sunset, not at the horizon, but in the middle of the sky itself? It's just, this slow never ceasing brushstroke of light blue to pale yellow and then light orange. Parts of it stay lighter blue, perhaps showing a few tints of green. The stars come out slowly, little grey dots you have to squint to see, and then there are the bursts of color, a fading before your eyes. A bright pink, blazing yellow, and brilliant orange.. and then, more rapidly then any other thing, it's getting dark, you're covered in shadows, mosquitoes are starting to buzz around your head and you're filling uncomfortable chilly for summer, and your neck starts to hurt from leaning on the ball awkwardly  When that happened I always wanted to go in, because I've never been one to force myself to stay in uncomfortable situations  but I always did. The sky was too hard to resist, the pitch growing darker and stars interrupting all the over the place.

The thing is, I am not the sky and not like it in anyway. I said that when I was eleven and naive and didn't understand parts of the what. I didn't know what I meant by it and still today I don't. I just admired the sky so much, the way it changed, the way it was able to keep itself and so much beauty. And I still want to be like the sky even though I have no idea its meaning. You know, the sky I want to be, it's hard and unknown. And I love it. I want to be it.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The Dark Hills Divide by Patrick Carmen

Thoughts on Sadness.

I think every human being is sad in a way. It seems impossible for happiness to exist if there is not sadness. I also believe that everyone is sad in different ways, because it seems that when one is sad they reign the anthem of  "No one understands" over and over again. I do it all the time myself. And I feel justified in it. I really feel like no one understands me, because, well they don't. I said above that everyone is sad in different ways. Emotions for each person are just as unique as the person who is sad. So even if someone has been in the same dismal situation as you, it doesn't mean they would have experienced it in the same way as you. Sadness, to me, is a whole love of perception. The way you perceive something saddening effects just how sad you are about it. And because of that no real sadness can be understood. The worst part is that in turn, sadness seems to multiply with the lack of understanding. And it's a terrible way to feel. But sadness is such a crushing feeling. It's the one thing you can't escape from. Can you imagine walking around everyday with this dark cloud clinging to you, crushing you? I'm sounding way too Charlie brown right now. And I think maybe you need sadness in order to have happiness. A lot of people say it's sad that you can't appreciate the good things unless you've had bad things. But it's good right, because you come to appreciate the good things so much more. Little things, like a sunny day or someone giving a smile become miraculous. So is it wrong that I'm willing to have sadness in my life because I want to appreciate the happier things in life. Or is it wrong to me only to notice the good after I've had the bad? I don't know. Emotions are confusing. Sadness and Happiness being the worst. I think they're the only emotions you can never purely be, you can never purely be sad or you can never purely be happy. It's impossible.

This blog was too negative. And short.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The Dark Hills Divide by Patrick Carmen

Disguise

So I'm sitting my room, I open a tab to Youtube. I turn the volume of my computer all the way up, plug in my headphones, find a song, and click play. This is my favorite part of the day--the part where I can take a few moments to not think about the rest of the world at all. I usually write in my journal, or I dance around. I do anything but think about things in my life. And I love it, I love it so much. I wish I could spend more time per day being like that, I wish it made up my life. I live for not existing.

There's no doubt in my mind that I spend way too much time on the internet, I'd have to say I probably average about eight hours per day, assuming I don't have work. I can work around school because I can get on before classes, in between classes, and after class.  A lot of my internet time is given to watching TV shows, as I've recently become engrossed in so many fandoms that I'm going a bit insane. Then there's the portion on Youtube, listening to my music, and escaping. Then there's some Facebook, Twitter,Goodreads, Pinterest, and Tumblr. God, I love Tumblr so much, it's like the ultimate mind numbing experience. I sit on there and scroll and reblog, there's no real involvement needed. You're just there, images and gifs blurring together, all things you like and resonate with you. And then there are my late nights, doing a little research on things I'm interested in or something I want to know. I go on Wikipedia, read the article, click on a link to there that brings me to a related topic, and so on and so forth. I can spends hours like this, and most of the time the last topic I finish on is nothing like the topic I started on. My mind is a never filling pit of useless, though on rare occasions, useful, information. And  it will never stop being hungry.

Okay so my whole point to this is to say that I spend a majority of my life on the internet. And I see no problem with that. I am creating things, like this blog and my Youtube videos. I get to talk about one of greatest passions (books) on Goodreads. And all the while, no matter on what website, I am connecting to these people from all over. Some of them are people I know in real life, some are as far away as England, Korea, or Australia. I love the internet because it's like this great window of life. Each panel is a different person, a person who I can watch and connect to. It's so amazing to know that people out there feel the same as I do, that people out there feel lost and alone or they are overwhelmed by the amount of amazing in the world. I love the internet for that. But in a way, the internet is a way for me to be disguised. When I'm sad my first instinct is to go to Youtube and listen to music, to write in my blog, or go post things on Tumblr. And I think I hide a lot of what is really myself on the internet. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say there--only that if I meet someone new in real life I am uncomfortable and anxious. If I meet someone new on the internet I am happy and open, I want to meet new people on the internet. As for in real life, I really don't know. And I know to a lot of people that seems like a serious problem, I need to get out more, I need to do this or that. But I wear my mask happily, I put it on everyday because it's where I feel safe and comfortable. And I love my internet friends just as much as I love my friends in real life.

And I don't know where I was going with this blog. This isn't some reprieve to stop being on the internet so much, nor is it a shunning or real life interaction. It's just kind of a discussion on both, and how one makes me feels comfortable, but disguised, from the real world. But hey, I wear my disguise happily.

And yes, it's been a while. I've been busy. I'm been hiding a lot lately. What's it to you?

Fin.

Keshia

Currently Reading Against Happiness by Eric G. Wilson.