And I Gained Control Of Myself

First off, I need to inform everyone that my left hand fell asleep because I've been supporting my body weight on it for the past 4 hours. Although the crazy pin and needles are attacking now, it is well worth it since I FINALLY researched the graduate programs I'll be applying to in a few months. I even found a job I will apply to that is somewhat related to Social Work, so it'll look killer on my resume (if I get it, of course). Still need to get all the rec letters and write up all of the personal statements...but I've got about 7+ months until the earliest application is due, so I should be fine. However, I totally need to get my Florida license and registration and car insurance so I can get Florida residency again because this girl? Is NOT paying an out-of-state price for the 4 classes I have to take to get into most MSW programs.

Hopefully this Census job lasts for at least another 6 weeks so I can pay off my credit cards and have a nice amount to put down for those classes. They should only cost about $1000 (if I get no financial aid whatsoever), which is nothing compared to the $150k my Bachelor's cost.

Anywho, I'm feeling very productive, which is hopefully a mood that will last until tomorrow when I'm confronted with work and having to a) fire someone else (someone that appears like they are going to bitch and complain about it) and b) have tons of work with one less assistant (boo!).

But, as promised (-ish), moving on in life and in the writing process! I know that I am insanely stubborn, and once I set my mind on something, I am intractable. I tend to burn bridges before I drop my stance, even after I've started realizing I may be in the wrong. I think sometimes others will think I'm wishy-washy if I change my tune once things don't go my way, so I sink with my ship. However, among all of the OTHER lessons I've learned in the past few months, I've learned to let go. Letting go is definitely much more difficult than sticking with your original (wrong) stance. I've felt like letting go and moving on means that my whole world is going to come crashing down on me, forcing my to modify even my most basic of beliefs.

Sometimes...that's exactly what you need.

In the writing world, it is much the same. Once that spark, that idea, crackles in your mind and begins to grow to that "OMG-if-I-don't-get-a-moment-to-write-this-down-I'm-totally-going-to-explode-and-OMGOMGOMGOMGGGGGG" phase, we generally have some rudimentary idea of how we'd like the plot to go. We may have a few characters and possibly even the climax and ending. It's just putting all that together that proves to be the issue. I know that sometimes I may have some crazy-cool scene in my mind that I fall completely in love with, and unfortunately, it may not work once it's down on paper. Or Word. Whatever.

But how do you just give up on that? I know I tend to leave in weak parts until the verrrrry end, trying to justify it to everyone (usually just myself), that it will fit in, that I'll edit stuff around just so it can stay. Just like life. Even when we notice that squeaky wheel or wobbly leg, we justify, make excuses, hope against hope that SOMETHING will happen so it can stay around. Be that a loser boyfriend. Or a somewhat weak employee. Or that excessively frivolous purchase that we totally don't want to return but have no idea how we can make sense of an $800 handbag when we have a dozen others collecting dust in our closet.

One day, though, you just wake up, figuratively and literally, and realize that a change must be made. That the status quo is broken, and we can no longer stand for it. And we make a cut. And another. And another, until things are down to their foundation. And then we can start reworking, rewriting, and, most importantly, rebuilding.



**Post title is from The Chemical Brothers' "Golden Path" (I was quite obsessed with the Chemical Brothers for like 2 weeks once....haha)

It Takes A Lot Of Money To Look This Cheap

Since drag queens are, as Cheyanne wittily told me earlier, "pretty epic and full of inspiration," I decided to post up some pics from Saturday at Lips. I had this pretty amazing post I wanted to do about moving on, both in life and in writing, and how that opens up your horizons and usually allows everything to fall into place, but I will save that for tomorrow. Plus, then it might not sound so rant-y and more totally amazing and worthy of intense praise ;)



- This is the master/mistress of ceremonies, Twat LaRouge (you can't make that shit up! haha)



Here she is forcing Frantz to motorboat her. He called the experience "traumatic," despite that huge smile on his face ;)



Can't remember her name but she was GORGEOUS!




This was our waitress, Jennifer Grand. Freakin body that I COVET. Kinda sad to say, but also still jealous haha



I am a vain, vain creature. But not a drag queen.

Let It Take Me Straight To You

Sorry I've been super lagging on the posts, weekend was crazy. Friday I worked until nearly 9 PM, so I was in no mood for basically anything once I got home but going straight to sleep. Saturday was tons of fun- went to a drag club/restaurant for a friend's co-worker's birthday and it was a great time! Wasn't expecting it to be as funny or as amazingly constructed as it was. Plus food was great, and it's always nice going out and meeting new people. Especially when cute boys are involved. Cute SINGLE boys ;) Sunday was just a chill day. Did a bit of work, finished reading Chey's WIP (or what she's sent me so far), started AG Carpenter's WIP (Amazing so far! It's taking me awhile just because of life, but hopefully I can get it all read this week!), and cracked open Jen Lancaster's newest memoir, My Fair Lazy and I'm already in love with it. I'm bummed she's not coming to Miami on this book tour, but hopefully she'll extend it because I would LOVELOVELOVE to meet her.

Going to that drag club actually gave me some insight on life/writing, namely the importance (and relevance) of expectations. So often we go into a situation, or a book, or our writing, with a set expectation in mind. Sometimes, reality ends up being EXACTLY what we expected. But sometimes, it is NOTHING like we expect. Both situations give us knowledge- either by opening up our mind to new things, or by reinforcing beliefs.

Being an edisextrix, I have TONS of expectations when I start reading a WIP or new novel/story/writing, and, just like in life, sometimes it's good when literary works agree with my expectations and sometimes it's bad.

~Bad expectations: Being able to preempt the plot. Note, I said PLOT. If the things that happen in the work are totally cliched and have been done over and over...well, I'm probably not the only one that will notice. And if it'd suck to have an editor or agent push aside your work because they've read it a hundred times over, and ten of those are currently on the NYT Best Seller List, then I'm sure having a reader think it's trite or overworked won't feel nice either.

-Good expectations: Being able to preempt a character's emotions. Again, this is completely different from the plot. I may not know what is going to happen, but knowing how a character will react once something happens SHOULD happen. That is the sign of a truly developed, round character. Naturally, there should be some mystery and intrigue to the character- it's what keeps them in the fictional world, even though they may totally be able to exist in the real world- but that's how a reader can really go along for the journey along with the character.

Literary works are all about the journey the protagonist takes from beginning to middle to end. While most readers won't be able to say they're American expatriates living in Europe after WWI (a la Jake and co in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises) or battling with their mortality or immortality like Bella Swan in Twilight, we can all at least COMPREHEND the feelings theses characters have. We may not agree, we may not act that way ourselves, we may think they are being completely reckless or immature of inconsiderate, but just the fact that we can put ourselves in their shoes to even begin to wonder what we'd do when faced with that situation, both reaffirms our own beliefs and ways of life, as well as open up our minds to options we never would think we had.

So, at least for myself, I like being able to predict a character's feelings once some event occurs. A necessity, in fact. Preempting the event itself, however, is not good. What's everyone else's stance? What kinds of expectations do you have before reading a new book? Or starting your own new story?


**Post title from Tokio Hotel's "Monsoon". Sometimes those German weirdos can get it right.

Warning: Mopeyness and Tears Ahead!

If you're reading this....nah, just kidding! I'm feeling really mope-y and my phone is being weird and not sending out texts and my friends are all busy and can't call me, plus I'm waiting on email responses and feel like procrastinating on real work (meh, I might as well do it tomorrow morning right? At least then I'll be around my co-worker friends to keep me entertained), so since I just NEED to get this out...well, that's what my blog is for.

EdiSex will be both a semi-professional blog but also a personal one. I won't ever get too woe is me and whiny, but it'd be waaaay too much work for me to have a professional one and a personal one, and when someone is already reading your writing during the draft stages (which I think is pretty personal, in a way), I figure knowing a bit more about me won't kill you guys.

I've talked a bit about the Ex-Effect and what a douche nozzle he is...long story short, we were totally fine and lovey dovey one hour (LITERALLY), and I call two hours later and get ignored. For two months now. From a guy that basically had proposed to me and promised me the world. A bit earth-shattering, non? I basically know he's alive through a bit of Facebook/MySpace stalking and seeing new pics and such, not because I've heard from him or anyone in his family, although they knew how worried I got (I'm a HUGE worrier). Sometimes I feel so hurt that I can't even breath, but the days have slowly been getting better. I've realized he simply isn't who I thought he was, and this "new" person, or maybe the person he was all along, is not someone I want to be with. But it's still hard to get over those good times. Or reconcile them with all that has happened these past few months.

Looking back, there were some MAJOR warning signs even BEFORE we started officially dating, but I was already head-over-stupid for him and couldn't stop myself. Not that I would've wanted to. I had some amazing times with him, and even these bad times have been a learning experience for me. And hopefully I've learned and changed to not be a better me for my next beau, but to be a better me for ME.

Sometimes it's just hard to look back and see the clusterfuck that is now, wondering how the hell things turned out this way, wondering if I should've taken the easy outs I had before and have avoided a lot of this heart-ache.

I got all mopey through an actual happy prospect- visiting Chey in Texas. It'll be awesome to kick back and hang out again with her and all the ole peeps, but it's also where I lived with HIM. I know that regardless of how happy and excited I'll be to be visiting, a tiny part of me will be sad and hurt to be there and not see him. To not be going back to him. Plus, I've still got some stuff over there so naturally it'd make sense to pick it up while I'm over, but going back to just the general vicinity of where we were together will probably tear me up. But I still want my shit ;)

The ironic thing is that I know that feeling this shitty is totally normal and part of the process, and it may be a long while from now and I will still get nostalgic. I mean, a key part of nostalgia is being a bit sad for the way things once were.

But when will I feel normal again? When will I be able to think about him and not have any huge emotional attachment? Just be a bit neutral or blase about it all? I actually thought of starting up a blog called "The Ex Chronicles" for people to share this kind of stuff and be in a nice, supportive community of people that get you, the same way we've all bonded through writing. But, why not just go for it here? I really don't mind mopey stories of your own or even a few mopey comments about my own situation. Sometimes it just feels nice to not feel alone.

I've Got a Tight Grip on Reality

First off, hooray to having followers!! If I were at all creative and good with my hands (in a useful way, that wouldn't get me into trouble), I'd make and send each and every one of you something, but for now, I will make googly eyes at Cheyanne and maybe she'll feel sorry for me and send me some of her leftover stuff. Regardless, I am fortunate and excited to have people reading my little sexy blog, and I'll remember my firsts (don't we all?) and be extra helpful (read: do stuff for free for longer!).

Now on to business: is it normal to become homicidally (I invented a new word- things like that happen in the EdiSex Lair all the time) angry when I hear something about Louisiana on TV? Chey will back me up on it, but before ya'll rise up with your pitchforks and your tidy little buns and fire torches (tidy little buns are important when you have long hair and are working with tools of death), hear me out. I don't mean anything negative about their recent misfortunes with the oil spill and how it'll effect its already battered economy, I simply mean that my fucker of an Ex-Effect is from there and living there again (not that I'd know...I mean it's not like we were TOGETHER when he MOVED BACK and didn't think a 300-mile move was a big enough deal to tell me), so I can't help but think about him.

Thankfully for all involved, I started this blog after a good chunk of my healing and dealing had occurred from that breakup because I was a gross, sniveling mess. Seriously, during work training, I had to get up and go power-cry in the bathroom for 2 minutes to get through the rest of the day. I ate lunch by myself for a week because I KNEW I'd end up crying at some point and I didn't want my new co-workers to see that and think I was insane or something. I mean, I am, but they didn't have to know it then.

If I had the patience to sit down and write either a full-fledged novel (I'm not sure what it is, but I have NEVER been able to write anything longer than like 80 pages) or a memoir of some sort, I'd have a ridiculous amount to filter through. Writing this blog is like therapy for me, and since I'm poor and can't afford real therapy, this'll do. I'm sure everyone finds a bit of catharsis through their writing; sometimes it doesn't even have to take the form of a character or plot line that mimics or mirrors one of our own. Sometimes just writing about a feeling we once had, one we couldn't quite talk out loud to a friend or family member, opens up a higher plane of thought, of being, that gives you greater awareness.

I know I'm a kick-ass letter/card writer, and while going through an extremely difficult two months at the beginning of the year, I wrote letters to someone. Sometimes, it was a boring list of all the stuff I did that do. Sometimes it was just emotional vomit, all the feelings I had inside that I didn't tell anyone else for fear of them judging me or simply getting tired of me. It became a way for me to sort my thoughts and feelings and actually figure out what the hell was going on. I can repeat things (out loud) for hours on end and it not take hold, but once it's down on paper, well, I'm golden. I've always been that way, too. When I was in school and had to study, I usually re-wrote or typed my notes because the act and art of forming words and sentences made the material come alive.

This whole post was supposed to be about why sometimes we become so engrossed in a novel that we feel like we KNOW the characters. After asking around a bit, I learned that isn't the case for all, even when it's a book that speaks to them. Are some of us just more apt to become friends with characters? I know that for me, a book won't have any sort of lasting impact on me if I can't feel myself going along for the ride with the characters. I don't have to be a main player, but if I can feel their feelings, think their thoughts (sometimes even preempt the author...which isn't a bad thing all the time. Oftentimes, it's the sign of a truly developed and flushed out character), then it becomes art.

Some writers can write their whole lives and never create a work of art, even if they have dozens of published works. Some writers can write a chapter and have a fledgling piece of art on their hands. Art moves people. It moves them to action, to thought, to feeling. The best art moves people to all three.

To wrap this all up, I remember that during my lowest point in these past few months, someone asked me why I was reading SO much, if I was trying to escape to a dream world and run away from my problems. I felt a bit sad. My friend didn't really understand that reading and writing WAS me confronting my problems. The literary world is a world that is even more real than reality because if someone else can write those very same emotions and thoughts you're grappling with, well, then you don't feel so alone. You don't feel so alienated, so "special". You have your very own little support system.

And it's all inside of you.



**Post title from Paramore's "The Only Exception". I pretty much put I-Tunes on Random, pick the first song, and usually manage to find a lyric that works with the post. I'm just THAT magical

"What is heartbreaking is that there is still beauty in the world"

Since super awesome Cheyanne pimped me out on her blog , I figured I should appear semi-educated at least once. Don't worry, it probably won't happen again.

If anyone is in need of any editing, critiquing, or just a fresh opinion on a WIP (novel, novella, play, poems, articles, dissertations, essays...anything really), I am available. I will probably start charging for my services (the legal kinds, haha) soon, but just to get my foot in the door and generate some word of mouth I'll take in some pro bono cases (because I am just that generous). As per my qualifications:

I graduated from the University of Miami, magna cum laude, with Departmental honors in English last year. I majored in English (d'uh) and wrote a senior honors thesis on Byron, Coleridge and German philosophy entitled "The Nihilism of Supernatural Idealism:
Coleridge, Byron and the Balance of Contradictions" (yeah, it was fun. All 35 pages and year-and-a-half of research/writing), which was a nominee for the ACC Meeting of the Minds Thesis Conference. I completed my first year of university at New York University (I even toured the New York Times office once!), and I worked as a copy editor for the school newspaper there during the fall semester. I then copy edited UMiami's newspaper, The Miami Hurricane, for nearly 3 years, as well as write for the school magazine, Distraction my senior year.

Next year, I will hopefully be working on a joint graduate degree- Master's in Social Work and MBA in Public Administration, with a specialty in Child Welfare. I write poetry and boring scholarly articles, and every once in awhile dabble in short stories and novellas. As for my novel editing prowess, I edited all of Cheyanne Young's debut novel, Motocross Me, last year, and am currently editing her current WIP, Deadbeat.

Also, I'm very cute and always ready with a giggle-worthy comment. Why that's relevant? My own thesis adviser once told me that criticism doesn't have to be harsh, that there is always a more helpful way to express your ideas than through a scathing remark. For that reason, I will never use red ink when editing (it's been proven to negatively impact a writer's confidence); sometimes we may have to start back at Step 1 to get a problem corrected, but that's no reason to be a bitch about it. I may be a bitch a majority of the time, but I know how important my writing is to me and can figure y'all feel the same about your own.

So, if anyone is interested (or I get some more followers, haha), feel free to leave me a comment with your name, email and a bit about your WIP or whatever you want looked at; if you have a query ready, that'd be great, too!




For what seems like the past 3 months but is most likely much shorter, I've been reading Debra Dean's The Madonnas of Leningrad. I bought the book almost as soon as it came out, since she was a visiting Creative Writing professor at UMiami when I was there and we got some insane deal on it. Only got around to picking it up recently (I tend to buy books even though my reading list stands at about 4 pages right now). But I FINALLY finished the book yesterday!

I will admit, the writing style kind of threw me off a bit. There are no chapter titles, and the book flashes back to 1940s Leningrad and then forward to what seems like it is the present, though you later find out that it's a few months removed as well. Also, some of the grammar and diction may appear a bit...simple, I believe is best to describe it.

However, about halfway through the book, during a scene that seems like it doesn't carry very much weight- when a young Marina is watching the older museum babushka Anya pray to an empty Raphael frame- it suddenly slams into you: all of the pieces fit. Of course it seems a bit presumptuous to believe the Dean managed to get an imprint of one of the largest publishers in the world to publish her novel, a novel which sat atop the New York Times bestseller list, on some sort of fluke, but for a long while, I didn't see anything so extraordinary about the novel. But suddenly everything became clearer. The short, one-page chapters that were likely a part of Marina's script when she served as a museum guide in the Hermitage Museum, her "memory house," served as the backbone of the novels haunting closing scene- Marina finding the beauty in the simplest of things after having wandered away from her family during her final days. The simplistic language? The language barriers that Marina faced when attempting to translate the beauty that she finally re-accepted into her life from her usual Russian to English. Those moments that felt hazy to the reader were equally as hazy to an older Marina, fighting with dementia and Alzheimers but struggling to remember the war days that she never spoke to her children about.

For me, there were many poignant phrases that helped me through a difficult time in my own life. When I felt so confused, so sad, so angry, it was hard for me to remember that there was still beauty and happiness in the world; in fact, sometimes I wondered why they should exist at all. Despite the emo-sounding quality of that statement, it is a normal sentiment in a depressed mind. I know I have a tendency to really see myself in books and go along for the ride, but sometimes, it's the only way we know how to deal, through the words of others, the words you weren't able to find before.


**Post title from Debra Dean's The Madonnas of Leningrad, pg. 161

Tonight I'll Break the Surface

Kinda in a mopey mood today. You'd think buying myself tons of stuff and getting Chey's Mother's Day gifts (one of which was totally inspired!) and some of Hallee's birthday gifts would have cheered me up, but noooo.....it's not as much fun when it's your own money that you're blowing.

Which made me realize something I had spoken to my co-workers about earlier yesterday...money. And how STUPID I was with it. Now that I'm making pretty good bank, the majority of my income goes to paying off my two credit cards and to other important things (doctors, medicines, car stuff), and then it'll be saved for random shit and school. But when I was in Houston, namely, when I lived with the Ex-Effect (I can still be semi-witty during my melodramatic moments), I would've done better to just leave my money on a table at McDonald's; perhaps those people would've actually done something useful with it.

Looking back on my expenses, I know I did some good stuff with it, like buying food, keeping my car working, and getting clothes (HEY! That's important too! haha). And the rest went to him. We started off with him paying for both of us, slowly trickled into me paying for myself, and then it became me paying EVERYTHING. I'm not some 1913 handmaid expecting the guy to foot the bill all the time, and if we shared expenses, it'd be fine if we pooled our money together and then it wouldn't really make a difference since it'd be "our" money. But that wasn't the case.

And once I found out about the drug issue, hmph. Well, let's just say I felt....used. Cheap. Dirty. It was hard to forgive him using his money to buy Lord knows what, when I'd sit and cry some nights because I only had $10 in my bank account that I had to make last a week until my next paycheck.

But I never really forgave him. Not really. All of the issues I thought I had forgiven have reared around again. I don't know if that is because of what happened to our relationship, or if this would've happened regardless. I think my growing self-awareness is a big factor.

I remember when Chey and I first started talking again, I felt so stupid for not heeding the advice she gave me. She told me that love was blind, unfortunately. And it so was. He had no job, no money, we lived somewhere that was small and cramped and pretty dingy (somewhere I would NEVER have stayed before. Somewhere I would've scoffed at, in fact), and I let him get away with all that. Because I was in love. Many people have commented that I just laid down and died. I fought against that for a long time, but it is totally true. I thought I was making decisions for myself, but in reality, he was making decisions and I had small choices that wouldn't really effect things in any huge sort of way.

And that's bullshit. I HATE not being in control. I hate not knowing what the future holds. Not knowing where or what I will be doing. I can be spontaneous and impulsive, but I was just making one stupid choice after another.

With all honesty, I can say I'm happy I'm not with him anymore. I completely lost sight of myself and what I wanted, and although it sucks balls that I'm (in essence) re-building my life from the ground up, I know that when I'm done, I will be happy. And more importantly, I will be me. And that's something to be proud of.


In edit-y news, I'm about halfway through Chey's WIP (well, halfway through what she's written so far), and I'm like dead. It's emotional and angsty, and I completely feel myself going along for the ride. But it feels amazing to get back to an educated and intellectual frame of mind, since I really didn't get too much of that with the Ex-Effect. Not that he was stupid, obviously he's very crafty and conniving, but you'd never see him pick up a book. Unless he was moving it.

Let's hope I get over my emotional PMS weekend and actually move on to write shit that people might actually care about soon...


**Btw, post title is from Something Corporate's "She Paints Me Blue"

And Eh, There's Nothing Else I Can Say

I really thought my first blog post on my....fourth? fifth?...blog would be something that would shoot me straight into moderate blogosphere celebrity status because I'd be so funny and so punny and probably the cutest beta reader/editor ever (that last one still can come true though), but, alas, life has intervened yet again.

So my first post will be a bit more like I usually am- one part bitchy, one part bitter, but all parts sassy and spot on.

Not to sound like some sort of femmenazi, but why are guys such idiots? Strike that (which I would do except I have the old post editor so it's not as easy as it could be, and I'm pretty lazy). Why is my ex such an idiot?

Generally, I'd feel somewhat bad trashing someone online, just in case they actually go through the trouble of Googling me or my blog, but if this gets me followers...nah, just kidding. I totally don't feel bad trashing someone online.

I can't say our entire relationship was shit, we definitely had some great times and he taught me things that I will take with me and use for the rest of my life, but he was a smooth-talking dickface. And I say that with all the love in the world. What else can you call a guy who talks to you like everything's awesome, to then ignore calls you make a mere two hours later AND THEN PROCEED TO IGNORE YOU FOR TWO MONTHS? No reason given? No breakup even? In fact, no acknowledgment when everyone's favorite edisextrix breaks up with him?

I'll give you guys some time to stew over those rhetorical questions.

I'm no angel and made plenty of mistakes in our relationship, though they pale in comparison to his. Playing the "lesser of two evils" card is something I consider a sign of weakness, but when you play with scum...well, sometimes you're gonna get dirty.

Anywho, this rant was brought to you simply from the fact that I know he's alive. I mean, I don't want him to be dead or sick or hurt, far from that, but is it too much to ask that he just be completely erased from my general surroundings? Namely, my brain/heart? Actually, that should be brain and heart. I'm not some mutant X-Men freak with some genetic abnormality.

In all seriousness (yes...it happens every so often), I know I've had a much smoother moving on process than I was expecting. My job was godsend since it takes up 40-50 hours a week (at least) where I'm running around non-stop. Friends have been awesome listening to my endless jabbering about confusion and feelings and heartbreak and other gay shit like that. Money and my car make life even better. And having an amazing old friend back in my life with a totally kick-ass new WIP (if I was at all tech-savvy, I'd probably link her blog here...but I fully expect her to comment on this post and make her presence known and become my very first follower so she can get a super awesome prize and my first million dollars after I become the most ballingest blogger ever. Or at least get us both some word of mouth. Ya know, whichever seems more likely to happen) has been more important than I even realized. Naturally, it's great to have friends, especially friends that are like your wonder twin and totally get you without you having to spend like 15 paragraphs explaining yourself. But having her back has put me in the same frame of mind I was in one year ago- when I had goals for myself and knew I wanted to make something of myself.

I think one of the more destructive elements of my last relationship was that I lost motivation. I became really excited about "settling down," getting married, having kids, having a house and all that jazz. But I really settled down, in that a settled for a mediocre life. I thought being happy was more important. And it still is. But I know that what makes me happy is BOTH having that family lifestyle but also feeling useful, being educated, and having a job I can be excited and proud of.

I know a part of me is probably supplanting all of the grief I should be feeling over my breakup with excited graduate programs and this new future I've crafted for myself. It's helped this transition go pretty seamlessly. But I do hurt sometimes. I try to pass it off as this nonchalant bitchitude that makes me seem super cool and sophisticated, but it sucks. I really wish I could just forget him. Not want to care what how he's doing, what he's doing, who he's doing it with, and what the FUCK happened between us. And I know in time I probably will get to that point.

I just wish he'd stop existing in my mind until that happened.



So don't be surprised if every so often you get some random rant from me. It's part of who I am as a person, but I am totally useful too. I've got mad editing skills and would love to read any WIPs and give out feedback. I'll pretty much read anything, as I've learned to not judge a (literal) book by its cover. Plus, I'll do it for free, so snatch it up....


**Btw, post title is from Lady Gaga's "Eh Eh (Nothing Else I Can Say)"...don't want to get sued...