In my recurring nightmare, I am actually moving. I am running as fast as I can. But, despite my best efforts, everyone is passing me.
Good God, signing up for a 5k might have been a huge mistake. It feels like the equivalent of purposely going onstage and attempting to perform a piece that quit rehearsing weeks ago or jumping out a window because I once had a dream that I could fall far better than I could fly.
I once asked my dad why he backed into parking spots when we went to church. He kept his eyes forward as we walked from the back of the parking lot to the church’s front door. “Quicker exit,” he said, and I think about this as I pull into the parking lot at work and watch the side mirrors as I back myself into a corner spot.
I mean, aren’t y’all tired?
A quick interaction with the customers and employees of Forever 21 remind me that while I’m not particularly happy to get older, I’m so glad I’m not 21.
Somewhere on the timeline, late in the twenties, you make a conscious effort to stop doing the things that make you regret your life choices.
Will Work For the Money To Buy Food
“You were everything I hoped you’d be when I saw your hamstrings.”
I have started to think of my mental illness like a to-go meal. I simply don’t have the time to sit down and indulge. I’ve had to learn to be depressed on the run.
Starting was easy. I don’t think I’m brave enough to start again.
I think my social anxiety stems from being the only black girl in the group on a pretty regular basis.