Inelegant As Hell @halinasplayground - Tumblr Blog

I moved to Belize with my mom. We needed to get out of Florida. Here we can live a much simpler life. We left everything behind. I apologize for pushing temu. But, my plan worked. We needed all new clothes and shoes. Sorry if it felt like spam. I hated to do it. But, I did earn several free items and a whole lot of coupons.

Even though my mom is 71, we still wear the same clothes. We're about the same size. We knew it would be hard to find clothes we like here. Everything that comes into Belize is transported by cargo ships or small Cessna planes. I guess some stuff gets here through Mexico. For the most part, things come from China or India.

There are no Walmarts, McDonald's or any other American franchise operated stores. The small grocery stores stock totally random things. The American dollar is equivalent to two dollars of Belizean money. Some things are much cheaper. If you want things like doritos or mayonnaise, you pay a pretty penny. Items like shampoo and conditioner are not cheap. But, the produce is affordable. The fruits and vegetables taste so much better than anything you could buy at whole foods.

I'm staying in Belmopan. It's a very rural area. I feel like I've traveled back in time. No one is fighting to have a tesla and the newest iPhone. I am very lucky to have wifi and a/c. I live in an actual community across the street from a church that accepts all denominations. However, all the sermons are in Spanish. This isn't like America. Everyone helps one another. People share vehicles and washing machines. No one owns a microwave. It would be stupid to spend money on a clothes dryer when the sun can do the job for free.

We are staying in a warehouse that is being renovated. It will eventually process seafood and press exotic nuts to export oil. I love this place. We actually have a moat. The building is huge. It needs a second story and a lot of paint. The architect who designed the building was a genius. The moat is slanted at angles that guide water to a pump. When it rains, I flip a switch and all the connected canals empty out into the street.

I could describe more about our new life. I stay busy watching over kids and being the lady of the house. I may be the only white female expat in this town. I get stared at because I have blonde wigs. I need to be less friendly around the men that I meet. This is a country with no tinder. When men say they will come by and check in on you, they actually mean it. In some ways it is sweet. In some ways, it is creepy. I don't know if I'm engaged to our host. It's just easier to call him my fiancé.

I'm just lucky my mom is with me. I won't leave home without her. Speaking of mom, it's time to make her breakfast...

#belize #expat #halinasplayground #real life #lynn

🙏Just accept my invitation, we can both earn up to $50 for free!!!

Temu: Team up, price down.

🙏Just accept my invitation, we can both earn up to $50 for free!!!

Temu: Team up, price down.

Can you accept my invitation so that I can get a free gift?

Click the link now and participate in this event.

I'm genuinely trying to see if the temu app works and I can get free gifts like shoes and luggage. #temu #reallife #ineedshoes

Can you accept my invitation so that I can get a free gift?

Click the link now and participate in this event.

#temuapp #halinasplayground

I don't like this wig very much. #halinaplays #realgirl

It's not easy to get people to read your writing. I did so well, on an actual keyboard. The tablet makes the years I spent typing....meaningless. l can still come back to blogs like this, when I just want to write. I'm not hoping to get likes. I just want to write.

I'm packing up a house filled with things I love. I'm tearing out the pages of my mom's yearbook. I just want to keep the pages where people wrote messages.

. It sucks....to read your mom's yearbook and realize she was cooler than you. My mom was the girl people noticed because of her sense of humor. They all had the short brown Bob. They look like children of the brown corn. Maybe every chick did use a bowl to cut hair. But, mom's yearbook let me see the world from her perspective. This was a small town. A beauty pageant happened every morning.

Mom played the game well. One of her competitors was my English teacher in Seventh grade. Another one was the math teacher my mom annihilated in front of the principal, because all my math homework was copied. One of her closest friends was my homeroom teacher in Seventh grade. She used to stare at me, but she never looked me in the eye.

That year I started hallucinating from a lack of sleep. I was terrified. It was so obvious..... something was wrong..... my geography teacher called my house and accused my dad of touching me. My dad was mortified. He hung up the phone and if he had weed, I'm sure he smoked it. He didn't even tell my mom. It was just assumed the look of 'terrified eyes' and my inability to go to school was abuse.

I would've been mortified if dad asked "why do you look the world has ended? That look could put me in jail. " My fear and damage was thinking I was schizophrenic. I had an older cousin diagnosed that year. He was in the navy, this is a disease. It's a gigantic "fuck you" from God. I was certain that year I smelled like 'tar, shit and candy. There were times other people could smell it. I was also breaking out in hives. That was psychological. My brain could make severe hives. The school nurse hated me.

I had to keep seeing doctors that studied allergies and multiple dermatologists. I was not sleeping and eventually that causes hallucinations. Desks and stairs moved up and down. Walls looked like they were breathing. It always felt like something was moving just out of sight. My great aunt jonell decided to give me a xanax at bedtime. I lost the look that screamed 'terror.' And I had some incredible years.

#halina

I gave up because no one kept me from drowning. I took abuse and swallowed it like it was nutritious. But, I just can't keep going. I needed a friend or relative. I found neither. I think Learning to be Alone is my final decision. I hope these pics make people remember that I am real. My life isn't easy. I still smiled. I didn't do that for likes or views. I can honestly say, I smiled because I was happy.

I cant seem to be okay. People I love, have disappeared. My mother told me 5 reasons I was never supposed to be born. In a moment of anger, she used cancer to push me away. I failed her. No kids, no husband, no money....I am a mistake. If these are my last pictures, I gave up.

I posted this pic hoping it would be my last picture as Linda Marris. That isn't my name. My name is Lynn Morris. I'm 41 years old. I don't know what will happen to me. I feel like I'm refusing to finish a 'choose your own adventure' book. This could be the end or the beginning.

Razor blades and Hand Grenades

Maybe we just collide. razor blades and hand grenades. a fast and furious ride. that feeling never fades. It's dynamite. Put the lid on tight. If you fuck this up we're all dead. My stomach turns to lead. My hands shake. My face turns red. Telling me to light the fuse. What do I have to lose? a couple of fingers. a toe or two. That's nothing after what we've been through. I'd lose digits for you. Maybe we just erupt. All this energy all pent up. Just a secret we corrupt. Firestarters of the night. Burning so bright. Molten red rock. and the clock goes tick tock. we wait for the aftershock. chasing lava down the street. I don't mind the heat. Who really needs the bottom of their feet? Maybe we just disintegrate. break away in neglectful decay. Is that our fate? after this long a wait. We melt into stardust. tiny atoms of small town lust. Our story composing a moonbeam. We were lovers in a dream. Maybe that's all we'll ever be. nothing but a mystery. two kids with a history. missing another opportunity. Maybe we just collide. Bumping hips, side to side. You'll remember that I tried and tried. I never lied. I always belonged to you. no matter where I go or what I do. only lovers in a dream. You're too good to be true. You're not what you seem. You're a lit match and kerosene. Making me wish I had a time machine. I'm tearing out pages of my inner magazine. letting you read my rhyme routine. What have I got to lose? being a third rate muse. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. Baby, I'm gonna light that fuse.

This is just a random blog. I am drunk enough to imagine this is 'livejournal.' I basically, wrote for my roommates and some guys overseas. I was writing a blog, before blog was a word. I have no clue how to access it. My best writing is floating around in the cloud. I can see my LiveJournal, slamming it's head against the boundaries of an unknown corner of the internet.

It's nice to stay hidden. I have to keep this tablet because it connects me to my Tumblr. I posted 'Little Sis' on here. Comments and reblogs reminding me to finish the story. There is one problem.

I actually see the people I'm writing about. Like a POV I see what I'm describing. I wrote both characters on people I actually know. Then about 5 years ago...one guy slipped in my DMs. I ended up dating him.

I was living a different story with him. I do love him. That makes me stupid. It also makes it hard to go back to seeing him, POV style, in a fictional story. I'm just letting time pass. I can't make my mind see him, without seeing him move in a hundred thousand ways.

I fucked the guy in real life, I'm trying to write about in a sex story. I think that changes the plot. Maybe, it's a story within a story. I wonder if the story is my way out. Where I am in this moment, is the ending of the story.

I fell in love with a beautiful man that won't touch me or discuss sex in any way with me. I fucked up. The story I see POV is someone that only sees me as a sister. It's fucked up. But, he is my best friend. He does everything a brother would do around me. I feel ugly. I feel confused. Sometimes, I think he is confused.

I remain in awe of you.

You sent this message when I couldn't feel any worse. Our refrigerator quit. It's a loss, that makes me think God, is a 'mean girl.' I feel picked on. I actually did just have a 'mean girl' interaction, in real life. I would be lying, if I said 'my pictures DON'T affect the way former friends treat me.' Fuck 'em. I'm 41 years old. I don't have family or friends besides my mom and my adopted brother.

I am allowed to be attractive. No one should hate me.... because beauty fades. I should've exploited it when I was younger. Doing it now, makes me feel anxiety. I am trying to move past that overwhelming fear I let time pass me by.

Thank you, for reading this. Thanks for being wonderful.

We're getting ready to sell everything.

#vintage stove #vintage art #vintagestyle #lem

#bald girl #halinasplayground #shaved head #alopecia #the real deal

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