Discover Top Posts Tagged with #orisit

Oh no… not a book 😱📖 We definitely wouldn’t want sharper thinking, better focus, or—heaven forbid—an imagination. Nah, let’s just keep scrolling instead 🙃📱

#ReadingIsHard #OrIsIt #ReadersKnow

if I don't get a tmasc nb lesbian boyfriend or a tfem nb lesbian girlfriend by the end of this year to complete me I'm jumping

#no this ISN'T about matz #: p #orisit

Never grtting drunkagaint hsi shit issomass

#tw alcohol #ithink #orisit #alcohol tw #wjwsgeet

It's been 9 hours and Luke still hasn't liked A's post....

Realistically, I wonder how long it will take.

But I am also really hopeful that he never will.

Apparently it was 10.5 and it was already a new day ;-)

Have faith my people! He may be (or feel) obligated to for a time.

#alikeisjustalike #orisit

I think the frequency of N posting and L posting is somewhat alined. Like she has dialed it back and he has come back to sm a little. Coincidence?

Probably not a coincidence at this stage. I don't think Luke will ever be on sm as much as Nic in general, simply due to their personality types.

But for now it could be strategic.

And a launch on the horizon...

#lukola #social media #itsnotacoincidence #orisit

Art Of the Open Air

It is at night, after a heated discussion with my husband when I make the decision. My hear rate is still quick, my body failing to calm itself down as I lay in bed, staring out the window. I always sleep with the blinds up, looking out into the vast openness, the moon that slowly drifts its way across the sky, the few reliable stars that seem to always appear in the same spot when I finally settle onto my pillow. Its then, after my husband tells me that I am “too stressed out,” that I desperately grasp for some kind of a bandage to slap onto the open wound of my skipping heart. A week or two before this discussion, he rushed me to the hospital. The world was closing in on me, my legs became lead and my chest felt…wrong. I have a fluttering heart beat that sometimes catches me when I am at rest and sometimes it’s undetectable, but I know it’s there.

It’s more than that, though. It’s the fact that every morning, I get up before them all. I make breakfast, their lunches and coffee. I rouse the kids from their slumber, and I follow them around the house, urging them to hurry. I drive to one side of town, drop two kids off then go back past our home to the other side of town and drop my youngest off at preschool. “I cannot be late. They cannot be late.” I cry in despair. The children aren’t eating before school. Laundry is piling up and my husband needs one of his favorite work shirts cleaned. I just did laundry this weekend. My husband criticized how hard I can be on the kids. I argue that “they never listen.” Which is really true of any child, if you know children at all. My heart hammers against my chest every morning and every morning, I am the bad guy. While I am surrounded by life, three energetic children and a husband with a big personality. I feel alone. I feel adrift in a torrential sea, searching for lulls between storms, a moment to sprawl out on my dingy and let the calm motion of the ocean to put me at east.

Every weekday, I have two hours to myself. Two, glorious, torturous hours with my own body and mind to keep me company. Usually, I spend it running errands, buying groceries, or even going for a run around the neighborhood. It’s quiet and can be peaceful, but it sometimes feel toxic. I drop the kids off in the morning to school, my youngest goes to preschool only a handful of hours. I wave goodbye and life quiets down as I walk back to the car. My mind gets full of words and lyrics and tasks that need to be checked from the list of never-ending things.

Today, however, today I rebel. Today, the night after it’s made abundantly clear that I need to “relax,” I do something different. Nobody knows that I am going to do this something different. Nobody will ever find out. Just me and my reflection, as I check the mirror on the sun visor of my ‘mom van.’ There are nerves buzzing inside of me, and it is anticipation. It’s guilt and excitement intermingling, creating a frenetic sort of energy as I pull away from the preschool. As I drive the twenty minutes along the highway, my fingers grip the steering wheel, my eyes dart around the freeway and my neck strains to ensure that I do not die on the way to my secret.

The high stress of driving slowly dwindles as I arrive at my destination. Large puddles gather in the old parking lot, the cracked asphalt showing signs of its age and neglect. My lips twitch into a content little smile as I stuff my cold hands into the pockets of my denim jacket, my boots tip toe around the puddle as I scurry across the mostly empty lot.

I’m pleased to see a couple practicing tai chi only a handful of feet near another small group of women practicing a synchronized dance. They are all bundled up and together and not living a secret. They have company.

And I have none.

No one, as I bustle further along. No one to snicker along with me as I approach the coffee cart outside of a restaurant, because I read the large sign that says ‘COFFEE’ backwards and snort crudely to myself as the word ‘EEFFOC’ repeats over and over in my head.

When I order my oat milk latter with a dash of cinnamon, my eyes see the barista as critical. His eyes feel like they are trying to figure me out. Why am I there, alone? Why does it sound awkward when I speak to him? Am I that perceptive or am I projecting? Am I seeing what I want to see?

I tell myself that I don’t care how I look, not even as I chug the latte, standing beside a trash can. The sense of needing to rush is driving me to stand there and not sit down at one of the many open tables in the courtyard. I watch another small group of people pass out flyers about a religion I don’t quite understand. A woman is setting up a small stand with DIY pieces of art and I wish I had some spare cash so that I could buy something. I only brought enough for my coffee and my date.

And as I struggle to quickly inhale the hot drink, I wait for my date. I am nervous, I am excited. I have convinced myself that this is good for me. I need this. I deserve this. I finish my coffee, slurping every bit of the dredges swimming at the bottom of the cup; bits of cinnamon mixed with foamy discharge. I toss the cup into the large trash can before wiping my hands clean of what, I don’t actually know, but it feels right. Practical. Normal people do this. People who are not lonely and awkward do this.

I march away from the gatherings of people, the artist putting herself out there. My eyes glance up into the sky and take note of the large clouds looming nearby. They look sentient and robust as the wind pushes them closer overhead. They move together, mixing into one and then separating, performing a form of atmospheric ballet.

The decision to go on this date was spontaneous and could be due to my slightly manic personality. Manic, on my good days, that inevitably builds and builds until I crash and burn and my eyes ache and my chest grows heavy.

That is why I deserve this, I remind myself as I weave my way through the people and the tables, toward the steps of my final destination. I inhale deeply, and appreciate the calm beat of my heart as I appreciate the large, vivid pieces of art outside. Drops of rain still linger on it, scattered like salt on a meal.

I look up at my date, standing there, looming over me. The architecture of the building is beautiful, identical to the rest of the buildings in Balboa Park. A mix of Spanish Baroque and Colonial style that is so familiar, it feels like home. When I was a child. We were too broke to go to any of the museums, but we could walk and appreciate the scenery. Play in the fountain and stare at the Koi fish, up close and personal. Memories of coming here when I was a child slowly creep along the edges of my mind. Before they would fence off ancient trees, we would climb them. Before they fenced off the fish pond in front of the botanical garden, we used to sink to our knees and peer our little faces as close to the large and colorful koi fishes inside.

Today, The San Diego Museum of Art and I have a date. The idea hit me, powerfully, the night before. I was going to go to the museum to look at something beautiful. To look at many beautiful things, quietly analyze them and burn them into my soul. It sounded relaxing. It felt like I had discovered a cure for my anxiety. I was excited and nervous. I was also guilty, because I didn’t tell my husband. I didn’t tell my children. I was going to do something alone, for me. And they could all go do their meaningful tasks of work and school and I wasn’t going to worry about the laundry or the dishes.

I was only going to worry about me.

As I marched up the steps, I failed to notice the paper taped to the inside of the door, words facing the outside. I didn’t even glance at them as my hand wrapped around the handle of the door before I pulled. The door didn’t budge. I checked my watch, 10:04 AM. I peer into the glass, I can see people inside but, they do not look at me. Actively avoiding me, they force me to step back and frown. And then my lonely eyes finally take in the paper on the door.

CLOSED FOR STAFF TRAINING.

My shoulders slump in defeat and I turn on my heel and decide to try another museum. But just like the Museum of Art, every museum is closed. It’s Thursday and nobody is open and just like when I was a child, I wonder the corridors of the park, taking in the beautiful architecture, unable to step into any of the doors that I have longed to open.

#personal narrative #nonfiction #orisit #my writing