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Food for thought, followed by a state secret so tantalizing it will make you Marvel.

March 14, 2018

I saw something on Facebook that made me think about a really delicate time in my life.

It was about 4 years of awkwardness that I like to call High School. I’ve blogged about how these were not the best moments of my life, I’m sure. But when I saw this meme about bullying, and how that prompts violence–I have to admit that these words struck a chord.


  1. I’m not sure why we can’t do both. the wording on this meme though, suggests that the poor treatment of other classmates means that we should be okay with this kind of violence. Since I think human life is important, it’s probably a bad idea to be snarky about whether people deserve to live or not. How about we teach kids not to bully AND we do something about the mass shootings.
  2. I was in the unique position to be a kid who was bullied, by another kid who was bullied. It was a bizarre scenario–but no matter what I said as an out of place awkward teenager, I probably didn’t deserve for the school lunatic to threaten to murder me every few moneys. He never decided to shoot up the school, but he wrote a hit list, and my name happened to be at the top. This was right after the time of Columbine. I laughed in front of all my friends, but I was scared shitless. I had panic attacks. I didn’t even know what they were at the time. And nothing happened to this kid. Maybe my teachers didn’t like me. Or maybe they also though because of some sort of behavior I displayed, my life wasn’t worth protecting, and so this kid wasn’t disciplined. Every time we had a fire drill, I thought this dude would be waiting outside for me. I understand the fear these kids face–obviously not on the same level. But national attention  might bring this issue to light.
  3. I didn’t have a voice. I was poor, and black, and annoying. With exceptions my teachers let me know that. The administration also let me know through lack of action.
  4. Speaking of poor and black, do y’all remember when the high school students of BLM had a town hall about police reform televised? I must have missed that.
  5. Also, since I’m dedicated to developing my own voice–I’d like to point out what the second amendment is really about. Imagine you are going to take over a country that isn’t yours. Let’s call it Native America for shits and giggles. The military is what you use to fight off your oppressor, the British. But what do you need well organized small militia for? Probably to fight off those pesky Native Americans who think they should live here, and keep those lazy slaves under control. Now Americans may have a different point of view of what the second amendment means. But I’ll tell you this, you and Uncle Jimbob, and cousin brother Joe aren’t going to be able to resist US drones, and it don’t matter how many pawnshops you buy guns from.  Also, when black people tried to use the 2nd amendment to arm themselves in the Black Panther era, everyone lost their shit.

Tthis blog was a little extra political, so I really wanted to uncover a mystery to reward everyone for reading all the way through. I know everyone has been wondering why the hell Rex Tillerson was fired so abruptly. I have a theory I’d like to share.

As most know Secretary Tillerson made a trip to Africa–It is my theory that upon arrival, he received a call from President Trump. After deciding to place tariffs on aluminium and steel, the president–feeling pressure from his own party–needed to find some way to put America on the map. He would need a substance that everyone would desperately want to get their hands on. Vibranium. The idea was that we would do what America does best–invade a country and exploit resources. When Trump demanded to know the location of Wakanda, Tillerson scoffed–and before he could finish telling Trump that no such place exists, and that it was only a movie–a tweet was sent out to the world from the royal bathroom. Tillerson was fired.


What a nice guy!

December 19, 2017

In 2010, and during all times before 2010, I had a negative amount of self esteem.

I waited tables and I was absolutely miserable. I’d started sleeping with one of my co-workers because I wanted to experience all the bad parts of working at a restaurant. Not one of my best decisions, but it was convenient. That guy told me that he liked me despite not being attractive, and I was somehow grateful to him for bothering with me at all. It was definitely one of the less enlightened periods of Aprylian existence.

One day, our casual sex relationship fell apart when this guy told me about the four things that were wrong with me:

I was too tall and big. (fat)

I didn’t play video games

I was not an atheist.

I was too ethnically diverse for him to have children with. (BLACK)

So we broke up. Shortly after my best friend encouraged me to go to Denton with her–and that’s when I met my favorite mistake and my next boyfriend.

He thought I was amazing. The smartest and the prettiest. He didn’t care that I didn’t play video games, and whenever I walked into a room, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
We had many, many problems– but I was quite dedicated to him.

One weekend, this super nice guy who was not my boyfriend, decided to take me out to a show. This nice guy is the actual subject of this blog.

The nice guy realized that I’d been having a really difficult time. He was a co worker of mine, and a fairly close friend. We’d been working at the same place for about two years at the time of the incident. He and I shared a love of music–and there was a show that he convinced me that I could not miss. My boyfriend was out of town being a vagabond for coins somewhere in the Midwest, and I didn’t see any reason to say no.

We met at the restaurant, and he drove down to the venue. We met up with his other friends, and had a few drinks. I was wearing these super high platform boots that made me taller than everyone. At the time, I was really self conscious about being tall–I pretended to be confident. He and all of his friends decided to blatantly make fun of me. I was stranded there, and this was before the time of Uber. I walked out into the parking lot and called my guy. We talked about my giant books and he told me he was a fan. With this arbitrary boost of confidence, I returned to the show, drank in the corner and watched the rest of the show alone, while texting to whoever would respond.

The nice guy drove back to the parking lot where my car was. He told me I should stay for a second and listen to some tuned in the car. In a strange turn of events, he leaned over and tried to kiss me.
Now during the time, I told everyone who would listen about my charismatic, unstable boyfriend. Why was this guy trying to make a move? He made it clear to everyone we worked with that it wasn’t a date. He talked to all the other guys like he was embarrassed to be out with me, and let everyone know that I was just a friend. He’s spent the entire evening making fun of me. Why would he do this?

I told him that I was interested. He looked at me with this really confused look.

“Come on, Apryl. What did you think this was?”
He tried again, I got out of the car. Before I shut the door, I heard him say ‘Are you fucking serious? I bought drinks.”

About five years after that incident, I saw this same nice guy on Twitter retweeting a Samantha Bee clip about sexual assault, and not being a creeper.

I’m wondering-  How many men out there are condemning other people for making unwanted advances, while ignoring their own transgressions?

What a nice guy he was.

The Great Divide

May 16, 2017

So I spend a great deal of time talking about what my mother didn’t teach me…

And I’ve spent the past year crying over what my mother has done recently. Today, a couple of days after Mother’s Day, I decided to watch Felicity. Does anyone remember that show?

So Felicity is this show about Keri Russell’s character randomly uproots her life and college career in order to follow a boy.

Here’s what my mother did teach me.

Don’t follow a boy anywhere.

In fact, don’t trust them either. My mom taught me that it was important to speak out. It was important for me to be my own person. And make decisions for yourself. Before she went all crazy and religious, she told me how she made decisions based on what other people were doing.

My mother taught me that I was going to have to be the strongest ever to survive. She taught me that no one cared if I was cramping. That I was going to have to work when I was sick.

She told me that most of my friends weren’t lifelong. I didn’t believe her, but I wish I’d listened to that more now.

I used to talk to her for hours on the phone. I make fun of her now for believing the only phone that she should use is an Iphone from God, but in actuality I just miss her.

I used to know that she was my only advocate, when the guys were awful, and when I couldn’t count on my friends…My mom was always there for me. I would omit large parts of the truth when it came to sharing the events of my 20’s, but I would give her an outline of what was important to me.

And I talked to her about how much I loved whoever, even though I didn’t know what love was. I told her about how worried I was about money, constantly.

I told her about how excited I was about my first college boyfriend. I still remember how angry she was when she met him and realized he was like 20 something and I was 17. She called him a pedophile and threw things down the stairs at him.

She cared.

And at some point, she stopped caring. And at some point, there was a great divide. I want to tell her that I’m sorry for however I’ve changed that makes it so that we can’t be close anymore.

But she’s being pretty clear that she doesn’t like the parts of me that I’ve been working so hard to build.  She doesn’t like the parts of me that care about my friends. My politics.

Can you love me and hate my politics?

So now, I’m complaining to the boy about my mom.  And I’m relying on my friends to comfort me from the things she said.

She also gave away the only inheritance I’d even known.  And she definitely shattered my trust. And made me feel like I don’t have a safety net. She made me feel like she didn’t care about me.

I know it’s just menopause.

But I really miss her.

And it made Mother’s Day extremely hard for me. And it made her birthday hard.

The void is eating me up.

So on Sunday, everyone went to celebrate with their favorite mom person, I stayed in bed all day. I couldn’t sing in the Mother’s Day concert for the second year straight.

I know people have other bigger problems. My issues are small.

But I feel like everyone I used to hands down believe really cared about me and would protect me has turned away from me.

But my mom taught me to be tough. She taught me that the world doesn’t stop because your feelings are hurt. She taught me that offense would block me from the good things in life. And she taught me to take your trash out daily and never let dishes sit in the sink.

So I’m going to stop writing and wash my dishes.  Read more…

Moon Goddess!

February 28, 2017

I’ll preface this by saying that some parts of this blog will be a little on the sad side, but I promise that I’ll try to end on the most positive of notes.

I have this vivid memory of being a little kid, dancing around in my living room. I was wearing a giant sheet, and I was watching Beauty and the Beast for what might have been the 110th time since my mother had rented the movie just days before. I was a kid. That’s what kids do.

I’d told my mother that I was going to be a singer like Whitney Houston, or Patti Labelle. According to my grandmother, those were the best singers there were.

Tina Turner was okay, but she was a whiner. Grandma said no one liked a woman that whined all the time.

I was singing at the top of my lungs, and I don’t think I was more than ten at the time, but my grandmother had something to say about my singing. She walked in and put the television on mute, and looked directly at me and said “You’re flat. And you’re not a very good singer. Sit down and be quiet.”

I didn’t really know what flat was, or that my voice was going to change in a few years, or that my grandmother was just a bit hateful. Her word was the gold standard. After all, she was married to a blues singer for years, and she knew everything there was to know about singers.

In the years to come, many people would echo what my grandmother said. I would believe every one of them.

So, lets fast forward to college. I’d done the debate thing and I wasn’t afraid of crowds anymore, but I still found it really hard to sing in public. I took singing lessons in college, but I was so terrified of crowds, that I’d have a mild panic attack, then my asthma would flair up, and then pretty much no one could hear me.

My friends at all my performances were really encouraging. The would say “Maybe if you were just a little louder.”

I can’t remember my first voice teacher’s name. I could look at my transcripts and figure it out, but I do remember what she said before my last panic ridden recital.

“Don’t be afraid. You are talented.”

Now, I’m an adult. That’s why it says on my driver’s license, or birth certificate or some paper work. I’m an adult. I graduated from college in 2007, and I hadn’t sang in choir for a really long time. I tried out for a choir between now and then, but I was out of practice, AND my stage fright kicked in. It was a disaster.

I’d just given up for the most part. I wasn’t going to be able to figure out how to read music well, and I just wasn’t going to be able to sing anywhere besides at karaoke.

On the fourth of July 2015, I thought that I’d lost my voice all together. My esteem had been trailing for a while, and I’d started to delve into a pretty deep depression after several things had gone wrong. When someone that you think really loves you betrays you and hurts you in an unimaginable way, you often feel like you are not worthy of having a voice.


I didn’t have a real job. I’d been laid off and I was waiting tables, again. I was “damaged”goods. But I went to Starbucks, and I saw a posting for the Women’s Chorus, and that they were having open rehearsals. I wrote down the information and looked at the website. I thought to myself, I can do this, if there is no audition and I don’t have to sight read.

I took a break from sleeping all day long, which by the way is exhausting, and I went to the open rehearsal. I found out there was an audition, you would have to read music, and that there were dues. I was about ready to just give up, but one of the songs that the choir rehearsed was Nigra Sum. We’d sang that song in UNT’s Women’s Chorus and I remembered it enough to sing along. I remember how beautiful the chorus sounded, and I remember being really scared. Scared of my own shadow….scared of the other members….and terrified of the audition.

Our director is probably one of the nicest people on the face of the planet. I messed up my own favorite song during the audition. If anyone has ever heard me sing Criminal by Fiona Apple at karaoke, you know I could sing that song backward and forward on a fifth of vodka. It was the worst job I’d ever done at singing that song. AND there was sight reading.

I got to be in the chorus despite that terrible audition.

So this is my second season singing in the chorus. I am still not the best sight singer.
But I am pretty talented, and I keep up with everyone else. We are making glorious music and we are sharing it with others.

I have friends in the chorus. That’s pretty cool.

I didn’t read anything about Mood Goddess before tonight. But this piece was really special to me because I did not think originally I could hit all the notes.

I didn’t realize that if I just followed directions, I could grab each of those notes.

So Moon Goddess, is really about this fierce warrior goddess rising up in all her power and fury. Grabbing her voice and making her power known.

I refuse to let anyone make me feel like I don’t have a voice, or let anyone make me feel like I’m powerless.

I’m excited for everyone to hear all the fantastic music that will be performed this Friday. Composed by women. Hear us roar.

I won’t be wearing my sheet on Friday. I’ll be wearing a black dress. I will also pay no mind to what my grandmother thinks about my singing.

I almost forgot. Get YO tickets


Love letters

February 14, 2017

I have been writing love letters for a very long time.

Since I can remember I’ve been cultivating a knack for persuasive writing.

Please give me this scholarship.
Vote for me in this debate round.
Please don’t judge me unfairly.
Let me have a job.
Be my friend.
Love Me.

I remember being a kid coming home from 1st grade, and my mom and aunt would sit and listen to me tell all of the stories about exciting things that had happened to me. They weren’t great stories, I mean how could the be–I was only in the first grade. I remember the feeling though of captivating an audience. I thought then that it was worth it to tell a few lies so my mom would laugh instead of worry. Kids that are bullied don’t want to spend all their time talking about the terrible things that happen to them.

I’ve never been particularly confident, and so when I entered an age where I cared for the attention of the opposite sex, I felt persuasion was the only tool that I truly had. And somehow, all of the emotions of a 15 year old girl poured onto paper, and I folded and sealed the notes in the way that one did in those days. Here was courage. This was the best way to let me love be known. Or whatever it was, I doubt that it was love at this time.

I’m not sure that any of the guys really knew what to do with these heartfelt letters and emails, save one. And even he didn’t know what to do with my proclaimed affections. He was gay, and I suspect he was kind to me because he knew what it was to be bold and confess a secret, even if it was known that secret may not be well received.

But early on I was pretty clear on rejection. I became well acquainted with that terrible pain in the pit of ones stomach. It’s the same feeling I get now when I hear I’ve been sacked, or a friend betrays me, or a man treats me poorly.

I wrote about love to Cody, to Jimi. I spouted about Sloan. I reasoned with Ray. I promised great joy and laughter. I promised to always take care of them. All these promises were true, but they all fell on deaf ears.

I’ve pledged undying loyalty to my friends, and my friends have moved past me. I’m so happy that they have. I wouldn’t want it any other way. I have no children, so in a way I want those that I love to surpass me. It’s okay with me. Their loyalty lies with their partners, and there is no room for me. There is room for visits…and I enjoy traveling to visit them and share parts of their lives.

I’m afraid there are no more letters for the new people that I love. My inkwell is all dried. If it must be true that I’m rejected, I can’t make evidence of my foolishness on a piece of paper.

Maybe there are no more gifts for people that push me to the side. There should be no more loyalty to people who pledge allegiance to others. No place for traitors in my stories.

No room for people who devalue me at my table. No ear for people who talk down to me. No power for those who would seek to make me powerless.

Did you find someone better to pass the time with? Fantastic. Pass all your time there.
Are you overwhelmed by my sorrow, there is no room for you in the sunshine.

There are people who do love me, I won’t be in the business of convincing people that I’m worthy anymore.

I won’t convince my father or mother, my friends, my exes, my future lovers. I just don’t have the words anymore.


Resolved: The US has a moral obligation to ignore bigotry and pretend like everything is okay.

November 15, 2016

I’ve lost the coin toss of life twice by being born a black woman, so I’ll negate this round.

Let’s start with some back story.

When I was a little girl I had stage fright. Crippling stage fright. For reasons unknown to me I won pretty much every part that I auditioned for in school plays, and with the exception of one line I delivered successfully about the Boston Tea Party, I was an epic failure at every school play. There were just too many faces in the crowd, and too many bright lights.

I loved music, but because of a random remark that my grandmother made when I was 6, I wouldn’t join a choir until I was 18. I know, I have quite a few issues with quite a few people.

I joined band for two reasons: I wanted to experience the ability to make music in a group without spot light, and because my mother was a flute player. I didn’t know about my motivations at the time because I was making decisions in the fifth grade. I had secretly taken piano lessons without my mom’s permission in the second grade, but quit because it was abundantly clear that I had no business anywhere near a piano at my first recital.

I was quite dedicated to band until my sophomore year of high school. I had never really bonded with any of my directors since junior high, and I was awkward and a terrible player, and it should have been pretty clear that I had no business in band at all. Leslie B., one of the band directors sat me down and had a chat with me. It was probably the most communication we’d ever had in the years that I’d been in my district’s band program. I remember the conversation quite vividly.

“Apryl, I wanted to have a chat with you because you’ve been in band for a long time. How long have you been playing?” I thought for a second and told him since fifth grade. “Ah,” He responded and paused for a second, “And you’ve just started debate, yes?” I nodded in agreement. I just knew he was going to question my loyalty and I was ready to put up a fight. “How many awards have you won in debate this semester?” I tallied up all the trophies that I’d gotten–though I can’t remember now what the tally was at that point. “How did you feel in those moments? I hear your name every week on the announcements lately.” I told him that it was awesome. And then he had another pressing question,”How many awards have you won in band since 5th grade?”

I didn’t have to count. The answer was none. He went on to tell me that I could take extra time off from band to dedicate to debate, and he still allowed me to march at football games so I could hang out with my friends.  And that’s how one of the most inspiring educators I’d ever met became so inspiring in my mind. He realized I had a knack for something else, and that I wasn’t going to pick up on that by myself. I am forever grateful.

So, educators have this great duty, I feel, to point children in the right direction, and  expand their minds to the finer points of logic. After the election, and some of the things I’d been reading on the internet through the infallible Facebook, I felt hopelessness and despair. I just knew that if these wonderful friends of mine were running around talking about all of us “lily livered liberals” crying over something so silly as an ideology that spurs intolerance and racism, then there was no reason whatsoever for people who didn’t have personal experiences with people who were different to make space in their hearts. That’s a chilling prospect. It’s scary. And after a little time of being inactive, I returned to the same community Mr B pushed me toward all of those years ago. High school debate.

So yes, I must admit that debate is overrun with white males.

And yes, we are still in Texas. But the first thing that I noticed was that all the kids were just hanging out together. Right after the election. Everyone was friends with everyone. Black, white, Hispanic, Asian, even a couple of young ladies wearing their hijabs…Perfectly safe. Everyone was having a good time.

The actual resolution was about qualified immunity with regard to police officers. I heard children from the ages of 13-17, make more solid arguments about systematic racism and how we stop it, then majority of the people who are grown ups on Facebook. How comforting it was to hear a coherent discussion, on both sides about how to deal with a very real problem. I spent most of the tournament judging varsity debaters, but at the very end of the tournament I picked up a ballot to be on a panel in the final round of Novice LD. These kids are new to the sport, mostly freshmen, and for the most part though judges never want to deal with them, here in lies the best opportunity to have a true teaching moment. I accepted the ballot with this in mind.

The round was going absolutely terribly, and both of the kids were making circular arguments and raising their voices unnecessarily. The room was packed with children who were watching to support their friends or just learn something. I was judging with a couple of younger judges out of college. Their critiques were pretty technical in a way that none of the kids could understand but made them seem really smart. It’s not their faults, teaching isn’t something that comes naturally to everyone.

My critique was the longest. I do enjoy hearing myself talk, but I really wanted them to take away something from the experience, and I needed to call attention to something that was said in the round by one of the debaters.

One of those little wonders, at some point in the round decided to make this her sole argument pretty much : The police aren’t racist, it’s black people who are criminals and put themselves in harms way.

No one else had addressed it, and after I made both of the kids feel great, I made an announcement to the room about making the kinds of statements that the girl had made. I first asked her if she had any evidence that the statement was true. She looked around, and I told her that the argument was terrible, without evidence, and that there were maybe 12 other ways to dismantle the argument that she was trying to overcome when she made the statement originally. She looked almost as devastated as the other two black children in the room were when she made that argument.

After the round, she came up to me and sincerely apologized. And I talked to her for a bit and then told her that aside from that little incident, she should be awfully proud.

What would have happened had I not been there to point this out?
What happens when people, especially children, say things that some adult told them that simply are not true? I suspect this type of innocent ignorance is the substance that grows into hate if it’s unchecked.

Education is how we make the world a better place. If you are putting your hope in anything but the future of this nation, our children, your hopes are severely misguided.

We have a moral obligation to educate our youth.

Ugh, now I have to go back to school so I can make a meaningful impact. I like epiphanies and all, but I’m really lazy and I didn’t think I’d have to put in more work for my life to be meaningful. 😉

I tell people all the time that it’s not my job to teach people how the government works. I guess in a few years it will be…

I’ve just developed a canned response to nonsense.

May 26, 2016

In one of our top secret work meetings, some of the younger girls were talking about how they think the terms used to discuss women’s health were gross. I heard them go on and on, and honestly I remember thinking to myself that what was weird about being in that room isn’t really the age gap. The weirdest thing was sitting in a room with strangers that had a completely different way of looking at everything. I couldn’t say whether their way is wrong or right, but I am pretty sure that their thinking is underdeveloped and on a completely different value system.

I’m kidding. It’s completely wrong. That’s right. I’m judging.

I wanted to stand up and look each one of them in the eyes and say: There’s nothing wrong with being a woman. You work in a lab, don’t be afraid of science. If painting pictures with a bottle of wine is the coolest thing you do in your twenties, you are living your life wrong. The life fairy will take the rest of your youth from you and give it to Keith Richards, because he actually knows how to party.

When I make jokes they don’t understand because basically everything goes over their heads.

I like my job, but I worry about these kids.

Listening to the girls talk about how gross a pap smear sounds, made me think about some things that my gay guy friends say. This is a reoccurring theme for me, and I’m sure I’ve written about this before.

To all the gay men who shame women because they find it funny/secretly hate women:

Just because you are not attracted to women doesn’t make them all disgusting. Having a delicious cocktail, only to have some stranger tell you that what you have between your legs is disgusting or “not right” is a buzz kill. I usually laugh it off, but while I was trying to shrug off the idiocy surrounding me at work, I started to get irritated about it. It’s not a joke. I don’t think that it’s okay to do to women what has been done to you. Someone called you gross for being attracted to who you are attracted to. Those people are wrong and they are assholes. Just because you’re in a safe haven with people who support you doesn’t mean you have to attack innocent women who are standing by.  I’m not sure why you’re thinking about my vagina and cringing. I’m certainly not thinking about sweaty butt sex. I’m thinking about having a laugh with people who I think are smart and funny. I’m sorry that someone hurt you. You don’t have to hurt me.

The next time I hear a gay man start down that path, I’m going to put my drink down, stand on my own to feet and make direct eye contact and say:

“You cant fuck right on off with that nonsense.”

Next topic. I’m a really gabby girl. I have been since I learned how to talk. I wasn’t a kid that asked why about everything, it was so much worse. I was told that I needed to be quiet often. The grown ups in my family always seemed pretty perturbed with me. It wasn’t until I witnessed some of my friends parenting that I realized that you’re not supposed to be perpetually irritated by children. I always needed to “sit still somewhere and be quiet”.

Naturally when I got older I found some friends who would help me cultivate a complex of inferiority that revolved around the idea that I talked way too much. The men I would date would definitely chip in. And by the time I hit my late 20’s all of the new aged hippies would help me to really shine a spotlight on what’s wrong with me. All new aged philosophers know that the only way to be free is to do exactly as all of the other free thinkers in your circle are doing.

Be free of society’s chains and preconceived notion, so that you can adopt our yoke. And please don’t have other opinions, brah, that’s drama.

“I get really lonely.”

“Oh really, well that’s probably because you don’t like yourself. You’re definitely going to need to align your chi and then go out into the woods alone to think about yourself until you love yourself so much that you think being in control of your own experience means it’s totally okay to be a shitty person to everyone around you.”

It’s great advice, right? At the same time, the internet starts to explore what it means to be an introvert. We know all about extroverts, they have the power to socialize, so those people are not important. Introverts need this. They crave that. They thrive when….?
Even those we seem to be so sensitive to letting introverts be unique butterflies, somehow the message is that something is wrong with you if you’re dependent of people.  Needing attention is wrong.

“Ugh, do you talk all the time?””

“I’m so happy being alone with my introvert arts and crafts package, you’re different so you’re definitely broken. You ought to try being more like me. Here’s a deck of pokemon cards and a special guide to hording pets and never leaving your house!”

Most of my favorite people are introverts. It’s totally cool, but what I didn’t realize is that I’ve been ranting and raving about trying to bravely embrace solitude, when I was never really built to operate that way.

There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just an extrovert. I need people around to recharge.

Thems the brakes. So I’ve been working tirelessly to change a fundamental facet of my personality so that I could become the quiet quirky girl.

Next time someone tells me that I need to learn how to be happy alone, I’m going to look them in the eyes, grab both of their hands, take a deep breath and say,

“You can fuck right on off with that nonsense.”