Hate Making It All About Me.

Most people's blogspots are me, me, me, I, I, I.

Grumble, Grumble

Complaint, Complaint.

Some respectable musings. Some interests sidebars here and there.

Actual self reflection is lacking.

At 21. I feel as though I skipped the age when self esteem and hormones coincide gracefully. I'm still stuck in awkward 13. No matter what I do. I'm never noticed. Oh, professors love me, my elders,

Most of my own colleagues/coworkers rather watch a dog clean it's testicles than listen to what I've got to say. Honestly. I feel as though I'm in a dark place mentally. Where Victoria hasn't quite kicked in yet. Survival is my only priority. I was so kicked down and tred upon in foster care, that when something offends me - I don't even have the energy to make a fuss.

The weird thing is - people have already gone through this stage at about 13-17. Four years later. I still don't know me. Go ahead, ask me a question. What do you like to do? I only have one steadfast and reliable response. Um, Journalism. Journalism is not a hobby or sport, simple the guise I hide behind to meld words together into shiny marble product that no one can resist.

I was definitely a late bloomer. Period, height, weight, breasts. Now, my metabolism has caught up with me.

The only part of myself, that I can stand behind is the fact that I am Queer. I love women, unapologetic about that. I love my ex. Unapologetic about that as well. She weirdly, is the only person who sees me. Treats me like I'm not a thing. Or a worker, or a doormat.

Trust me, I'm not complaining, or moaning and groaning. I could have easily been born into a third world country. OR a state with no employment, or not been able to attend college. I know that for a fact.

I am simply self reflecting on something I haven't been able to quite figure out.

I need to find me. She's lost somewhere out there in a trouble 6 year old soul.

I'm still looking for you ... you're 14 years behind. Catch up.