Forty-Something Years in Ninaland


To Whom It May Concern:

You’ve heard all the same horror stories as I have. You’ve sat in your nice living room with your designer clothes, that you got on a clearance rack at Macy’s, just like me. You speculate and hear whispers about how these clothes were made from slaves in like Indonesia, or worse yet my own India. You don’t think about it too much because they are pretty, and what are you supposed to do? Where would you shop where there is no slave labor? Kmart? I don’t think so. No one advertises, “No slave labor here!”

A woman shops at the Macy's store at a mall in a Denver suburb

And that coffee you bought from Starbucks on the way to the mall, that coffee was created by prison labor. You don’t even know what that is, for all you know prisoners should be laboring. For your morning coffee.

You try to be healthy so you spend more money at Whole Foods to get cleaner, fresher food. Then you hear they are doing it too, the prisoner thing. There is organic meat there, for god’s sake. Organic! You know about all the animal cruelty in the world, you have animals you love, but you still eat meat. What do you want us to do? Become vegetarian? Let’s be real.

But the thing is, I hate it all. I hate all the violence and poverty that I am supporting. I like to think I am a prisoner too. I have no choice but to fund these industries. I’m not that strong, I got to watch out for me. I can’t worry about every goddamn politically correct action that I must take in order to make the world a better place.


Maybe that’s true for you too, maybe its just me. What’s the answer? I’m not going to boycott nice clothes and caramel macchiatos. I am not accustomed to sacrificing things I like. I am privileged. That is who I am.

I’m sitting at a Panera Bread right now, writing this monologue. I don’t even know what dirty business Panera is up to and quite frankly I don’t want to know. I got nowhere to go but these places you tell me engage in evil practices. Come’ on I’m good, I don’t do drugs, I only drink socially, I don’t beat my kids. I don’t even have kids to beat. One thing I did right: I didn’t perpetuate the population explosion on Earth.

What are we going to do about all this, if most of us are uncomfortable leaving our comforts? Most of us are not bad people, per say. We pay our taxes, we even buy Girl Scout Cookies. We are against the Iraq war.

I don’t honestly know enough about what goes on in this nasty world to be horrified by it. I close my eyes lately. I don’t watch the news as much. I get snippets from headlines of articles I see on Facebook. I don’t read those articles. They would upset me. I’m serious, the world and its state of affairs is slowly making me sick, making me sad. I’m depressed enough on my own, I don’t need input from this world to add fuel to this fire.

whole foods

The thing is I’m lonely. I don’t have a particular community of like-minded people that I can escape into. Everyone around me is isolated. I can’t change the world on my own. I have to pay my bills. I shop at Wal-Mart even though they treat their employees like shit because they are the cheapest groceries in town. I’m not cheap. I’m frugal. Like I said, I got bills to pay and a life to live. I can’t do it all. I can’t be that perfect consumer who watches out for every guilty corporation that is raping the world and still live a functional life. You don’t even know: they are raping me, right now. I work more and earn less…

The only solace I have is a nice hazelnut cappuccino and a new pair of skinny jeans from Target. Don’t try and take away everything that is good in my life. Maybe you have the luxury of being like Tarzan and living in the jungle, being vegan and eating plants. Good for you.

If you ask me this conversation is horribly depressing. It’s not my fault. None of this is my fault. I don’t go around doing bad things like causing slave labor. I’m the slave if you ask me. Who is looking out for me?

I don’t like to end things in this ugly way but what else can I say?


Miss Consumer USA


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 February 29th, 2016  
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Dear Girl Scouts

girl scoutsDo you ever think you are a good person? Do you ever think you are a bad person? And maybe, just maybe, sometimes you are a stupid person? Like I bought two boxes of Girl Scout cookies today. I know, I know, I’m officially dieting and therefore I’m a bad person. But then the lady gave me change back for my twenty, she gave me four bucks less, I’m sure by mistake. I’m sure Girl Scout cookie moms don’t go around swindling customers.

The moment she gave me back the change, in my head I knew she gave me the wrong change But you know how that song goes, ‘you got to know when to go, know when to hold em’…you never count your money, they’ll be time enough for countin’ when the deal is done.” I didn’t count the money. I know, I know, I was buying Girl Scout cookies, not betting thousands of dollars.

Does that make me a good person? Not counting the money I mean. Now before you click off this screen because this story really has no point, let me tell you the moral. I went in the car and counted my cash. I was right, she stiffed me four dollars.

Why didn’t I go back and tell her? Because Girl Scouts is considered a good cause. Because I was a Girl Scout once. But the thing is, I don’t donate money. Period. I don’t have enough money that I can go around helping other people. I get emails from Bernie Sanders asking me for one dollar, and honestly, I don’t have a dollar to give him even though I love that man. If I ever wanted to donate to anyone, it would be to women in third world countries.

Did I have an extra four dollars to give to the Girl Scouts of America? No. But I didn’t go back in there because I felt like I would look like some cheap fool. And I am after all, a cheap fool. Maybe a stupid, cheap fool. I mean I’m still talking about this hours after it happened.

I didn’t need to spend eight dollars on cookies in the first place for many reasons. What is this all about anyways? I don’t know it’s a random story OK. I feel like the woman who sold me the cookies would have looked down on me if I asked her for the right change. I only didn’t face her because I was scared of her, not because I wanted to give Girl Scouts the extra money.

The things we do to be polite. I learned that in Girl Scouts, how to be lady like. I didn’t want to seem like a jerk. I truly did not want them to know what a jerk I really am. I’m sure Girl Scouts is a great cause, but if they came to my door asking for money without the cookies, let’s be real…a girl has to pay back her student loans.

coco chanel

I want to tell that to those girls. Those innocent faces selling delicious cookies they will later shun when they obsess about their body image. I want to tell them it’s not fair that companies like GM give large donations to the Boy Scouts of America, without even thinking about it. Girl Scouts have to sell cookies.

Get used to this, I want to tell them. Girls, get used to having to do double the work and getting much less of the pay. On the cookie box, the empty box in front of me, it says that selling cookies helps these girls learn Business Ethics.

Let me tell you about ethics: you are a girl and when you become a woman I can bet that at the first office job you get, someone will expect you to make the coffee. I worked on a floor with all men when I was much younger and they actually expected me to make the coffee. I refused. They looked down on me, and it scared me but I stood my ground. Then I was sexually harassed by one of the other male employees.

Girls it is OK, it is more than OK, to speak out about these kind of things…I’m sorry to tell you that statistically some kind of sexual violation will probably happen to you. Girls, it’s OK to be mad, not just sad.

Oh coffee, cookies…I just ate an entire box of do-si-dos, they are like nutter butters. These Girl Scouts that I bought from didn’t even have my favorite cookie: Tag Alongs, the chocolate peanut butter delights.

The box also says the girls learn People Skills. Girls let me tell you about people skills: you have to learn how to be that bitch that everyone respects and likes. Forgive me for using the word bitch, but you will learn what I mean. If you want your way, you only get it when you get a little tough.

The box further tells me that the Girl Scout Gold Award goes to a girl who does a project that makes a lasting difference in the world. Girls really think about what you want to do. Girls maybe you haven’t gotten your period yet, but you may have heard about it. Imagine if you were poor and living in the streets and you got your period without access to any feminine hygiene products. Girls, make sure to help other girls. One day instead of selling cookies, I’d like to see you giving out free tampons.

I know, I know, you are learning to be polite ladies and may not like the fact that I’m talking about being a bitch and wearing tampons. I don’t know if your Girl Scout leader will tell you about these things, so I will.

We did a fashion show in my Girl Scout troop many, many years ago. I learned how to be elegant and beautiful. At the same time the Boy Scouts were learning how to survive in the forest.

Of course that was a long time ago, and I’m going to hope things have drastically changed. Maybe there should just be ‘scouts’ of no gender who learn gender-neutral lessons. I know, I know I’m being incredibly politically correct. But girls, let me tell you something there might be a woman president soon. Girls, there is nothing you can’t do.

Girls listen to me, you are perfect just the way you are. Don’t worry about being perfect, worry about being happy. Girls I want to tell you, it’s OK to indulge in that box of cookies, it’s OK to cry when you get your period, it’s OK to hate boys. Girls you have plenty of time to fall in love and have sex.

Girls for now, think about how to survive outside the forest. While the boys are starting fires, learn to put them out. Girls they will accuse of being crazy. Let them.

Another trait that selling cookies gives you is Decision Making. I hope you make the decision to be strong, no matter what. I hope you dance. I hope you sing. Girls, you will need each other more than you realize. Boys will come and go, but your girls will be there for you through all your heartbreak.

“She’s a good girl, loves her Mama, loves Jesus, and America too…”—Tom Petty.

You don’t have to be a good girl. You don’t have to be a girl forever either. When you become a woman make sure you realize there will always be that little girl inside you though. That innocent girl.

Girls, you are precious. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.


girl scouts


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 February 28th, 2016  
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Dying to Live

I wonder how many people feel like they are dying. I mean we all are, let’s face it, dying. I wonder if we would worry so much about little things if we realized, really truly realized, that it will all vanish soon. That we will no longer be in this life, in this form.

Is that depressing? I don’t know; it is sort of the truth. A way of looking at the truth. How many of us have died already? I think a lot of us are zombies. Maybe this really is the zombie apocalypse.

Pablo Neruda says that if you don’t travel or read you are dying. When is the last time you read something that wasn’t on the Internet, like an actual book? The last time I traveled was this summer, and the winter is starting to kill me.

I feel like I’m half alive sometimes. How many people are not satisfied with their jobs? I am finally happy with my job, however, that is after many years of trial and error. I hated working at one point so much that I thought I wasn’t meant to have a job. I realized in the end that it was the wrong jobs that were killing me.

What is killing you? This is making me sad. Do you kill your self-esteem? I don’t know how many times I have thought that I’m not worth it. Things like finding love and having a family, I sometimes think I don’t deserve these things.

We argued about the Death Penalty in my class the other day. One thing that came up over and over again is that there are worse things than death in this life. Putting someone in jail for the rest of their lives could be considered worse than death.

Are you in jail? One of your own making? If you answered yes, don’t worry. There is always a silver lining. Realizing that you have cancer of the soul is the first step in getting a cure.

What’s the cure for death? Really living. You can fight your metaphorical death by choosing to live. What does it mean to live, I ask again? I will answer it again and again in different ways.

It’s not about flowers, but it is about flowers. Smell them. Talk to them. Or better yet talk to someone who cares, who sees your worth. It’s true that we all die alone, but we don’t have to live alone. We need each other.

That may seem like an oversimplified answer to an ancient problem. But I see no other way out. I want to feel passion and make my heart beat faster. What do I feel passion for? I guess I feel passion for this very song I sing, this tune that I write.

You don’t know this but I sing when I write. I think I’m Adele at times. It’s very clear to me that I’m not, but I’m passionate about every song I sing. It’s little things like songs, and water that we don’t even notice. We have clean water: it’s so clear and wonderful.

© Steve Mann | Dreamstime Stock Photos

© Steve Mann | Dreamstime Stock Photos

I know that seems mundane. But actually it’s not. If you don’t appreciate the small stuff you’ll never really appreciate the big stuff. Because every day it is only water that you can count on to be there for your bathing etc. We don’t think about these things, the beautiful water running through our fingers.

There are people who would die for clean running water. I don’t even give a shit about it most of the time. Not until I’m thirsty.

I think noticing the small things, that are actually big things, can change your life. I often feel blessed that I can see. My father is blind and has been for more than twenty years. The fact that I can see should be a reason to live.

There are so many beautiful things to see. And you don’t have to go to the Grand Canyon to see them. They are in your very backyard. Whether it’s squirrel, or a blade of grass, I know you have something mesmerizing to look at.

I think that most of us think you have to go after big dreams in order to be happy. I think it’s noticing the dreams you already have that can lead you to fulfillment.

So step outside, outside of yourself. Appreciate yourself. Appreciate life.

We don’t know what happens at death, but if it can’t be worse than your life, than maybe it’s time to change. Is this preachy? Is this obvious?

Maybe. Maybe you have heard it all before.

People who are close to death, older people and those that are sick, know something that we don’t yet know. They can see what is important in life before facing death. I don’t think we should have to wait until we get to that stage to appreciate our existence.

We all know the story: don’t work too much, don’t sweat the small stuff, love thy neighbor. I don’t even like my neighbors, but the other day the next door woman who I constantly judge as being some sort of backwards housewife, helped me shovel some snow when my car got stuck in the driveway. I didn’t ask for her help.

© Ostenbaken | Dreamstime Stock Photos

© Ostenbaken | Dreamstime Stock Photos

I could just think it was nothing, her helping me in the freezing cold. But it was something. Something I can wrap my head around. Something tangible to which I can say, hey, people aren’t so bad.

I know that my neighbor loves flowers, she meticulously grows them in her yard. I think I will anonymously send her flowers one day. And the card attached will say: Thank you for all that you do. I notice you. I’m paying attention.

Yes, that might translate as creepy. But that’s the problem isn’t it? Someone would not even recognize a nice gesture in world where everyone is beating themselves up.

Give yourself a break. It’s time we realized that whether the cup is half full or empty, maybe we are looking at it all wrong. There is a cup with water in it. Thank god for that. It’s time to drink it.


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 February 27th, 2016  
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Pretty Is as Pretty Does

© Andres Rodriguez | Dreamstime Stock Photos

There are moments that I just want to be pretty. I mean I don’t care if I’m smart or nice, I just want to be pretty, period. It’s twisted, it’s sort of sick. I read a quote somewhere about how unattractive women are the only women who truly understand men. But being pretty does not really have anything to do with men, or does it? Do I want to be pretty for men, or for myself, or for the world? I hope it’s not for men, that’s all I can say. No offense.

I guess I’m sort of pretty, but definitely not as pretty as I want to be. I’m fatter now, so it translates in my head as less pretty. When I was younger, and thinner, I really did rely on my beauty sometimes. I let it define me. It’s funny I didn’t really like myself then. It’s ironic I was pretty, but not happy with myself.

It’s very empty to base much of who you are on what you look like. You know, you know the truth deep down inside you…that some men want to own you and hurt you, and some women want to be you and hate you. You know that you are more than a pretty face, you know something is telling you that you are only being looked at and not heard, because you think you aren’t supposed to have a voice. Because you think you are here to be looked at.

Now I am starting to like myself more, maybe even lovish myself a little. I am more me now because I can’t rely on just my looks to be noticed. I have to be somebody…somebody complete to really even notice myself. I noticed that I really existed as a human being when I started to really struggle with my weight and consequently my ‘beauty.’ I see myself clearer now.

I’m not suggesting you get fat in order to know or be your true self. I’m suggesting you notice yourself as more than a pretty face, or a plain face, or even an ugly face. Let’s face it, there are ugly people in this world, and it is the most difficult on women. There is something deeply wrong with how much emphasis we put on our looks.

Yet I still worry about my appearance. I will go to the grocery store wearing sweats, however I won’t go to work without wearing really nice clothes and make-up. Especially when I’m teaching.

I wonder what that is really about. I need this mask on in order to stand up in front of a bunch of people and profess what little I know. Maybe I think ‘they’ will like me better if I look ‘nicer.’

My students could care less, right? It’s me. It’s all about how I perceive myself. Sometimes I can’t act as smart when I look like shit. After all, I’m a strong feminist but I still worry about the size of my breasts and the curve of my hips. I’m not totally convinced a man will love me because I’m not the size I want to be.

I stopped caring about random men, or even men in my life. I just want one man to find me beautiful. There was a time when I wanted to be wanted by a lot of men instead of just one man. I’m too old for that now. I’m too tired to care.

Psychologists would tell me that I gained weight in order to protect myself from sexual advances from random men, and they would not be wrong. I’m uncomfortable with my body.

I told my friend the other day that when I’m around tall, thin, beautiful white women, I feel small and inferior. It’s disturbing to me. My pretty white friend told me that it was probably because they represent some ideal in our society.

I’m still a slave to this bullshit? Why am I not smarter than that? I expect more from myself. My self worth is attached to the way I look. The problem with that is, I will progressively look ‘worse’ the older I get, the fatter I get. The problems with that ideology are endless…I am not an object. I’m not a thing. I’m a whole being. If I had a burned face or covered my face with a scarf, I would still be me.

Who the fuck am I anyways? I promised myself I would not be that girl, now I’m that woman. I’m that woman who looks at other women and I compare myself to them. I envy ‘perfect’ women, young women, even though I’m not that old…yet.

I know, I know in my head that all that matters is who I am inside. But it brings tears to my eyes when feel like it’s not good enough to have a wonderful, fabulous personality. I’m not even sure I have a glamorous persona, but I do know that I have to accept this person that I am. Inside and out. There are actual people in this world who love me. Despite the size of my ass and the dark circles under my eyes.

I want to ask those people sometimes what they see in me. Why I don’t always see it is beyond me. There are times when I feel so ugly and so alone. Don’t get me wrong I have a lot of confidence. Enough to go up in front of many people and speak my mind. I can work a room at a party. But sometimes it is an act.

I think of real actresses and models, there is now a movement to allow ‘plus size’ models in mainstream modeling. In fact on the cover of Sports Illustrated’s swim suit issue, there was a woman who wears size 16. When I saw her picture in a bikini I can’t tell you how empowered I felt in that moment. But the truth is I can’t wait for society to empower me, I have to do it myself, for myself.  Yes we should all be accepting of every body shape, but that’s not going to happen. I want to stay empowered, but I fail sometimes.

You want to know something sad and disgusting? I saw a picture of Kelly Clarkston’s face and thought to myself, she sure has gained weight. I didn’t know she was in her last stage of pregnancy. I didn’t know that I am ill. And even if she wasn’t pregnant, why does she not have the right to be big and beautiful? Who am I to judge?

I see these people with their lip augmentations, a lot of Indian actresses are getting them, and wonder if I would look better with bigger lips. I’m not actually against plastic surgery if it makes someone feel better. But the real question is why do we think that surgery will cure us from the sickness of feeling inadequate? If it’s not my protruding belly, it’s my jiggly arms. THERE WILL ALWAYS BE SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY BODY.

This is a problem. This is not right. Something is very wrong with this story. This is not just my story…

We have to fight this..we have to end this. It’s about time women realize that real equality starts in our minds. We must not kill our inner selves because our outer selves are not in line with an ideal that does not exist.

What this is really about is the way I feel inferior because I’m not ‘perfect’ even though I intellectually know there is no perfect. I will not ever take a full-length picture of myself. What am I supposed to do with this self-hate?

It can’t end this way. I got to come up with something.

Maybe I chose to be writer because you can’t see me in these words. But maybe words and ideas are more important than photographs and selfies. I don’t need to be pretty for you and I don’t need to be pretty for me. Life is not a beauty pageant, and if it was I would protest it.

Because I am better. Better than that. I deserve better from myself.

I will feel better because I know better. “And when you know better, you do better,’” Maya Angelou. And like Maya I’m a phenomenal woman, that’s me.






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 February 26th, 2016  

Rain In My Head

© Fred Goldstein | Dreamstime Stock Photos

© Fred Goldstein | Dreamstime Stock Photos

I know this is a weird question, I know I’m strange but, anyways. Do you ever wonder how to live? I mean how it’s supposed to be done. I guess the question really is what are we really here to do? Today so far I’ve woken up, drank two cups of coffee, showered, and now I’m sitting at work…writing my blog because I have no clients. One of my jobs is being a writing tutor. I’m telling you this because I had a mundane morning and I feel like I might have a pointless existence.

Perhaps I’m just bored and I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s times like these when you can take a moment to take stock of your life. Did I come on this earth to tutor middle class students with writing? I also teach more middle class students in my classes how to write. I also write books on the side, books I hope that more middle class folks will buy. I use words like ‘folks.’

Am I doing a service to anyone? I’m not helping economically challenged children learn how to read and write. I’m not assisting Syrian refugees with how to learn English as a second language. There’s a whole bunch of stuff I’m not doing.

My father told me that teaching anything to anyone is ‘service.’ Perhaps. But am I doing something real, like making a difference in this world? I feel like writing this blog is the only form of real activism or something that I have the power to do. But realistically, only people who have access to computers can read this. Only people who can identify with my privilege will read this.

Sometimes I feel like I’m barely alive, that I’m not ‘living’ but going through the motions. I mean some people have kids; now that is something to live for. Raising a kid is really contributing to the world. I want kids too, but I’m worried that I will mess them up. Although there are kids that are already messed up, I mean how much more damage could I do? (I don’t want to know). It’s hard though, to you know, be a foster parent or adopt a child. Every kid is not as cool as Punky Brewster.

I want to do something real. Something I can truly be proud of. I have no idea what that could be.

Maybe you work for a car company or something and you can relate to my dilemma. I’m not suggesting we both quit our jobs and join the Peace Corps. I don’t know what I’m suggesting. Maybe even thinking about being a more useful human being is a start. Gandhi started out as a high-class lawyer.

But you and me are not Gandhi are we? We are just regular people trying to make it in the world. Trying to make ends meet. Trying to get ahead. Trying to be happy.

Is that enough? Should it be enough? We are just animals after all. All animals want is some food and a safe place to live. Every now and then they like to reproduce.

The only things that really makes us different than animals is that we can choose what to eat, where to live, and who to reproduce with. Besides that there ain’t much difference between us and them. Or is there?

We have this thing called a conscious, we are aware that we are thinking. I am aware that I have too much and do too little. The only real ‘service’ I’ve ever done is read to my blind father, but even he has talking books now.

What can I do? Why am I alive? I wish I could come to some grand conclusion that this life is just that, a life. Maybe our only job is to live it. Maybe our job is to love it, and love each other. I have to, after all this contemplation, believe the only real thing in this life is love. I do love quite a few people. I mean I really love them.

I should tell them. Or better yet, show them.

There is meaning in that. I got nothing else…I came here to love. I don’t know why you are here, but that’s my personal reason. You might have bigger and better goals; you might have more ideas and reasons to exist. Good for you.

For now I will stick to life as I know it, and when an opportunity to do something that really matters comes along, I might take. I might not. But at least I’m opening the door to think better and bigger thoughts. The rest will come when it comes.


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 February 24th, 2016  
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Where did I go?

A grassy hillside with a blue sky and puffy white clouds

A grassy hillside with a blue sky and puffy white clouds

Where did I go these last few months?

I don’t know exactly where I go when I don’t write. I go somewhere far away from myself. I wasn’t unhappy when I wasn’t writing, but I wasn’t particularly happy. I try not to stop writing, but sometimes, something overtakes me and I can’t do it anymore.

What this invisible force is that stops me from writing, may be the equal and opposite of the force that keeps me writing. Perhaps the ‘force’ has a dark side. Maybe there is even a Darth Vader that is pulling me to the other side, where I am unable to put words on a page.

Maybe I’m being a tad overly dramatic. Maybe the only force there is, is the one I have inside me. I am my own force. I make decisions and I am responsible for those decisions.

I suppose I decided not to contribute to this blog in the last few months. It was my decision, and I’m thinking it wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.

A lot has happened since I last wrote here, a lot has happened to me and to the world. I don’t have to remind you of mass shootings, and ISIS and Donald Trump. I don’t have to remind you that the weather has lost its mind. But good things have occurred as well; I just don’t remember what they are. And that is sad. Very sad.

We are bombarded by the negative in this country. Well I can name a few good things that occurred in my life. I briefly dated someone who is now a friend, a pretty good friend. I started teaching at a new college. I lost a few pounds. I turned forty. And that’s all I got.

I unfortunately didn’t run a marathon. I will most likely never run a marathon, as I consider running torcher, but I have a deep respect for those who do it.

Oh I just thought of something good happening in the world: Bernie Sanders. I predicted a long time ago that he would be good for our country. Apparently I’m not alone in this thinking. His ideology is becoming more and more popular, even for a few friends I have that are generally more to the right politically.

That is progress in my eyes.

So never mind those scary monsters in ISIS or the Donald Trump’s of the world. Forget about all that bullshit. There could be a revolution in our midst. A seventy-four year old Jew who might croak in office, is leading many young people towards a revolution.

I know I’m not young…anymore. I like to think I am, and pretend I am. But people call me Mam too much for me to ignore. Let’s focus on the good for once, let’s be young again, shall we? Let’s dance; let’s play.

There are far too many boogy men in the closet, so let’s shut the fucking door. That’s what closets are for, to shove shit into. As I write this I can only think that we need a change of perspective in this world. We need to see the glass as half full, and pretend it’s full of tequila. Life is like a margarita, you can put all the salt and sugar into it you want, and I don’t know where I was going with this but if you want a good view of the world, drink margaritas.

I’m really into this positivity movement, I mean, I don’t really know, is there a positivity movement or do I have to start one? I basically can’t really watch the news because there is rarely a good thing on there. There needs to be a positivity news station, where they only show the good news around the world. Good things don’t get enough publicity, either do good people.

I know it might sound hokey, but all this negative energy cannot be good for us. We need balance and if the pendulum needs to swing on the other side to only positivity for that to happen, than so be it. People right now think that if you want to get famous, shoot up a school or other sacred place. What if people thought, ‘hey if I want to be famous let me do something radically good!’

I know, I know, it’s a great shift in thought and culture, however we need a change, don’t we?

I will tell you some positive news. I was at Starbucks and a man cut in line in front of me by mistake. He apologized to me and my head was so lost in space I told him I didn’t even notice. Well he decided to buy my iced caramel macchiato. He told me to pay it forward. I was delighted and haven’t found a good opportunity to pay it forward yet, but I will.

I feel like life is really about how you tell your story. If you only remember how stressed you are, how you never have time for yourself and aren’t doing the things you truly love, you will be miserable. However, if you remember those small moments, like a hug from a good friend, a smile from a stranger, or even as simple as a good cup of coffee and a moment to enjoy it; you might be better off.


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 February 22nd, 2016