No Hashtags Required

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Let’s Be One Again!

How sad is it that society now has to make hashtags to let the world know we’re not okay with murder. How sad is it that our country thinks violence makes their voice heard.

If you want a change in this world you have to start with yourself.

You have to start being open minded, and most importantly you have to open your heart. We should all be proud of who we are, and we should be proud of our community, and our country.

The normal of the past is no more, and I’m sorry but we all need to just accept it.

The hate needs to stop, the pointing fingers needs to stop. One bad cop doesn’t make all cops bad. One bad black person doesn’t make them all bad.One racist white person doesn’t make all white people racist.

But, people stereotype everything now.

What makes this all worse is that the media eats it up like pudding! They show all the stories on the many shootings going on and it just glorifies the assumption that if you use violence the world is going to hear what you have to say.

Then you have all these arguments going around social media, “#bluelivesmatter, #blacklivesmatter, #allpeoplematter,” and so on.

COME ON! Do we all seriously need a huge slap in the face? Of course all lives matter! I love and respect the cops in this world. I love and accept the many races, religions, and sexualities that fill our world. I respect our soldiers, and the families that sacrifice their loved ones. I respect women, AND men. We all should!

Where has the respect gone?

I don’t want to see hashtags filling my newsfeed.

I want to see a white man holding open the door for a black man. I want to see a teenager helping their elders. I want to see two men holding hands in the park without people staring with disgust. I want to see a women getting equal pay. I want to see a five year old boy who loves his dolls and the color pink not getting singled out. I want so many things for this world.

Do you?

Would you hold my hand?




Motivation VS Stress

Lately I’ve struggled. I’ve struggled to get out of bed, or to do my laundry before I’m stuck re-wearing a shirt. Worst of all, I’m struggling to do the things I love. I haven’t picked up a book in a good month. I haven’t sat down strumming away at my keyboard to finish my short stories. And sadly enough I haven’t worked hard enough to get off the couch and spend time with my beautiful friends.


No motivation, just irritation.


I’ve felt nothing but this huge weight on my shoulders for a good two months, and it’s finally torn me down enough my knees are stuck to the ground. Stress is like this evil, continuously lurking thing, that just waits for the perfect moment to engulf you.


Stress won, for a hot minute or two.


I’ve spent the past few months wondering what needed to change. Something had to change. I couldn’t take the stress, the unhappiness. Life is stressful, I know it is for everybody. But, there is stress you choose and stress you have no control over.


My mother getting sick was out of my control. The job I had was my choice though. I chose the promotion, but what I didn’t choose was being mistreated. For a while I dealt with it. I dealt with the drama, and the unrealistic expectations they had of me. It’s embarrassing that I only lasted four months into my promotion but I wasn’t happy.


I hated going to work, and I dreaded coming back after a day off. That just wasn’t me. I’m quote on quote what some would call a workaholic. I’m the sort of person who doesn’t say no to coming in on my day off. I’m one that after a long vacation is actually ready to go back to work. Not anymore though, not there.


So, finally I took a chance after three years I began looking for a different job. And I got one. I haven’t started yet but since I put my notice in, just the thought of soon being finished has slowly changed the way I act.


I no longer get grumpy with my significant other because I have to go into work. I started this blog. I started reading again, doing crafts, planning things with my friends, and even playing with my dog more.

My advice to you is if you’re in the same spot as I was, leave.




Start over.


Find what it is making you so unhappy, and do something about it.


Whatever the case may be search for your happiness, because when you die what sort of life do you want to have left behind? A happy one filled with beautiful memories, or a miserable one filled with darkness?


Tattoos…and SpongeBob


Today I got my third tattoo. It was across my forearm of three simple words “Love you more” written in my mothers impeccable handwriting.  Originally it was supposed to also have “-Mom” below it. But, literally in the 20 minutes it took for the tattoo artist to set up, with cleaning and what not as he hummed to the creepy alternative music playing, I freakin’ changed my mind.

Changing my mind wasn’t what bothered me. The reason I changed it was.

In fact I’m very happy with having not added the tag. But sitting there, listening to his oddly on beat hum, I pictured SpongeBob. Yes, that’s right SpongeBob. Remembering the episode with the meathead who had Mom tattooed on his shoulder with a heart around it. Being eight I found it so hilarious that this character had the word mom tattooed on his body. Slowly, thoughts turned into images of others snickering and laughing at my tattoo. I panicked.

“Will I look as stupid as the meathead off SpongeBob?”

“Am I stupid to put a silly little dash with mom written next to it?”

It’s crazy how many thoughts go through your head when you’re sitting in a waiting area about to put something on your body that will forever be there. My anxiety got me, it slapped me in the face and said, “Worry! Worry about what everybody around you thinks.”

I personally hate how much I care. But, I cared.

So, when he was finally ready I quickly told him I’d changed my mind I didn’t want “-Mom”  included. And I was scared with this odd anxiety fluttering in my chest, that he was going to be angry and ask why. Then I would have to explain my stupid SpongeBob theory to him and he would think I was an idiot who was just wasting his time.

He didn’t though. He simply said okay and apologized for my wait.

Something a ‘normal’ adult would do and say.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t overthink things. Life’s too short to worry about if people will make fun of you the way I did to the meathead on SpongeBob when I was 8 years old.

I love my tattoo, and all the meaning that follows it. I couldn’t stop looking at it the rest of the evening. And looking back I feel silly for even thinking these thought in the first place. Every day I learn to worry a little less, or try to. I have to be me, and do what make me happy. And you have to be you, and not let some washed up theory pull you away.