i’ve been pretty low this week, with a steep drop off yesterday. why do i drive a truck for a living? no, why do i STILL drive a truck for a living? what am i doing with my life? why do i feel so stuck? why am i in reality so stuck? where do i see myself in three years (when i turn 40)?

i feel very isolated. i AM physically isolated, in the truck, on the road. the nature of the job is drive, sleep, repeat. the absolute most i ever know how far in advance i’ll be is four days ahead, but i often don’t know where i’ll be tomorrow. or even later the same day. that’s just the nature of the job and how trips are assigned (a “trip” is the journey between shipper to consignee, usually). it’s adventurous. as it pertains to the job and my day-to-day life on the road, it doesn’t bother me. but it makes me feel more isolated from people because they don’t understand that that’s the way it works.

i’m tired. i want to quit this. i want to go home. i want to go hit the slopes, learn to snowboard. i want to throw myself into the next stage of my life. this was only ever supposed to be a bridge. i wasn’t supposed to get good at it. comfortable in it. six years in it. stuck.

ten things.

hi, friends. i’m here again.

i never wanted to leave. every year when my payment renewed for this site, i thought, “another year. when will i write again? will it be worth reading? was anything i wrote before worth reading, or was i just self-absorbed? my diary is enough. i write in my diary. i don’t need to write where people will see.”

i still don’t know what i have to say here. i’m just trying to break the dam.

so let me start with a writing prompt. this is from laura tremaine of 10thingstotellyou. her prompt this month is “ten pieces of unsolicited advice.”

my ten pieces of unsolicited advice:

  1. read. books.
    listening to them counts. articles, tweets, and podcasts are not books. read books.
  2. take pictures of things that mean something to you.
  3. keep a diary of sorts.
    if you’re not a ~diary person~ then just use your notes app. type out the things that stay in your mind.
  4. work on your inner self.
  5. make lists of your boundaries and standards for relationships. update it, but make no exceptions.
  6. cry.
  7. do things alone, even if all you can think is how much you wish you weren’t doing them alone.
  8. make your spaces homey. this is more important the less you like where you are.
  9. love.
  10. your period can never ruin black underwear, and black is always sexy.


february 15, 2021.

i haven’t written here in years. i can’t begin to sum up how life has changed since then.

and how in so many intimate ways, it hasn’t.

i live in wyoming now. until this week, it’s been an unsettlingly mild winter here. i’m sitting on my purple velvet couch with a fireplace playing on the tv and spotify going on my little retro-looking boom box in the bedroom. i have peppermint tea and luxurious pajamas. it’s -14ºf outside with a feels-like temp of -35. wyoming is so rugged and brutal, and i connect with its bitter rawness somewhere deep. i don’t know if this is my forever-home, but i tell everybody it is.

for the last seven years, i’ve felt so full of things to say that it all just jams the drain and nothing gets out. and over and over, i think i convey myself clearly, and learn that i haven’t. so i took a chance with that twice in the last two weeks. i got the words out. a friend told me, “good job on communicating and opening up!!!” because he knew how hard and conflicting it was for me. but my body reacted with shivering and sobbing both times from the unfamiliarity of being so forthright and vulnerable. people who have known me for years don’t know just how nostalgic, sentimental, and downright mushy i am. so i showed everybody this week by sharing a lot of sappy and romantic and poetic posts i had saved on instagram. i used valentine’s day as an excuse to do it; i could go back to keeping that side secreted away. i don’t think i’m supposed to.

i have fought everything. i fought myself. i ran

until i ran out of run.

now i’m standing here.


for what happens next.