I started this site at a time in my life that is vastly different from where I am now. I wanted it to be a portfolio for later, full of ramblings of my somewhat over-active mind. I think that was 2 years ago now? Maybe 3. And I haven’t really written much down since then. I know no one reads this, but I do, and I kinda shit the bed with this one. Blah blah blah and a few years of therapy later, I live in LA now and I have a job that I should be working my ass off to keep, but I just sort of lost interest. It’s a talent agency working closely with all these insanely cool producers and directors and I lasted 6 months before giving my 2 weeks notice last Friday. Once again, back to square one I guess.  

not really anything

I get so frustrated with myself when I’m not writing. My mind just shuts down and decides to not even think about it for a while. And then whenever I do sit down to write nothing seems good enough. So, here’s this, for now. It’s not really writing. But, it is a post I think I need to make to just remind me that I am still able to. Give me a day or two, y’all.

Fairytale Endings and Bad Gal Riri

One of my best friends in the world is a 4 year old girl whom I lovingly call, “Bad Gal Riri,” because, obviously, she reminds me of a tiny Rihanna. She is currently in the foster care system, so for privacy purposes, I am not going to use her actual name in this article; instead, I’ll just refer to her as Bad Gal Riri the whole time. Now, Bad Gal Riri is entering the point in her childhood where she is figuring out that, yes, she DOES want to be a princess when she grows up. It’s the phase of childhood as a little girl that I revisit the most in my head. The dresses and costume heels with plastic jewelry. The, “You be Belle and I’ll be Snow White.” It is all full of magic and happily ever after; it is wonderful in every sense of the word. Well, the other day, after watching Beauty and the Beast for

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4 am

I lie awake at 4am with one leg tucked under the heated blanket and the other resting bare on the cold side of the bed. My eyes are closed but I can still visualize every speck of light that wanders into my room each night. On the corner of the ceiling by the door is the tiny green light of the smoke detector, blinking at its slow, fixed pace. There is light from the moon faintly shining through the blinds covering my windows and an old nightlight in my bathroom that I can still see reflecting off the floor when the door is closed. I hear the faint hum of the laundry machine a few rooms away and the sounds of people sporadically turning in their beds upstairs. I want to sleep. I want to sleep but as soon as my head hits the pillow, my mind goes into every dark hole it can find and it stays there until tears fall from my

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