things are just better with your shirt unbuttoned and MJ in the background, a Friday night close.

There’s something strangely honest about mopping. I like to watch the repetitive motion, my arms swinging in the controlled shape of an eight. 

It helps me think. 

I don’t know why I have been carrying such bitterness. Has it always been there or am I just now letting myself feel it? I know where it stems from, and it’s not important to mention here because they are things I can’t control. I can’t change my past or my parents or the fact that I have no money (right now). 

The “we’re proud of you”s haven’t been there as much as I needed, and the “it’s okay”s and “You’ll be fine”s won’t ever feel like enough, but they are. They have to be. I can’t change the choices I've made or that I just. don’t.like.science.
I want to be proud of myself. I want others to be proud of me, too. I don't want to be consumed by these moments of bitterness...wrapped up in what if's and tinges of regret. I've seen how that ends, and it's not good.

I have to keep me from moving forward. Even if it’s in the shape of an eight.