doused in mud, soaked in bleach.

I am in a strange place. I have been rereading old blog posts, waxing nostalgic about how unbelievably clever and quick I used to be, and it’s a truly peculiar feeling. I’m reading posts like┬áthis, and I think, “Hey, she’s funny! Hey, she’s ME!” But then I have to remind myself that what comes through…

of course.

Well you didn’t wake up this morning Because you didn’t go to bed You were watching the whites of your eyes Turn red The calendar on your wall is ticking the days off You’ve been reading some old letters You smile and think how much you’ve changed All the money in the world Couldn’t buy…

i don’t need to sell my soul.

I don’t want to write this post. I don’t want to be melodramatic about this, but if I’m not (and where better else than the internet?), then I’m afraid I won’t change. I’m tired of beating myself up over how I look. Even before I got pregnant, but especially during and now constantly after, it’s…