This post is not about being sad. It is about being happy, despite the first 246 words.

OH, readers.  And my mom.  I wish every time I sat down to write something for My Life After Purchase, I was happy, overjoyed with the promise of the literary greatness I am bound to achieve, words flowing from the poor keyboard I type on far too viciously.  Don’t we all wish that?

But alas, it is not so.

And that’s okay.  I’m alright with not being happy all the time.  I actually struggled with that for a weird portion of my life.  I had this complex where I didn’t think I had the right to be upset, disappointed or sad, because there were people who wish they had my life and would give anything for it, so who was I to demand more than I already had?  Heck there were people in my home town who I had it better than.  Though that mentality forced me to be positive a lot, when I needed to be sad, when my my body said fuck. this. and completely let go, it was not pretty.  With a little help, I came to the conclusion that I matter as do my emotions.  They don’t always make sense, but they are mine.  I can be the best me I can possibly be, and there will sometimes be sad.

And that’s okay.

I just needed to get that out of the way.  I really needed to write it.  Felt good to type out, and feels even better to share it.  Thanks.

It leads me to what was supposed to be the point of this post, that I’m trying to be the best me.  Finally.  After a long time of hoping and wishing for it to happen on its own, I’m making physical steps to improve myself.  I did want to wait until I had some more results to post about it, but it’s such a large part of who I am right now and I’d like it to continue, so I feel the need to talk about it.

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Snacking on a NatureBox

"Oh Tim Cook, you're so funny!"

“Oh Tim Cook, you’re so funny!”

Late Monday night, after a long weekend away, I returned home, exhausted, set down my bags and romped with my cat and dog for a few minutes.  On the dining room table was lots of mail addressed to me. The least interesting of which was the first issue of my subscription to Bloomberg Businessweek.  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I did not sign up for that.

Slightly more interesting was finally receiving my diploma.



I graduated from SUNY Purchase in May with a B.A. in journalism, but the Residence Life department and I stayed in contact this whoooole summer, as their parting gift to me was an outrageous charge to my account for some garbage not thrown out of my on-campus apartment.  As it turns out, I had bought these little stilts for my loft bed to make it even loftier and I left them under the bed posts.  WHOOPS.  The charge was still insane though, and once it was lowered to a more reasonable price, I finally paid up and was sent my diploma, which they had been holding ransom.

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