For almost as long as I can remember, my mom has joked that I do everything “the Julie way.” What she means is that I somehow find the most difficult, roundabout, bass-ackwards way of doing just about anything. But I get it done, damn it. And in the end, isn’t that what matters? Oh, sure, it would have been easier to not have put that bookshelf together upside down the first time, but I eventually got it right. And I appreciate that fucking bookshelf all the more, because it took me twice as long to build it.
Sometimes I let the following thought slide across my brain: What are you doing with your life? Is this it? Is this really the place you figured you’d end up? And I worry, and sometimes hang my head, because it’s so easy to think that I failed myself. But that’s also bullshit. I just took the long way ’round. Never in a million years did I think I’d be here – physically, emotionally, whateverally. And yet: here I fucking am.
I like it here.
I’d like to stay for awhile.
the sloppy copy 