There was this whole drama I went through when my mom kept accusing me of being a drug addict. When she came to take me back home, my ex had told her that I’m addicted to marijuana. Probably true, but I honestly don’t think weed is bad. My mom on the other hand.. she thinks that shit is like heroine or meth or crack. Bleh.
Troy (The dude who helped me in this post: Who Keeps the Dog? Stealing Simba Back From My Crazy Ex) gave me some weed to take home, so I’ve been smoking a pinch of weed each night at my apartment to help calm my stress nerves.
Oh yeah! I moved into my new place! I’m almost settled, and it makes me feel somewhat stable. So much so that I feel like I’m in the clear to smoke now. Afterall, marijuana is legal in California. *wink* don’t tell my mom though seriously.
The only thing keeping me off-kilter now is my pending immigration interview with an immigration officer and my ex. My mom wants me to go through with it. I don’t. Decisions, decisions.
I’m still broke…and hemorrhaging money everyday. Just my car alone, going back and forth seeing Simba (my dog) from my place to Troy’s. I guess it could be worse.
The important thing is that I have my own spot now, that’s truly mine in a drama-free environment. After a year and a half of struggling, either couch-surfing or living with a fuckboy, I finally have MY OWN APARTMENT AGAIN. Roommates, whatever. It’s a great feeling, and if I wanna smoke a bit, fuck it.
I was smoking a cigarette on my balcony, gazing around my neighborhood. I was listening to an ad for Walmart of Target or something on YouTube, and realized the song was pretty good. It was one of those feel-good, optimistic, dreamy slow songs. While listening to it, I noticed the door open from one of the apartments across the street. A man holding a bright pink shopping bag walked out, and a woman was saying her goodbyes. They embrace. He follows her a bit back in, it seemed like he had something to say. I see a three-year-old kid, only wearing a diaper, happily jumping up and down on the couch behind the opened door. The man said bye to the kid, and that was it. The door closed, and I watched as he went down the stairs, walking away on the sidewalk with his pink shopping bag, checking his phone. I don’t know. It’s interesting to watch people.
I’m learning more things about myself, why I act the way I do. I think about whether or not I should change. All my life, since I was a kid, I’ve looked at guys like a conquest or a crutch. Ever since I was 12-years-old, my mind had always been wrapped around boys. Whether it was boy bands, school crushes, boyfriends, hookups, or dare I say–FUCKINGhusbands– I always prioritized it. That’s bad.
I managed to get by in my own life while being boy-crazy the whole time. Seems like my life is number two, while boy life and my romantic happily ever after was number one. Or perhaps being involved with someone else helped keep me in balance. I don’t know.
What do I want though? I had a lot of time to think about it.
I want to be recognized. I want to make a difference. I want to be respected career-wise. I want to be rich and successful and happy on my own. No man. To me, that is the ultimate dream. After I feel like I’ve reached this point, then perhaps that would be the time to consider something serious…
But how can I stop my feelings? Sometimes, I wish I had the ability to turn my emotions on and off like in The Vampire Diaries. Maybe only when it comes to the opposite sex. AH, a girl can dream right?
Homegirl Confessions 