Take a bite of my heart tonight.

Seriously considering some things.

Like taking a hip hop class. Or boxing. Or both. I have a lot of aggression to get out… I dance in my room and in clubs… so why not take it up a notch? I can move, so why not have a little direction? And I miss performing with people. It feels good to dance, so good. It’s a form of self expression I happen to like a lot. I used to take boxing in college and I loved it more than life. So much aggression. And I was good at it. Good for stress relief, good for my body.

Seriously considering taking a civilian contracting job overseas with the Army where I get to relocate every few months. Preferably in mental health. I see it this way: I’m young, I have absolutely nothing tying me down, and I want to see the world. Preferably for free. Also I want my loans paid off. I grew up with military people so I know the deal. I worked with some active duty and vets for 2 years before coming to New York. I’m good with change and moving. I was raised that way. I work well with trauma. I was raised that way too. I got this.

Suing my ex-roommate. You can’t fucking take my money and get away with it. I don’t care if you have a J.D. All the more fun to nail you to the wall with. Makes for a much more entertaining party story. I already have a process in mind and I gave her until Friday to contact me. No contact initiates the following: Address service on our old address to get her new one, submitting a request for mediation to the court, she doesn’t show? initiates filing a claim in civil court, for $25 I can sue the shit out of her, I win, I collect the money. Which is a process in and of itself. I’ll fucking get my money though. I hire a Marshall or some such nonsense if she doesn’t comply, they get $50 and I get my goddamn money. I have it all mapped out. She can suck it. No one does dirt to me and gets away with it. I am one vengeful bitch. I like that about myself.

Moving on.

Seriously considering making and selling jewelry. Because it makes my heart happy. And because I "make" a lot of my own things now and people ask me where I got them. I was on Etsy the other day and was like, damn, I could do that. Easy. I like making things. I have all this creative energy and it’s currently only going into paintings and drawings that hang on my wall. Why not share the love.

Asking out the guy in the deli. He’s a super sexy latino who flirts with me every time I go there. Enough flirting. Life is too short for that shit.

Bueno.

Ditching the Halloween sex toy party and going to see the Neon Trees instead. I very much love their album, which I discovered last night, and I think it would make my life a little more complete if I saw them live. I have been getting more excited about music lately and I want to take advantage of this reclaimed passion. I love music. I want to be in love with it again. I want to be in love with my life again. Do all the things that make me so happy. I did have that one time. For a brief, shining moment in college. All parts of me aligned and the world was beautiful for about a year. I danced, I painted, I rocked out, I excelled academically and socially. I was me. Fully me. I’d like that back.

I want to be free like my crazy neighbor. Only without the crazy. He likely has schizophrenia. He is more in touch with these creative, beautifully expressive parts of himself than anyone I’ve ever known. He has this sort of display in his apartment window that changes every few days, usually involving some sort of religious paraphernalia, flowers, museum pamphlets, and take out containers. Some ass recently threw a rock then an egg through his window leaving a fist sized hole in it. The day after this happened, he put the flowers he had in the window through the hole, creating this fucking masterpiece of old timey photos and take out containers he’d written RICE BALLS on in large red letters, with this drippy egg beneath the flowers. He embraced the chaos in his world. That’s what I think I love the most. And he continues to blast the musical stylings of Celine Dion and the Temptations at all hours of day and night. Which are of course now amplified thanks to the local delinquents. I see him on the train sometimes. And he is truly free. Crazy as a bed bug. But free. I think we’re all a fewbad situations away from being just like him anyway. He is himself with every fiber of his being. I admire that. I’m looking forward to becoming that. I’m told it happens when you hit 30. Sudden realization and acceptance of all that makes you you. And then at 40 you master the universe. Knowing your purpose, what it is you will and will not do in your life, letting go and embracing dreams. Peace with yourself. Or so I’m told.

Come on 40…