fucks.

You’re born with a ton of fucks to give, so you spend them like a kid with a credit card. You give fucks about your friends, about your grades, about your fashion sense, about strangers’ opinions. You give way too many fucks about way too many things. You have so many. Then, as you get older, you have maybe 10 fucks per month, so you learn to budget them. You allocate fucks to family and career, but there aren’t enough fucks to give to the newest fads. Oh, someone at work has something they need my help with that’s outside my job title? I’ll do my best to allocate some fucks, but this month is pretty tight. Then, as you get even older, you’re down to 1-2 fucks per month, and those fucks are pretty damn precious. You give them to your family and your hobbies and your job, and that’s kinda it. It’s not your fault – fucks expire too quickly. I would’ve liked to save my fucks from when I was younger but I can’t. Then, you hit fuck insolvency. You’re getting like 1 fuck a year, and you have to make it last. So you go without, and even previously fuck-worthy things, you just can’t give a fuck. Some people run out really quickly, Some people have a fuck trust fund that pays out a decent amount even into old age. But at some point, the fuck faucet runs completely dry and you’re out of fucks to give. It’s just basic Fuckonomics.

regressive.mobility.

I want to go back to a time when I knew you. I wish I could have back the days that I would wake up next to you. I hurled insults when I was angry, like everyone does, but I want those words back. Turn back the clock and I promise to cherish every minute of our time together, wasting not even one second on my frustrations. I would have no frustrations. I would accept your distant mind just the way it is without question and consider it's shared presence a gift. I want to hug you again. I want you to nibble on my knuckle, blow your breath on it, then sniff it. You always made me giggle when you'd do such silly things as that. But, alas, the life I knew then barely resembles my life now. The faces I see each day have changed. The music I listen to, the foods I eat, the clothes I wear, even the car I drive; all have evolved. The only thing that remains the same is how much I love you. I have a new lover. He is devilishly handsome. He shares my spiritual beliefs and has many of the same talents as me. Sex with him is passionate and he makes me feel sexy. He truly loves me, and that's why I feel guilt for loving you still. He deserves all of me. I deserve to give him all of me. If you could turn back the hands of time I'd have quite a predicament, trying to decide whether I should allow my heart to evolve or regress. Fortunately, life doesn't afford us stagnant or regressive mobility. Our behaviors, however resistant, will only propel us toward our destiny. However, it's our choice whether we suffer by wasting time thinking of what 'could have been' or let go and float peacefully in the knowledge that the universe will place us at the same finish line we were always going land on anyway. It hurts to let you go but I must. You are forgiven as I too long to be forgiven. You are loved. We are free. Goodbye.

lights.camera.ella

Lacy, Toby, and Ella getting ready for the storm, we got a truck and heading for Mississippi and then Dallas. Time is running out and military everywheres and no one on the street. We weren't going to go? Ella was never coming back she said. She had already lost everything in Hurricane Katrina, including her mind. Jobs in New Orleans for the last three years have been a means to know where and slow. Miss Ella has to be going some where and slow is not her style. Lights, camera...Ella. And life in the ninth ward as Bywater Barbie in the mardi gras was aging her. Patron on ice please sir. Mike it a double. (written by Joshua Jones as he made plans to escape the hurricane in The Gulf and escape the life he knew too well.)

change.

The night groans in agony, victim to life's inevitable growing pains. Nearly all of those that once grounded me to happiness and stability have been scattered like the leaves of Autumn. Some only left my sight while others left the safety of these city walls, finding solace in lands far away. Then some have been snuffed out of this world completely, leaving survivors like myself to mourn in a quandary over what lies beyond the only life we've known. I will adjust. I always do. For what else can one do but accept that the only constant is change?

me.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/newu1671/80-signs-youre-an-intj-cz0z

dreamboat.

He’s perfect. He is everything I wished for in a mate. He is dark, mysterious, sexy, masculine, intelligent, stoic, peaceful, and soft spoken when necessary. Then he knows the perfect time to turn on the dominating aggression and take charge of any situation. He loves his family and he steers clear of drama unless a loved one is involved. He will cross oceans to mend a broken friend. He took a bullet for our country. He was ready to give up the only life he would ever have on Earth to protect the freedom of Americans from terrorists. But in spite of how perfect he is as my mate, he isn’t my mate. He’s just perfectly him. Yet he doesn’t see his perfection or even his worth. Something has broken his spirit beyond my comprehension, forcing his thoughts to grow so dark that he struggles to see any light in tomorrow’s sunrise. I want to scoop up his broken pieces, and hold them tightly in my arms until he fuses back together. But I don’t know how. I don’t even think I can. If only he could see what the rest of the world sees when they look at him. We see perfection. He’s a dreamboat … lost at sea.

The problem with most people nowadays is that they look for validation over appreciation, lust over love, looks over beauty, sex over shared life, advantage over opportunity, hate over understanding, and they would rather let you down than help you up. It is all about falling in love with yourself and sharing that love with those who appreciate you, rather than looking for love to compensate for self love deficit. (Facebook post by Alec Southerland)