beware the jub jub bird and shun the frumious bandersnatch

Well, fuck me. I guess there's this thing where we always want what we feel we can't have. For the past almost 10 months we've been not-a-thing, but kind-of-a-thing. Recently it's picked back up again and, fuck it, I do like you (more than I would admit before). Introducing you to a few of my friends just sealed the deal, but for the first time you're backing off. I didn't even realize how much it would bother me, but you left your fucking baseball cap on my chair. I see it every time I walk in the house, and I won't move it. I don't really know why, just that I'm being a stubborn asshole. I'd like to say I don't know why you're backing off, but I can't blame you for it after I did it to you (twice - three times?) You already know the story with me - I really don't want to get fucked over again, but I guess that's not how this works. I guess if you want something great you gotta open yourself up to be screwed. It wouldn...

Right after I broke up with my first boyfriend, my mom took me to get my nails done in an attempt to put an end to my intense moping session. As I sat there struggling to maintain a conversation, I noticed the renewal date on the nail tech's license: November 20th. His birthday. It sent me for more of a loop than I care to admit, put a sick pit in my stomach, just another thing to bring him to the front of my mind when I was trying so desperately to shove him to the back. Time changes things. Today, he's so far in the back of my mind, I didn't even remember that today was his birthday until it popped up on Facebook. But now I have a new birthday to dread: March 21st, which should be just another fucking day, but I know I'll wonder what you're doing, how you're celebrating, if you're happy. And I wonder if you'll wonder the same things when my summer birthday rolls around, or if you'll even remember June 30th. They say when you move far from hom...

Last night, I went out for happy hour with a friend. We split fried cauliflower and chicken nachos with sour cream. I drank a few beers. I went home and changed into my favorite pair of waffle-knit lounge leggings. Several years ago, I never would have worn something that fit so closely to my body, especially after eating. But last night, I didn't think about the food sitting in my stomach. I didn't sit on my floor and try to figure out how I would restrict my intake the next day to make up for what I ate. I didn't empty my stomach into the toilet and find relief in the burning in my throat. I did look at myself in the mirror for a minute. Sometimes, I still get stuck in front of the mirror the way I used to. But what I see is different. I turned to the side and looked at my stomach, my legs, my hips. None of it was what you'd see in a magazine; I'm not perfectly toned or tiny or a "waif." But I look strong. Kickboxing and running have shaped my muscle...

I don't even know how I ended up back here. Actually, I do. Typical Chelsea - starting a post out with a lie! To be honest I didn't even think this blog would still exist. I figured if I typed in the URL, some 404 error would pop up and I'd find a "sorry, this blog no longer exists because it's ancient" message. That made me a little sad, to think of all those words I'd written and read and reread, just lost somewhere on the internet. So in the middle of the world's most boring class on taxation, I typed it in. It felt SO silly. Self-indulgent. Completelystaged - who even WAS I back then? It's been 6 or 7 years since my last post. Can you (rhetorical you, as I know this site has long since dropped off the planet) even believe that? I don't even live on the same side of the country any more. There's so much - too much - to ever catch up on. That being said, this blog was the greatest fucking gift I could have ever given to my...