it's complicated

when I was into boys, just boys,

life was easy.

a series of make believe crushes I convinced myself to have,

so that I could be like the others.

And then a real crush,

a does-he-like-me crush

a fall-asleep-thinking-of-his-face crush.

But he 

just wanted to be friends 

and I

had read enough chapters of He’s Just Not That Into You

sitting in a neglected corner of that bookstore in Seattle

to know that I

deserved someone who wanted me back.

Then I fell

into something new

a pool

of fluidity.

My relationship to my sexuality,

shifting, changing, transforming into something

I still don’t have a label for.

now 'it's complicated'
is the subheading
to my life.

I have an email problem

My first email alias was squirelgirl94. That was a long time ago, back in the days when I didn't know that 'squirrel' had two 'r's. Now, I am wiser and have Gmail instead of Aol. Go team. And yet. 

I am afraid of my email inbox.

This is not my fault. Well, it kind of is. But how was I to know as I scrawled my email address on fleeting clipboards that all the newsletters would eventually pile up around me in terrifying piles of electronic space? It  always seemed so harmless to type in a few characters and hit that promising subscribe button. If I had known it would lead to this, I might have been more discerning.

You can just unsubscribe, Alex. It's simple, really.

Yeah but... even that seems unspeakably daunting. I have 1,007 emails right now about about 25 more every day. I don't know how many e-newsletters I'm on the list of. But what if I unsubscribe and then miss something important? Those newsletters are a part of my identity. I could be an up-to-date-on-the-state-of-the-world person if I read everything that came into my inbox every day. If I let them keep coming, I have the chance to be that person.

A part of me knows that I'll never read all the emails I get. I'm deluding myself. But I want to be someone who isn't afraid of all the unread emails. Maybe one day, I will be.

Maybe.

"nobody likes me but I really like to cry"

Today wasn't a bad day. Not exactly. It was, however, a day when random frustrating moments made me cry. Like having my bus drive away as I stood just a few feet away from the bus stop. Or calling the dentist to book an appointment for my wisdom teeth extraction, something I'm really not excited about, and having the receptionist tell me there is nothing available until May 17th.*

(on a side, you think I would be happy about this because it just gets put farther off and it's not like I'm stoked to have my mouth anesthetized and cut open but I was displeased for two reasons: a) I'm turning nineteen on May 10th and will no longer be covered by insurance for such tooth extractions and b) I really should have booked this appointment two weeks ago after my consultation like my mom asked me to.)

So I cried. I also realized I haven't cried in a while. That's one of the weird things about me and crying. I feel like I go through phases wherein I either cry every day or I don't cry at all. We'll see how the next week goes.

The thing is, though, I don't see crying as an inherently bad thing. I know my mom hates it, and it's not like it's a super attractive thing but I generally feel better after. I've read articles about how crying releases mood leveling hormones and blah blah blah. While this may or may not be true, I just feel better afterwards. Is that weird? Probably. Yet there's something so relieving about letting go, whether it's in the form of a couple tears or a minor sob fest on your bed, after which you can wipe off any smudged eyeliner and get on with your life.

*She has since called back with an appointment for me. April 30th. Strangely, I think this is the one year anniversary of my first experience with wisdom tooth extraction. What a great way to celebrate a horrible experience!

***blog title quote from The Con by Tegan and Sara***

tea (feel free to not read this) (this is not Lemony Snicket bullshit I'm serious)

I really love tea. It is a very rare case that I will turn down a cup. I'm sure there was a time when tea wasn't a huge part of my existence but I can't remember it very well. I'd kind of like to go back to that moment when I become a Tea Drinker and take a snapshot. But maybe it happened gradually. Most things do. A cup here, a travel mug there. Just socially, you know. Before it became a full scale addiction, a don't-talk-to-me-before-I've-had-my-tea type of problem.*

Problem? Did I say problem? I didn't mean that. What could be problematic about a warm hug in a mug?

I can't believe I just wrote that and yet I can't bring my finger to erase it. It stays. Maybe I should rename my blog, "Warm Hug in a Mug." That would attract the interwebs, I'm sure. At this rate, I don't really want attention but if I did, I now know how to attain it. Cheesy rhymes and tea rambles.

Day Four of BEDA: The day you collapse into a heap of nothingness and start rambling about tea. And then plead that you have to go to sleep and disappear mysteriously into the fog.

*disappears mysteriously into the fog*

What am I doing with my life?

*I'm not actually like that. Really.

A letter to my past self

About a month ago, a book fell into my lap at the exact moment that I needed it. It's called The Letter Q and it's a collection of letters that queer writers have written to their younger selves. My sister had gotten it out of the library and so I started reading a letter or two when I was upset or just had a free moment. I didn't get to read them all before it had to be returned but it helped. I'll borrow it again some time and finish soaking in the loveliness.

Inspired by that, and with the theme of my post on the 1st about having this blog for over five years, I present a letter to young Alex.

***

Dear Younger Me,

I want you to let go of that vision you have of yourself at eighteen, driving a convertible around in no particular direction with your long, straight hair blowing in the wind. Let it go right now because it's never going to happen. This is because halfway through being eighteen you decide to chop your hair off and leave it in a plastic bag in your closet for six months (sorry, Maddy!).

The main part will be fulfilled. You will drive a convertible, your hair will blow in the wind when you're not restraining it with a hat and you will be on a grand adventure. It will not be a spontaneous joy ride--it will be a trip from point A to point B, from Away to Home. But this will be better because 1. you are in love with the feeling of coming home, almost as much as you love the feeling of heading away on a journey and, 2. joy riding is an inexcusable way to emit carbon.

What I'm trying to say that it won't turn out how you planned. You have to try to be okay with that. Learn to love it. I know you're that kid who organizes the children's paperbacks at the library by author and series but sometimes the librarians don't have time to keep up with you and other kids aren't as astute and you're going to have to deal with that.

This goes for people, too. You probably haven't read Paper Towns yet but I'll give you a preview: "Just remember that sometimes the way you think about a person isn't the way they actually are." The thing about people is that they are complex. Duh. You get this feeling sometimes when you're sitting in traffic or overlooking a moving crowd. Everyone is going somewhere different and they all have problems and unique things that make them smile and you will never know all of their stories. The sooner you figure out how to apply this wonder to the people nearest you, the better.

You will never know what it is like to be anyone but you. Right now, you enjoy this. You are working so hard to distinguish yourself from everyone else that you forget that everyone is just as unique as you. Don't worry about this fact diminishing your personal identity. There is enough room for everyone. I promise.

Eventually, you'll get to a place where you can be a part of a group without surrendering yourself. You'll loosen up your expectations of people and you won't be so disappointed all the time. Sometimes, you'll be surprised by how unexpectedly awesome people (and the world) can be. Once you let go of those plans you've been clutching in your white knuckled fists, you'll leave so much more space for other fantastic things to fall into your palms.

For example, that convertible I told you that you'd be driving at eighteen? It's a freaking Smart Car. (How cool is that?!)

Love always,
You from the future

Toms season

I felt pretty jazzed this morning as I skipped to my bus stop wearing my stained, worn, holey Toms. The soles are slowly disappearing from wandering all down the West Coast and back. The heels are a little folded and looser than they once were. Yet I had that feeling of success that I was going out without needing a hardcore tread to keep from slipping. I'm not even wearing socks.

I remember the last day I wore my Toms in November. It had snowed that night but I wasn't ready to let go yet. Then I had to cross the train tracks climb a gravelly hill out of a parking lot. Spoiler: I made it up without falling. Still, it was a little iffy a few moments and I knew it was time. I put my olive green shoes in the shoe bin and exchanged them for a pair of boots that made everyone ask me if I was taller.

After a solid weekend of lying in the sunshine and walking from one end of town to another wearing a tank top, my feet feeling claustrophobic and sweaty inside my leather boots, I decided to revisit the shoe bin. I can't get over how great it is to not have to hunt for two clean socks in the morning. Not being as tall is a little disappointing but it's worth it for the lightness my feet feel with every step.

I just hope it doesn't snow again.

a simple post

I know I don't know you. And even if I do, I don't really know you. I don't know what you eat for breakfast or what song you've been listening to on repeat most recently or what you think about in the shower. I don't know what unexpected thing made you smile today and I don't know what you're most looking forward to. I don't even know that anyone is going to read this at all.

For that reason, among others, it's hard for me to explain why exactly I've been posting things to this blog for the past five years. Yeah. Five years. My first post is dated March 12th, 2008. Back then, I wrote about Twilight and what an excellent procrastinator I was. Thank god my taste in books has evolved, if nothing else.

Five years. I still can't get over that. Today was not unlike one I probably would have experienced at thirteen, however. I slept until 10:30, the first time I've managed to sleep in all week, and then stayed in bed for most of the day reading a book (Why We Broke Up by Daniel Handler). I feel like starting and finishing a book in one day is something I did more when I was thirteen but I could be wrong. 98% of the posts I wrote in 2008 were about Twilight so I don't really want to go back there and poke around. I should probably take some of those posts down but there's something appealing to me about leaving them for the world to see. I am a person who legitimately loved Twilight for at least eight months and I am not ashamed of that. Okay, maybe I'm a little ashamed of it, but not enough to make my blog posts private.

This way, you can see how I've developed as a person, right? A ton of stuff about me has changed in five years. For example, most of my cells have replaced themselves. In two more years, I will be made up of a completely different arrangement of cells--nothing will be the same. Since 2008, I've written two novels, a screenplay and countless poems. I've fallen in love. I've travelled the West Coast of the United States. I've won a poetry slam. I've played music at an open mic. I've hosted a Philosophers' Cafe. I've been to a wedding. I've jumped off a telephone pole. Most importantly, I've stopped believing Twilight is the pinnacle of young adult literature.

I'm irrevocably grateful for that last one.

It's nice to have some written evidence that I have grown. I'm evolving as a person--check my blog for proof. And even though I don't really know you, reader (at least not in the same way that you know me, if you read this blog), I plan to keep writing. Maybe I'll figure out some more reasons why in the next five years.