As a twenty-something feminist cat-enthusiast one year out of a six-year journey of earning a bachelor’s degree, blogging about what’s next just seems like the right thing to do.
I’m learning how to play ukelele, very, very slowly. I try to sing like everyone’s listening, though, as an out-of-practice community theater reject and a Led Zeppelin cover band vocalist, I’m not sure my neighbors appreciate being in the audience. I don’t have a lot of patience, but I am learning to edit my ideas to fit the size of this world. I am desperate to travel to new places, towns, forests, and countries, but like some young people in my situation, I don’t have a clue when any of it will be in the realms of financial possibility. I like the red and green Sourpatch Kids, but not the yellow and orange ones. Your holiday present will most likely be a simply stitched, warm scarf made by your’s truly (which you will receive at least three months after said holiday partially because your’s truly is both a Sagittarius and an ENFJ). I’ve recently added “wannabe-yogi” to my long-list of identifying features, in hopes that one day my body will feel wonderful inside and out. I care about issues surrounding the plight of stigmatized, minority communities and sub-communities therein, so if your plan is to splash hate all over my comments section, then please read carefully: Fuck off. That being said, I am learning about how my position as a white, cisgender person in a relationship with another white cisgender person of the opposite sex is one I will need to deconstruct and un-learn if I am going to be able to appreciate that plight. I was named after my paternal grandmother, who I’m told was a lovely lady. Our name means ‘beautiful flower’.