Because I Might Be a Little Bit Insane...

I'm participating in NaNoWriMo. 

I'm nuts.

Wish me luck.

Meow.

Fake-Life vs. Real-Life

In fake-life,  I own a  type-writer in a lovely shade of teal. Also, I write letters using it. Everyday.

In real-life, I write letters on a computer. Or I hand write them. I don't have a teal typewriter or know if they actually can come in that color.

In fake-life, I own every shade of tights possible. 

In real-life, my favorite black tights have a hole in them. It's problematic.

In fake-life, I have a cat named Reginald, who curls up next to my when I read.

In real-life,  I have a dog named Joey who doesn't actually like me all that much. It's fine.

In fake-life, I have a boyfriend who wears oxfords & button down shirts. He sends me love letters by post with cute stamps & they're handwritten. Also, he likes surprising me, & he writes poetry. Sometimes he kisses my nose & tells me I'm cute when I smirk.

In real-life, I'm 18 and have never been kissed.

Today I Feel Nostalgic...

I'm 17 for a moment, then it all disappeared. Poof! Gone. 

Now I'm 18, for real.

A birthday cake with 18 candles, one that kept re-lighting itself, and dripping blue wax onto the perfectly ivory frosting. A few envelopes with wishes and curly signatures. Songs of joy and well-wishing, songs of smelling like a princess because my little brothers think they are the funniest people alive. Sugar rushes and falling to the ground, laughing at the bottom of the stairs just because we can. Sitting on the floor for an hour just thinking, because it's my birthday and I wanted too. Imagining life as it is, and as it will be.

And to think I'm officially 18 and I've never been kissed.

Dear Whomever You Might Be,

Sometimes I write letters to people I know.

Only I never send them, on account of they will probably get mad, or cry, or become anxious and stop talking to me. Or they will just leave me, and that's the worst choice of them all.

I guess writing those letters gets things off my mind, keeps me sane, if you will.

Because no one will ever read them, no one will know what they say, no one will read the much too long sentences and see the spelling errors that I can't fix because I wrote in pen. And no one will leave me because I wrote him/her a letter.

And if anyone sees them? Well, they won't because I keep that notebook hidden and no one will ever think of where to find it. And if by chance someone did find it, I don't write the names of whomever I'm writing to. So it wouldn't really matter anyway, I guess. 

I don't even know why I'm posting this. 

My life is a mess.

Forever Yours,

Rachel