Two Years

I guess sometimes in the past I’ve been a bit of a big ol’ complainer.

A real grumpus wumpus, if you will

I’ve written about the reasonable and calm and silly observations I’ve made about people other, less calm and collected individuals might rant about. If this blog is anything, it’s a serene, arcane place for the rational discussion of humanity’s potential flaws seen through the pink lens of positivity. I try to use my vigorous joy and unremitting optimism to launch into peppy and heartfelt discussions about my favorite things in the world. We’ve had such a wonderful time getting all this positive energy into the world. We’ve done so much searching for the inner love-nugget that makes us truly whole.

If you’ve never read this blog, I can’t stress enough that this post is an accurate representation of all other posts here. Promise.

And now, my lovely wonderful best friends, we can commemorate one more year of bringing tireless positivity to the world.That’s right! After all these wonderful things I’ve done, petting kittens, giving puppies toys, being reasonable and patient at the grocery store, never making any derogatory gestures at pickup trucks that almost hit me on my bike, all such wonderful things, but I think the most splendid, amazing, happy thing to remember is that I’ve been writing here for, wow!, two years!

For two years!

For two years.

For two… years?

So long…

So… long.

How can I pretend after so long…

No, wait, keep up the happy.

They don’t need to know where you are.

🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 Two years! Hehe fun times…

oh fuck who drinks watermelon rum… 🙂 🙂 .) 


Keep reading my blog, newcomer! It’s a happy place!

So happy?

Fuck it.

I’ve seen several shots of watermelon rum today, but I have not had anything to drink. In fact, I haven’t put anything into my body, but it seems like I’m just going to keep sitting here re-familiarizing myself with the filth I put into myself last night. It was a lot.

The CDC called me and said I have to get this tattooed onto my belly

The theme of the next year is not lying anymore. This includes just how bad my hangovers get in proportion to how gracelessly I’m aging.

You all know almost as much as you need to be able to say you know me well. The blog has been around for 2 years, so I guess that should count as a success for both of us, you for being cool readers who put up with me, and me for not trying that hard to cover much of my identity.

Really, shame on you for not going to those blogs with the nice writers who smile and have lives and instagram filters.

I’ve been reasonably genuine with all of you for the last two years, and that is actually exciting because normally I’d be a little ashamed to say that I’ve thrown down several towels and am currently writing this on the bathroom floor because I’m too hungover to move, but I feel like you all can know that and still be ok with me. Though this is certainly indicative of bad taste in reading on your part, I’m pretty glad I get to stay around.

I’m getting sidetracked. Hangovers do that. You know that feeling you get when you wake up with a orange-pulp brain and a gut full of thorns and rot, and with all your withered self you just want to shove a filthy grease bomb burger down your pathetic throat because sometimes it takes a criminal to catch a criminal. Or maybe they’ll both just rob me, who can tell. Anyway, that feeling isn’t doing me any favors when, for whatever reason, being extremely hungover has made me double down on this whole vegetarian thing. Yes, there’s something out there I could eat that would make me feel better, but I don’t deserve to feel good on my best days, and I certainly don’t deserve it if it means eating some cow I’ve never met.

Sidetracked again. It’s been two years. Has anyone that reads here been around since the start? I feel like I haven’t even been around for that long. I’m pretty different now. I write pretty differently now. Did you know that when I started this blog, I had all these little rules for myself that I thought would help me keep my privacy, keep just enough away to feel like there was still distance between me and the me I write about. I remember the rules were something like 1) Don’t use your real name 2) Don’t let anyone know where you live 3) No pictures of me 4) Don’t get too personal.

I realize now that those are the rules tv shows used to tell children who were using the internet for the first time. Past me, do you also want me to wait for our parents’ permission before going onto, or do you think we’re good to check it out?

Like this, except sparkly and bought from Target and not a dragon because I don’t want to have to fight my own tattoo

It’s kind of funny that I’ve broken all of those rules in some capacity by now. A lot of people who comment here know my name, and I don’t really care about that. It’s a level of familiarity that is actually pleasant. A while back, someone here called me Nes, and I liked that, so I go by that too lately. I’ve mentioned where I live if only to complain about it with more evidence than I could have if I’d been vague. There are pictures of me on a page of the blog that nobody visits, so that rule is both broken and somewhat unbroken. And, in case anyone hasn’t noticed, I’ve been writing a bit more about mental health and my own beehive’s worth of issues. That probably constitutes some degree of deliberate revelation of personal information that past-me didn’t anticipate or want, but fuck that person I’m way cooler now. I’ve got, like, twice as many temporary tattoos as that doofus.

So, it’s been two years. That’s a while, and I can honestly say I probably wouldn’t have kept up with the blog for more than a few weeks if not for getting to talk to the other writers here. I’ve never been that much of a social person, but it’s easier to talk to people here than it is anywhere else. I’ve got all this space to justify and explain and make weird metaphors for myself, and apparently that makes me more likable than I think I deserve. Still, it has been two years and that wouldn’t have happened without getting to see that some of my stuff, just a little bit of it, can sometimes be worth reading… once. Don’t read it two times. There’s no call for that.

Anyway, this bathroom floor is starting to feel cool, which doesn’t mean that it’s getting colder, only that some sensation is finally returning to my body and I can actually feel what I’m doing.

I’m going to get up now. I’m going to get up, flop into the shower, and sit in a stream of boiling water until the outer layer of my body has been replaced by an entirely new me.

And that entirely new me is excited to keep writing here and quite happy about how some difficult things in the future look. You’ll hear about them. Promise.


5 Replies to “Two Years”

  1. Wow, two years! Well done! I’m glad you have stayed here until I could discover you. How else would you meet someone who delights in calling you a jerk AND a robot? You don’t meet that every day!

    Also, it’s really great to see the progress. I haven’t been here for long, but I have been noticing you becoming more open on your posts, and it’s a great thing to see! 🙂 Treat yourself to some… broccoli? I’ll go with broccoli, because broccoli is delicious.

    Liked by 2 people

Do words!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: