Nobody puts baillee in the corner

Cue the Staind because it’s been a while (which I actually had to Google because I would have bet money Creed sang this) . First and foremost, I’m sorry, my dear readers. For the past month and a half, I let a lot of things come before my passions. Some good, some bad. I need to remind some people of how much they mattered, but I also let myself get wrapped up in some things that didn’t. I fixated on a lot I couldn’t change instead of cultivating that which I could. And I’m sorry. If you know me at all, you know how much I enjoy writing. I’m always jotting down pieces in notebooks and one-liners on receipt paper. Here’s my promise to not only you, but to myself: You WILL be reading (or for me, writing) no less than two blog posts a week. It’s what I want to do with my life. Words have been coursing through my veins for as long as I can remember, and it took far to long to let them out.

Secondly, I definitely owe you some explanations. Some are justifiable, and some are not. One of my sacred places was taken away from me, and I was devastated. I’ve only realized as of late that part of why it meant so much to me was it served as the bridge between my adolescence and adulthood. It was the last place I had connected to my alma mater, my former life, my college years. My adulthood started there, so it was hard for me to accept there was no going back. Move over, Meryl, but it essentially broke my heart into a million pieces. Hell, I might have not had my self-proclaimed “fall boy” (check out Fall-ow Me for that explanation) because this served as the biggest heartbreak of all. I’d be lying if I said I was totally okay with it, but I’m learning to move on. To let go. It’s never been something I’m good at, so I’m just trying to see it as some sort of lesson from the big Mr. Feeny himself.

I lost myself for a little bit there. Something that had been a part of me for so long suddenly vanished. I backslid (a la New Girl). I briefly (and I mean, briefly) smoked again. I tried to put my pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), but nothing felt right. Everything felt emotionless and cold. I was trying too hard to censor myself (I get you, Elsa). But I realized that defeats the purpose of writing. You have to be angry and crying and happy (and a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal). You can’t just hide all of your negative feelings or emotions. You’re allowed to be a rock and an emotional wreck. That’s why I’m back. I think I needed to remind myself of why I love writing, and why I plan to make a career out of it.

That’s why I’m again promising you at least two posts a week. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.