Floodin'

So I post a lot. A lot a lot.
and on tumblr this would be called flooding.
Morgan how do you know that?
I know everything.




(:

I've been thinking, that someday maybe there will be a time when I walk into a room and hear your name and I won't even flinch.
Or maybe if we want to get a little more realistic there will be a time when I won't flinch when blowing your zombie brains out.

One of the things that really get to me—like a profound wound of a pet peeve—is when people ask of me more than I can give. An anthropological study conducted by Robin Dunbar some years ago (which eventually led to the now infamous “Dunbar Number”) postulated that the human being is essentially capable of maintaining only about 150 “strong-tie” (here, I borrow from Gladwell) relationships. And on days like these, when I am reminded of the other 130 or so “strong-tie” relationships I have left elsewhere, I am overwhelmed with a sense of inadequacy. Like I’m doing something wrong. And for five minutes, in maybe that silence that comes after watching somewhere between my fifth or hundredth episode of 30 Rock for the day and the video player is waiting to be clicked to play the next one, I drown in this deep gash of self-loathing, convinced that here I am, solitary and selfish, resisting to reply to e-mails I should reply to or to post mail I should have already posted, ignoring calls I should pick up, forgetting friends and family and wanting to forget them, wanting to yell at the world trying to push themselves in, “I am not here! I am not here!”
and for five brief minutes, I allow myself to believe that I am the worst, the absolute worst person in the world—the worst daughter, the worst ex girlfriend, the worst former roommate, the worst gay, the worst post-activist, the worst student, the worst sister, the worst lover, the worst woman, the worst womyn, the worst speller, et al.
Then I remember the first episode ever of LOST (the moment where we—ignorant and thoughtful—never realized the extent to which that show would challenge our notion of ridiculous)  where Jack pep-talks a nervous Kate to stitch him up:

“Well, fear’s sort of an odd thing… The terror was just so… crazy. So real. And I knew I had to deal with it. So I just made a choice. I’d let the fear in. Let it take over, let it do its thing. But only for five seconds, that’s all I was gonna give it. So I started to count: 1…2…3…4…5. And it was gone.”

And that’s what I do. I allow myself to do this for five minutes, or maybe ten. I sit there, thinking about the wine bottle by the window, feeling this hate, this disgust that I’ve sworn to let go of, feeling it all, feeling it as strongly as I can, and it is unreachable, untraceable. And then I sit up, I make myself a cup of coffee, I think again about the wine bottle by the window, and I assure myself that I am okay. That the 130 or so people I love still love me. That I am allowed to take a personal day off from loving the world. That I am allowed to take a day to watch 30 Rock. That I am allowed to love myself.
Because the thing that Dunbars (pseudo?) anthropology never really tells you is that out of those 150 “strong-tie” relationships, one—and the most important one—should be with yourself. Whether it’s relationship #1, or the 65th, or maybe the hundred and fourth, one of those relationships should be withyou.
And sometimes, there are days when we forget that and it becomes the most difficult relationship to work out, and that’s okay.
We’re okay.

Oh my goodness I found this very profound and inspiring.


So I found this..





and it made me think of this.

(Don't freak out. I'm an artist. )
And I'm sure every girl in the entire world has taken suggestive photos of themselves.
whether it's in an innapropriate nature or for themselves completely.
These were for myself purely.
and for the sake of someday blowing it up and using it as art in my home.
because i think it's beautiful.
and interesting.

I've found my mother. And I think it's interesting how quickly she's moved on. I mean, my father is here fumbling around at home still. Being all sad and mopey. He has a right. But I don't think it's right that the very next day she found herself in Madison with the guy who she was with the weekend before with my fathers money.

It's disgusting really.

But I'm not going to judge. It's not my place to judge. So even though i said it's disgusting, it's her life. And she is going to live it how she seems fit. and this is the fittest she finds I suppose.