Accepting Academic Defeat

I am failing half of my classes.

HALF

I really don't know how to manage my life sometimes. 

For no good excuse, I am just not into academics this quarter. 

Help.

Maybe I am just not into my classes this quarter rather than college in general. I love school and always have. I love reading and structure and working hard and not working hard.
I am great at procrastinating and sounding like I know what I am talking about but right now I truly have no idea what I am even doing.
My papers don't flow and take days. I neglect homework. I fall asleep in lectures. WTF.

So what do I want to do? What does anyone want?
Can I live in my small town that I love and raise a family and run a fashion blog. Yes/No.
Most likely no because that would be the dream and no one ever gets exactly what they want. Especially because you have to start in a city and  I would've already had to have started.
Or can I live in Seattle with my boyfriend; both of us happy and blissful and forgetting the depression we both will have due to the grey weather.

So this quarter I admit defeat. I am done and there is no going back. No add or drop options at this point, no pass or fail. I will get a sad letter grade and better prepare myself for next quarter.
All will be fine, but for now I am done.
DONE

What the fuck do we do now?

My teenage cousin and I were grabbing coffee the other day and talking about podcasts. I typically listen to a lot of feminists talk about about everything from vaginas to poetry.
He asked me if I was "one of those feminists"
the kind that protests everything
the kind who don't wear bras
and purposely don't shave

I was embarrassed/angry, because no, I am not, but...
                                                            maybe I am.
I hardly ever protest. I have very strong opinions on sex, the wage-gap, slut-shaming, nipples, and everything in between (DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY), but besides a rambly Facebook post every once in a while, I don't typically protest in the traditional terms.
I love not wearing a bra, and I am so into the nipple trend, but unfortunately I have larger breasts and they get sore if I don't wear a bra all day... so I can't also free the nipple.
I definitely shave. Not sure why, but I remember my dad being really grossed out when I wouldn't shave in high school because none of the other girls were on my basketball team. i thought it was funny, but I was kind of grossed out by myself after he mentioned it. So I shave, not constantly, but typically I am get my situations situated most of the time.
So am I one of those feminists?

Is this the set stereotype of a feminist, no longer just man-hating women, but obnoxious, saggy, and hairy women? I am none of those things, and I still shake when I see men grab at women when I go out. I cringe when a woman is referred to by her husband's name. I cry when my boyfriend tells me I am crazy because it's that time of the month.
 I don't think this is fair. And I don't think this is wrong.

After Donald Trump was elected into office, I went to sleep hoping it would change.
When I woke up it was official, he was it.
The man who thinks men should grab women by their pussies, mocks women who aren't slim, refers to his own daughter as a beauty that he might have a go at it she wasn't his daughter.

I cried. I felt violated. I still do.

If I wasn't "one of those feminists" before
I am now.
Just fucking wait.

Comme ci, Comme ça

So I was the douche that got this wonderfully, cliche phrase tattooed on my body. Right there on my wrists for everyone to see.

It isn’t my first, and I actually like the aesthetic of it.

So, can we first talk about cliches?
What is so bad about them? Have you ever actually stopped and smelled a rose. It is so nice and it feels so right!
Cliches are cliche for a reason. [how many times can I say say cliche in this post] They defintiely get overused and sound so cheesy, but a little cheese isn't so bad.

                              Wake up when the rooster crows. It sucks, but it is a thing. 

                              All is fair in love and war. That one is a bit extreme, but understandable

                             Dead as a doornail. Not sure what this means exactly since doornails typically are                                                                       lifeless and usually start out that way, but I can roll with it. 

Although in many ways my french cliche is depressing, and lacks positivity and commitment to anything, it really reminds me of myself.

I am not always overly happy. I am usually just content, and content with the fact that I am content. It isn’t that I don’t like being happy though. I do. When my boyfriend tickles me I can’t help but laugh, or when I am on a rollercoaster, about to pee my pants I am happy. Ecstatic.

But typically I am just so-so.,

I just sit there and look around. Passively smile. Completely enjoying myself without too much emotion. It is my way of being content and happy.

(btw, I am slightly French Canadian, but that’s it with my relation towards France)

So I am that person, and I am pretty okay with having an 
                                                                                                  incredibly basic tattoo.

Maybe I will regret it, but whatever.
Maybe not.

C'est La Vie assholes

“I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it”

J.D Salinger, Catcher in the Rye

I am not good a good writer. Disclaimer.

I asked an author once if she had always wanted to be an author and how she became one. She said she just knew—bit vague. So, should I just know that I am pretty shit at it? Sure.

I am not going to pretend I am an incredibly
                                        intellectual,
                                                 well-spoken,
                                                          educated elitist, but I will try and speak as clearly as I can without seeming condescending or like a total asshole.

Most likely the latter will happen.

Hopefully some of it will make sense.

I can never say exactly what I am trying to say and I envy people who can. I know people who write amazing poetry just because they are bored and saw a bird on the side of the road… they magically turn into fucking Robert Frost. I do my best but it typically ends up being edited too heavily so the paper isn’t even mine anymore, or it is so half assed that it appears to be written by a freshman trying to get a passing grade in English 101 (that was me). I end up hating the process altogether because I know the outcome won’t be anything great.

If I could write it all down (my thoughts that is) maybe it would be boring, maybe it would suck so hard no one would read it and if they did it wouldn’t make any sense.

Maybe it won’t.

I know the blogging world is oversaturated. Here is another one. Read it if you want.