Sunday nights and Monday mornings

I’ll miss sitting on my bed with you doing homework on a school night. Throwing our books and laptops to the side in frustration and picking up the tv remote or xbox controller instead.

Comforting me after a rough day. You’re the best at it. You are my safe person.

“Do you want to get under the covers?”

I’ll always love being woken up from a safe sleep because you wanted to pull me in for a hug. Your warm arms wrapping around my naked waist.

I’ll never sleep as well as I do when I’m naked next to you under piles of blankets. Our breath caressing the other’s cheeks.

Dragging ourselves out of bed in the late morning for pancakes. Taking an extra ten minutes for sweet kisses and last minute cuddles. This is love.

Adventures in the sex shop with you for the first time. Probably the last time. So many dildos. Not enough books. One old man looking at porn DVDs. One too many.

A start into your busy day back in your room. A pause. Turned around to look at me. Immediately joined me on your bed. Naps with you are the only kinds of naps for me.

I love you. I love how you love me.

the first regret of my life

I regret going through college the way I have these past 3.5 years.

I regret all the opportunities I didn’t take.

I regret all the opportunities I decided to take too late.

I regret not focusing on the right things.

I regret taking so long to find my true passions.

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Here it is, the end of the first semester of my last year. I hate my major. I hardly have friends. I’m not close with my roommates. I’m not a part of RSOs that align with my passions. I haven’t helped a single survivor.

What am I doing. Why am I here.

I just want life to pause for like, five minutes.

I want to go back and change my major, take all new classes. I wish I had become a SAPA sooner. Then maybe I wouldn’t be such a waste of space every Monday night in that room.

Nick is leaving in a week.

I will be so alone.

I thought I made new friends last week but then I wasn’t invited to their get together.

People tell me I’m well-liked.

But no one misses me when I’m gone.

Pre-finals Week 2014

Sometimes I miss the twins I was best friends with in high school. Their family was my second family, their home became my second home.

There is a bunny in my apartment this year. The warm, innocent life is a comfort.

I am proud to be a feminist.

I am not proud to be an American.

In health class in high school I was the only person to side with the survivor of sexual assault when our teacher read us a story out of the local newspaper. The only person. I consider that the beginning of my advocacy for survivors of sexual aggression.

I want to be an elf queen in Middle Earth.

I think the world should be decorated in Christmas lights year round.

I will never stop loving him. I miss him as soon as we hug goodbye. I want nothing more than to be in the same room with him, even if we are doing different things. I know he is the love of my life.

I want to spend all week watching Wes Anderson films.

I love craft beer.

My best friend, soul sister, sista from anotha mista, is getting married next fall. I can’t remember the last time I was so excited about something.

I wish my brother and sister-in-law lived closer so we could actually be best friends.

Winter does not bother me this year.

I want to rescue 5 pitbulls from the animal shelter.

I want to rescue humans from the human shelter.

I want to go on crazy adventures and collect stories better than all my friends.

I can’t breathe.

I want to live in a cabin in the woods and never talk to anyone again.

I want walls and walls of vinyl and books.

Hands up, don’t shoot.

I want to live in an expensive city loft for a year.

I think my first crush on a girl was my best friend my freshmen year of high school. I loved her hair, her legs, her nose. One time she walked around her house in only a sports bra and spandex. I told myself I just wanted to look like her.

It’s weird to discover I like women when I am madly in love with a man and want to spend the rest of my life with him.

Sometimes I think it’s just a phase.

I want to get totally ripped.

I refuse to stop eating cookies and ice cream and drinking beer and wine.

I need a milkshake.

Nick won’t be around next semester. I feel lost.

There’s too much blood in my coffee stream today.

Yes, This Is A Matter of Race

Our country is in a time of turmoil at a scale that has not been seen in decades. Nearly everyone across the globe has an opinion about what’s happening. I recognize that, as a white person, my opinion is not of greatest importance. Black lives matter and black voices need to be the ones lifted up during this time. However, if I am the only voice you’re hearing on the matter, please listen.

  • Regardless if Mike Brown fought back with Wilson (though he did not, ask me for sources), his death is unjustifiable. Had Brown been white, he would have been tackled, or tazered at the most. Yes, this is a matter of race.
  • Regardless if Mike Brown was murdered with his hands above his head or pumping in the air as he ran away from Wilson, his death is unjustifiable. Had Brown been white, he would have been shot in the leg, not in the head. Yes, this is a matter of race.
  • Regardless of how the protesters in Ferguson choose to respond to the grand jury’s verdict, your focus should be on the verdict itself. Darren Wilson walks free. Mike Brown is dead. Yes, this is a matter of race.
  • Regardless of the verdict, Darren Wilson is guilty of the unjustifiable murder of Michael Brown. You should know by now that a jury’s decision does not equal the truth. Yes, this is a matter of race.
  • Regardless of the color of your skin as you read this, American police have shot and killed two blacks a week for the last six years. Yes, this is a matter of race.

How dare you invalidate my opinions and silence my voice because of my age. The last time I was outspoken on social media and did not stop talking about an issue, I was encouraged to apply to become a Sexual Aggression Peer Advocate at Central Michigan University. SAPA has been leading the nation (literally) since 1997 in sexual assault/misconduct legislature at the university and national level. Our program is recognized and used by the United States Marine Corps and United States Navy. So tell me again that being loud will not change anything. Tell me again that I’ll learn to be quiet when I get older.

Fuck you.

FERGUSON IS A MATTER OF RACE.

(This post in memory of Michael Brown, John Crawford, Tamir Rice, and the countless other black boys and men that have died by the bullets of the United States police.)

Sundays

sundays

I never used to like Sundays. I’d have to wake up early, shove food down my throat, and go to church. Then I’d have to catch up on homework, or clean around the house, or make the long drive out to my grandma’s. Which wasn’t so bad, but the drive back on Sunday night was never fun.

These past couple months¬†though, I’ve grown to love Sundays. Which is strange because in my fourth year of college, Sunday is do-everything-I-put-off-for-a-month day and I have to move myself back to my apartment after spending the weekend with Nick and I’m usually low on groceries and clean laundry and clean space in my room.

But today has been lovely. I woke up next to the love of my life. I went to breakfast with my incredible on-call team. I had the opportunity to go back to sleep next to the love of my life, before waking up to cuddle with him. We had no need to rush climbing out of bed. Since I finished my two big assignments for the week yesterday, my stress levels are low today. I just had the leftovers from my breakfast for dinner and I made a fresh press of coffee for the first time in a very long time. I have the main floor of the apartment to my self for a brief while, though I eagerly await my roommates’ return. Later, I will probably have time to begin reading The Return of the King for the first time, or maybe play some of my video game.

There’s no reason Sundays shouldn’t be awesome. I want to make them awesome from here on out. Sundays are for hot coffee, warm cuddles, and exciting adventures, whether physically or via a new and incredible novel. Sundays are for taking time to breathe, self-care, and preparing oneself for the week.

Sundays are awesome.