I watched a movie today about a 26-year-old woman who still has her imaginary friend and he kinda starts to become real and is in love with her. Anyway, it was a bit weird but I could relate to it in a metaphorical way. The imaginary (boy)friend.

Welcome to Tish creates a blog post on her iPad in bed because it is 11pm and she wants to keep her commitment to herself to publish a post every Tuesday.

I’m just a super cynical bitch who doesn’t want to date and is real sick of not being able to watch movies/tv or listen to music without a romantic storyline.‬ 

‪But also would just love for someone to come into my life and sweep me off my feet in a very gross romantic way.‬

To be blunt, and possibly unfair, I feel I’m being left out of the queer community because i’m not fucking the queer community.

What is this pressure, and guilt, I feel that I must constantly be productive?

The hubris to assume a stranger wants your opinion on their looks- I cannot imagine. 

Even when things are going well and I want to bask in the good feelings of “I have things I used to only dream of having” and “I'm looking forward to these great things that are to come” my Depression Monster™, though quite small during these times, is still there and pokes its head in to say “It’s not actually that great; you’re forgetting this downside” and “That dream will never actually happen” and “Something bad is coming because good things don’t last.”

This weekend I helped my friend/coworker on her first short film shoot. I went to film school twelve??? years ago, but since then haven’t been on any type of film shoot, so I was excited to get back on a set because I remember loving it.

I used to love not fitting in. I would pretend to be things that I’m not to fit in less. I hated feeling the same as the crowd. I needed to stand out and be different and do the opposite of whatever everyone else was doing and be damn proud about it. 

Hope is something I always want to feel in my life. It’s motivating, it’s inspiring, it’s exciting, it’s a reason to get up in the morning. 

My crushes are about acknowledging (and enjoying) various types of attraction at various levels. Sometimes I just like looking at them, sometimes I am sexually attracted to them, sometimes I would like to be friends, sometimes I just like the way they make me feel or admire their style. Whatever it is, I keep it simple; identify the crush, determine what type of attraction(s) is going on, and continue to enjoy the presence of said crush. 

I am an over-thinker, to put it lightly. I am obsessive, to put it strongly. Sometimes I get fixated on something positive that I’m excited about, but it’s more likely that I’ve found something that makes me upset to obsess over, which makes me spiral, bringing every other little imperfect thing in my life down into a depression hole. So, writing about my day only in a positive way is a little way to combat spiraling.

It’s not the 1920’s (the theme of the party I went to last week to which I wore a three piece suit complete with bow tie and fob watch); it’s not scandalous for women to wear a suit any more than it is for women to wear pants. She’s not disguising herself as a man. She’s just wearing a suit. And it’s hot.