This is dedicated to all my little brothers, little homies, yo check it out

Reason #4743548643 I love my brother: When I say something silly, he doesn't insult me. He just ignores me.

Me: I know I'm like super late, but I think I finally get Twitter.
Sam:*confused*There's nothing to "get"...
Me: I know...but before, I didn't get it, and now...I do...
Sam: *Shakes head*.....

Unfortunately, this is how a lot of conversations go haha

Ain't no colour paint gonna cover the stains.

My new apartment has basically been a construction zone for the past week and a half while I've been painting. What I thought would be a one day/8ish hour project ended up taking me over a week to complete.

It started with me spackling the holes....

It seriously looked like whoever was there before me just sprayed the room with a pellet gun.

then I was able to start priming...


and even though my mom warned me that I'd probably have to do two coats of primer to completely cover the old, dark, dry paneling, I decided to try it with just one...


but since I was able to paint one.whole.wall. before realizing admitting to myself that I needed a second coat of primer, I was also able to decide that I wasn't in love with the color. I wanted a more mustard-y yellow and this was, as my mom put it, "school bus yellow".

So I put another coat of primer on the other three walls and chose another shade of yellow for the accent wall.

The splotch is the new color, in comparison to the old.

The last step was to paint the other three walls.


It kinda looks blue, but it's actually a *really* light grey (It's Valspar Grey Mist). I wanted it to be darker, but the room is so small I knew I needed to use light colors to make the room seem bigger. The yellow is Valspar Bugle Call, in case you were curious.

Since I still want some darker grey, I'm going to paint a 6-12" stripe around the room on the grey walls, about two feet from the ceiling. I'm hoping that will bring out the grey tones in the light grey and satisfy my need for dark grey haha

All in all, I'm pretty happy with it. And I'm super proud that I did it all by myself! Every roll of the roller and stroke of the brush was done by yours truly. What I was not expecting however, was how dang sore I would be after it was all done!

Manual labor is hard work, ya'll.

When I'm six feet underground, I'll need a drink or two. And I'll sure miss you.

I was drowning in booze and parties, trying to hold it together enough to be presentable, yet drink enough to forget everything on a daily basis.

It was a delicate balance that, no matter how hard or often I tried, I was far from mastering.

He was sick. I knew it, I knew it was a matter of time, but I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge it. I was ashamed of what I was doing, but I couldn't stop. So I drank to gloss over the guilt.

"I got some pills. If you take me to pick them up, I'll share with you. We just gotta stop by my mom's and get some money first, then we'll go." His offer was tempting, but I was hesitant.

"I'll take you to get them. I...I'm not sure I want to try them, though. We'll see." Even though I was hesitant, my curiosity lingered.

We stopped to get the money. He went inside, coming out ten minutes later.

"I told my mom your grandpa was sick, so I wanted to treat you to dinner. She gave me an extra ten bucks!" He grinned ear to ear, so proud of his manipulation.

My stomach churned. I laughed and we were on our way.

Again, I waited in the car. He got in the car and we were three blocks away before he pulled out the baggie, twisted into a small tube, concealing two brightly colored pills.

"This one's an downer, I think," he mused, examining the lime green pill. "And this one...this one's perfect for you!" He pulled out the pink pill and placed it in my hand. There were a pair of Chanel C's stamped on one side. I laughed and gave it back to him.

"We'll see." I was still unsure.

We began the drive home, and by now it was dark. I had class in the morning, but I was past the point of caring about going. I had a bottle waiting for me at home.

The music was loud, the car was full of people and as we drove home, we laughed and sang. I was speeding down the highway, anxious to get home.

Then my phone rang. It was my dad. It was also 10:45pm.

Nothing good can come from a phone call at 10:45pm.

"Where are you?"

"At the store," I lied, hushing the people in the car and turning down the music.

"I need to tell you something."

I knew before he said anything, what was coming next.

"Papa died."

The tears came quickly and fiercely. I couldn't stop them.

"Are you ok? Where are you? I'll come pick you up." I could hear him getting his keys.

"No, no. It's ok. I'll be ok. I'm just going to go home."

"Ok...call me tomorrow. Be safe."

"I will." I hung up the phone.

Someone reached and put their hand on my shoulder.

"He died."

Everyone mumbled their I'm sorry's not quite sure of what to say.

I wiped the tears from my eyes.

"You got those pills?"

He nodded in the passenger seat next to me.

"Let's go get high."

This post is in response to The Dare to Share prompt at the Lightning and the Lightning-Bug. The theme was "Loss".

So now I'm standing here alone. I'm learning how to live life on my own.

Sweat dripping, I take a deep breath. I look around in amazement. I am wonderfully, blissfully alone. Smile from ear to ear, I finally relax

This post is in response to a prompt at Write on Edge.
"This week’s assignment was simple: write a story of your choice. The catch? Write it as a tweet. Use only 140 characters – including spaces."

(P.S. I typed this into Twitter to make sure I abided by the character limit, and this is 140 on the dot. But can I just say that the last sentence not having a period is killing me!?!?! haha)

Today I don't feel like doing anything, I just wanna lay in my bed.

There's a lot I could have done yesterday.

I had bills to pay, calls to make, stuff for school to get in order.

But instead...

I caught up on my fave guidos adventures in Italia,

painted my nails,

and ate Chipotle with my brother.

And it was totally worth it.

P.S. I let my brother pick nail polish for me to use, since I was being indecisive and this is what he came up with:

Not too bad, eh?

He called them "Super Villain" nails haha

I can't die now 'cause I got another show to do.

After doing my prep Sunday night, I was able to sleep pretty well until it was time to get up and get ready. My appointment was at 9:30 and we wanted to be there early.

After checking in they gave us this thing which beeps when they are ready for me, and then beeps again when I am in recovery so I can be picked up. But all I could think about was the things they give you at a restaurant so you know when your table is ready.

Am I wrong?

After our table was ready the nurses were ready, I got taken back and my vitals were taken, my IV was inserted and all that good stuff. I had to wait for the doctor to be ready but eventually, they wheeled me into the operating room.

Can I just state for the record how much I *hate* hospitals? I know you're like, "Well, duh! Who likes 'em?" But, really. I hate them. They are full-on-anxiety-attack-inducing to me.

I tried to occupy myself and talk to the nurse, but I started getting really anxious and the amount of sedative they were using wasn't quite working. I started crying, which the nurse said was a common side effect (I don't know if that's true or if she was just trying to make me feel better), which only raised my heart rate. I told them I was light headed and they gave me some anti-nausea medication right in my IV, while also doubling the sedative.

That did the trick apparently, because I don't remember anything of the procedure itself and very little afterward. I vaguely remember being in recovery but I could barely open my eyes. According to my mom, I was offering the nurse product suggestions for products from the bakery I work at (I told my boss my job has infiltrated my sub-conscious haha)

I made it home and went straight to bed. I woke up for about 5 minutes a few hours later, but was back in bed soon there after. Around 5:30, I woke up for good and was *finally* able to eat for the first time in almost 36 hours, which was amazing!

According to the sheet they gave me, everything looked good but they took 5-6 samples to biopsy anyway. I should have results in about two weeks and need to follow up with my doctor.

I still feel a little groggy and out of it today (case in point-I was teaching a class at work today, which I totally forgot about until my boss called my 15 minutes before it was supposed to start, and I was trying to say "shot" but said "shat" instead. Oops.), but I'm glad to have it over with. Hopefully my doctor can see me as soon as the results are in, along with the results from a few other tests I've taken, and we can go from there.

Thanks for all the prayers-it really means a lot to me.

'Cause she knows that it's demanding to defeat those evil machines. I know she can beat them.

It's almost 11 o'clock. At noon, I have to stop eating solid foods. I should be eating, since I won't be able to for about 24 hours, but I've been staring at this bagel for almost 3 hours.


I'm too nervous to eat. Story of my life as of late, apparently.

In a little over one hour, I will begin my fast. In a little over three, I will start drinking lots of liquids. I have to prepare for my test tomorrow. The test I only found out about on Thursday. That I've had less than a week to wrap my mind around.

I suppose that's good. Get in, get it done, don't have to worry about it anymore. I've been joking about it since I found out.

"Between all the sweating and this test, I bet I'll lose ten pounds this week!"

I know I'm not alone in this, but I joke when I'm scared, I laugh when I'm nervous, when I'm uncomfortable. Then I turn into an obnoxious child.

"Look at me! Pay attention to me! Look what I can do!"

Baby me, comfort me, protect me.

I'm scared. For multiple reasons.

I've never "gone under". I haven't been under the influence of anything in almost four years, what if I hate it? What if I like it? What if the medicine makes me sick?

Those questions on their own make me cry.

But there's more. I'm scared that I'm not feeling as good as I was after I stopped eating gluten. I'm feeling better than when I was eating it, but I'm not feeling as good as immediately after. The instant effects have worn off, and I'm not feeling as great.

But mostly I'm scared that the doctor ordered this without knowing my family history. I didn't tell her that my grandmother died from colon cancer. I didn't tell her that when my mom had the same test six months ago, they removed a tumor.

"It would be really rare for you to have colon cancer at 23, but not impossible."

She came up with that all on her own.

I was talking with a friend last night and of course, the conversation turned to faith.

I have no problem with that turn. I am trying to strengthen my faith and I know, deep down in my soul, with every fiber of my being, that faith is following his plan and turning to him, no matter the circumstance.

But, I'm realizing, part of having faith is allowing myself to be scared. Because if I'm not scared, I don't feel like I can fully rely on him. If I felt fine, like nothing could go wrong, that I was invincible, I would have no need for God.

I always say that the worst part of having faith is knowing that one day, I won't feel like this. One day, this will be better, this situation will be resolved. But I can't fast forward through this, I have to feel it and experience it. I can't speed up my life to the part where I feel better, even though I know, I have faith, that day will come.