I don't care, I love it.

So, there was a girl that I went to college with. She graduated when I was a freshman. We were in a play together but no one remembers me. I also had the chicken pox during opening week so I was only in one show.

That being said, this girl (we'll call her StanJr.) also has a blog. Her posts are short and sweet and usually have a funny anecdote and very stream of [genius] consciousness/sarcasm. She's a great writer. So I thought I'd try to do a post in the same fashion: 

Last night, I was walking home through the streets of Paris after eating too much shit, after staying out until a little after midnight, and I couldn't help but remind myself of the "new start" I wanted as a 22-year-old. Sure, Paris is great and I should be proud of myself for the challenges I'm facing on a daily basis, but there's something tugging on me. I'm filled with self doubt, and I feel tired, and old. Even my face feels older. I hate looking at myself naked. Now I hope the bathroom steams up while I'm showering so I can't see the mirror. That's no way to be. Hannah once told me, "If your body were your friend it would hate you right now because you're talking so much shit about it."

And so, in misty weather that native Californians would call "soooo fucking cold…" I walked through the early morning, grey streets of Paris after my first run in months and I thought to myself, I don't care…I love it…
I love the feel of my feet hitting the ground, the slow steady breaths, the One Direction I guiltless jam to. I love the cold air turning my nose into a popsicle, wearing running shorts over leggings, and the fact that I fashioned a makeshift keychain so that I could strategically keep my house keys attached to the inside of my sports bra. I love the way people judge you because you aren't wearing ANY leather, the way my hair flips back and forth, and the way I hold my tiny hands inside my sweatshirt sleeves that are just too long. I love that I left the house. I love that I'm doing something. I love that I look like a lost 12-year-old wandering the streets of the 17th Arrondissment.

I listened to Icona Pop's iconic rebellious pounding the entire walk home. So, on repeat like three or four times…I'm feeling so empowered I might even check my phone that died last night after I asked a boy out but then when I plugged it in when I got home I was too nervous to see what he said even though the night was over that I left it charging facedown and still hadn't ACTUALLY checked to see what he'd said (he said he was busy) BUT I DON'T CARE I LOVE IT!

I mean, would you have gone out in this?

you're on a different road, I'm in the Milky Way

look at me, I'm walking in the street right now,
I don't care

you're so damn hard to please, we gotta kill the switch, you're from the 70s but I'm a 90s bitch…

(fun fact, that was actually a true to life lyric in regards to a gentleman I was seeing this time last year, isn't history fun?!)