High Heels and Dirty Dishes

For so long in life I tried to find myself, and really define who I was. I for so long didn't know where I belonged in this world. I have at this point ended my weekly column, and I really have no regrets or any ill feelings toward the newspaper. It was my Segway into me realizing that writing made me happy. I know that some people are upset about me stopping, but the truth is I do write about real things, and real can be scary. So maybe everyone didn't like what I wrote about. But these are the people that obviously don't go to the bathroom, have experienced facial hair, adult acne, teenage kids, or friends that know way too much about you. I could change my writings, but you know what I won't do it. I have come too far down in my road trip of life to ever go back down that road ever again. I went down some pretty crappy roads too. Many of them with dead ends that weren't marked, some terrible frost bubbles, and let's not forget about the road that ended up nowhere so I have to drive in reverse the entire way just to realize that the road I should have taken was looking me right in the eye. What I write about is relatable, and people like to be able to relate to something. I find that it makes situations less uncomfortable and people are truly themselves. I could have caved and went with the "Norm", but lets be truthful there is nothing normal about life these days. I am honored to be able to write, and maybe this blog will not get the circulation that the paper received. That's ok, because the moment that I start writing for other people instead of myself . . . well the moment that I need to stop take a look around and smell the vodka injected oranges. . . cause they do smell as good as they taste.