Diary of a Fickle White Woman

I have always had an active imagination. As a little girl, the hours spent playing house, or putting on skits, or pretending to be a pregnant housekeeper named Nancy (I have NO idea why this ever became a thing), I would let my mind run wild. The older I grew, the more I found myself daydreaming, creating a fantasy of how I thought life would go, and couldn't wait for it to unfold. And then, against my better judgment, I became an adult.  Obviously, by my age, I have come to realize life isn't a Hallmark movie. And yet, I still find myself always seeking greener pastures. I really enjoyed a lot about my life in L.A. I lived in a beach front apartment with an ocean view. I had access to anything and everything, whenever I wanted it. I made extremely good money, I had a handful of really good girlfriends, and I was fully independent. However, I still wasn't content. I was overweight, had a non-existent dating life, and with 30 knocking on my door, I thought it ...

I started this blog a month after graduating college. Ten years ago to be exact, which makes me feel equal parts old and in disbelief that that much time has already passed. I was 22, planning on going back to nursing school, and looking for a way to somewhat utilize the journalism degree I had just earned. I wrote on here religiously for a few years, and then I went to nursing school and my free time became non-existent. Slowly but surely, I just abandoned my little corner of the internet and it hasn't been touched in six years now.  Do you ever feel like you're being pulled in a direction to do something, or be somewhere, and you can't explain why, but you just KNOW you must follow the force? That's how I've ended up back here. I haven't read a blog in years, haven't looked at my own in years, and, truthfully, don't really feel like I have a whole lot to say. But, this little nagging voice from the universe has kept pushing me back to writing. My he...