Welcome to my fugging website

I don't really know if I'm qualified to have a website. But apparently I'm qualified enough to have a human body and free will so that's got to count for something.

Finding a book on the street entitled, "Don't Believe Everything You Think"

Lately, at twenty-three and a half, I've made the enormous discovery that I must shovel my feminine libido into a source that is external and non-romantic.

Examples of internal and romantic things:

• Daydreams about having a baby

• The object of my limerence

• Depression

• Dream analysis

• Writing poetry

The thing about all of the items on that list is that I am perpetually cursed with them.

However, I've discovered a loophole that allows me to still do them while not feeling like a complete, good-for-nothing wastoid. That big ole' fire ball is called My Career As a Writer. It's a roundabout way for my measly, patriarchally conditioned brain to cope. So this website is me telling myself, "Okay, yes, this is happening, I am a real writer! I am a real poet!" And it's also telling you, the person visiting my website, "Okay, yes, she is a real writer! She is a real poet!"

And you know what? My ego likes that, it really does. But so does my soul. It feels like a little gift to myself. A part of myself is going, "Hey, I'm going to give this website to you, I think you deserve it." And another part of myself is like, "Really? But..." x, y, z. And the other part is like, "Will you just stop overthinking and accept the gift?"

Okay. Yes. Thank you. Here I am, here we are. Welcome to both of us. Let's live in the version of reality where everything works out.