One of my favorite authors is SARK. She is this wild woman who writes about all of this taboo shit like using a vibrator, going out alone, and painting the walls in your home whatever color you really want them to be. SARK validates some of the things I do as not being the actions of a crazy person but rather the delusions of a self confidant woman celebrating her individuality.
I love building forts. When I was a kid I used to build my forts out of old sheets and I would sit in my fort for hours eating Oreos and string cheese and writing in my journal.
So I am 26 now. Sh*t. And I still have a fort. Really, it is in the spare bedroom in my house, and I have all kinds of glorious treasures in there…my favorite shoes, magazines, books, feathers, nail polish, candles, oil pastels and of course, my journal. I even have a sign that says NO BOYS ALLOWED (UNLESS THEY ARE NAKED).
I cry in my fort. I don't cry a lot. When I do cry, and everyone should, I like to be alone and somewhere safe. What better place to cry than a fort of scrumptious blankets and sheets and candles?
It is October 28th 2006 and I have not cried for weeks…but I get in my little big fort and I start a conversation with my tiny ego that likes to act like it is the bomb. I want to be sad for everyone I have hurt and for everyone who is lost….and I cry.
I feel so much better now. How do you end a blog like this? GO CARDS!!!!
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