Spare me– Good or Bad.

Just tell me. Clue me in. Whisper it in my ear. Good, Bad, I don’t care, just don’t make me wait.

Interviews are the worst, but what’s even worse than interviews?! The waiting. Waiting to hear the reply. All thoughts encircle your mind, “Did I get it?”  “Why is it taking so long to hear back?”   “What’s the issue?” 

Well, sometimes you need to play the waiting game with some of these companies. Most companies are busy throughout the day & they simply don’t have time to get back to you right away. Yes, I get that, but it’s still painful. When Friday rolls around, you won’t hear their reply until Monday. Therefore, you must endure two more days waiting for that reply, which may or may not come. Some places don’t even tell you! That’s the other terrible part. You’re using up your time thinking about the job when in reality, you didn’t get it and won’t get an email back.

But, even if I didn’t get it, please spare me, just tell me. I’d like to know either way. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I either obtained the job or didn’t, simple as that. 

I feel like I’m going crazy, berserk, insane. Ew. How gross & nasty. Can you be anymore desperate? Nope. I think I’ve hit the point where I just look stupid & annoying. I know. I know. I can’t help it. I must STOP and just be PATIENT.

Just wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. I repeat this word over & over in my mind. Maybe I’ll actually listen to myself this time. Who knows.

If I get it, I get it. That’s my attitude. Whatever. It’s okay. I have a Plan B. There always must be another plan. Just don’t think about it. Enjoy yourself! Have fun. Be free. Be fun. Be confident. Be cool, calm, collected. Okay.

I must remain optimistic. Don’t send anymore emails. Don’t contact! That’s all. That’s all, folks! Sorry.


Have some patience.

And, relax.

Unanswered Questions.

12 years.

No, I didn’t forget.

How could I?

How would I?

Eddie Ness. Six years old. Twelve years ago we lost a cutie pie, a boy sweeter than apple pie, a boy who would give anything to you, be kind to you when you needed someone to be, one who always did what he was told.

12 years ago today I sat with my family. We mourned Eddie. We congregated at his house. We comforted, talked & tried to make sense of this whole situation.



What was the reason?

Was it meant to happen like this?

I ask myself, Why? quite often. What if my other cousin James ingested that thumb tack? Would he still have survived? Would we have been mourning him instead? It could have been either one. Why Eddie? Why? I don’t get it. Can you explain it?

I say this every year, but no one ever comes forth with answers to my questions. Why doesn’t anyone ever respond?! Come on. Please. I’m begging you to tell me why.

I miss him so much.

In a few weeks, he would have graduated from high school. What would he have been like? Strong? Weak? Tall? Short? Attractive? A womanizer? A smoker? A drinker? Can you tell me?

I remember that day like it was yesterday. It replays over & over in my mind. Trust me. I won’t ever forget that. It was a tragedy & you never forget that sort of stuff.

Nope. Not going to happen.

It’s sad. Terribly & utterly sad. Tears stream down my face as I pose these questions.

I. Can’t. Let. Eddie. Go. Nope.

Eddie– You were ALWAYS one of my favorites. I miss your smile, your laugh. I’m scared. Oh, Eddie, I’m so scared of the future. What’s ahead? Clue me in Eddie. Can you tell me what’s in store for me? As the years progress, I’m terrified that the memories will  fade. Will they erase? I can’t let them. I’m worried I’ll forget how you looked, how you hugged. Please don’t let these things stray away. 

I love you, Edwin Joseph Ness.



What a great night!

I’m not sure if I should go, should I attend? I’m exhausted & not in the mood to deal with social interactions. After all, my whole day was based on that. I was helping customers, talking to them, processing their orders and now I’m supposed to go to a party?

Then, my friend texted me to see if I was going. Since I haven’t seen her in a while, I decided to go. I would accompany my brother, whose friends party it was. I knew his friend, but not enough to go on my own.

When I arrived home, I needed to change my dress and put on more makeup.

It will be fun, I whispered to myself.

After about an hour of fussing with my face and hair, my brothers other friend, my former, former boyfriend, now best friend, called my brother to see if he’d left for the party. Nope. My brother found out the best friend couldn’t locate this guys house so he’d drive back to follow us. Okay. Alright. Cool.

At 6:30, he was prepared with one of his famous stories about a terrible, recent date he just had. One of those. And, nope, no jealousy arose on my part. I listened attentively and commented on how much bad luck he has with girls.

When we got outside to start our cars, the best friend asked me to come with him instead. Uh. So, I would drive with him. What happened if he drank too much? You would drive me home, he said. Okay. I agreed. He wanted me to listen to a few tunes and talk.

We haven’t hung out for a long time, so I figured, why not!? As we headed to this party, he talked more of his rancid date, how the girl wasn’t what he thought, how they had awkward pauses and how he wasn’t much of a converser. That’s always the case. He never strikes gold, instead he strikes out.

Then, after pulling over twice to figure out where this house was we arrived. By this point, the clock read 7:20. The party began at 5:00 and we were over two hours late.

I grabbed an alcoholic beverage and began talking to my friend. We spoke most of the time leaving the boys in the dust. But, then, my best friend started it.  By it I mean the teasing, the taunting, the horsing around with me. It always starts. I didn’t think about it, but I figured it would come. 

Then, he said those words to the whole party, We used to date. There it was. It was laying in front of us staring back at me. Yes, we used to date. It was three years ago and now, he’s just merely my friend, nothing more. He’s one of my best friends.

I only drank one more because I knew I had to drive him home. He had plenty of beverages and I was going to be the responsible one and cut myself off. Before he consumed several drinks, he handed me the keys. I held onto those puppies for dear life because he wasn’t going to take them back or drive. He wasn’t in any condition to hold that steering wheel.

As the night progressed, he became louder & louder & continued to repeat those same words over & over. Everyone began to say them too. He stood very close to me. No, he’s not still into me. He’s just very comfortable with me and he feels lonely. He wanted someone to connect with and since we’ve known each other for 5 years, I am his safety post, his safety net and he flirted a little. No one understands our relationship though. We always horse around with each other. Basically, we can say anything to one another. We have no shame.

At the end of the night, he apologized to everyone for my behavior, which I found hilarious.

This is the most drunk I’ve ever been, he shared on the car ride home.

He sung his favorite songs & rocked back & forth nodding off once in a while. Dry heaving a bit in between. I’ve seen him at his worst and his best. No one has a clue what he’s really like. It’s a performance, it’s an act. He’s a great actor & he knows it. He pretends. Come on. This guy is miserable. Can you not tell? If you really get to know him, you’d know he’s depressed. 

I was happy to drive him home because otherwise, he would have gotten into an accident. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe he had a feeling that I should accompany him in his car. You have to know– he must really trust me if he allowed me to drive his car. It’s a newer car and it’s his. I was extremely cautious & careful with every move I made. I was fine. I was good.

All in all, I had a great time. It was a lot of fun. I got to hang out with one of my gal pals, guy friends and brother. How much better can it get?

I’m single, cute, smart, sweet, funny, pretty, nice, generous, caring & loving. Perfect. Awesome. Cool. Groovy.

What a great night!

It was time for me to have fun & let loose with some drinks. Not too many though. I wasn’t planning on getting drunk, just a little buzzed. It’s almost summertime & I want to enjoy myself! I don’t want to be worried about this & that.

Let’s just have a superb time this summer!


One of those days…

On Channel 66, the feature movie is “50 First Dates,” a romantic comedy, starring Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler.

I watch it from start to finish and the missing starts. I begin to think about my ex, my former boyfriend. Some of the scenes bring me back to our relationship. The way Henry (Sandler) looked at Lucy (Barrymore), it brought everything back. My ex used to stare at me in the same way. He would touch me similarly and say the words “you’re beautiful,” every time we saw each other.

Gosh, I miss the compliments. The occasional touching. The kisses. The hugs– the physical touch, having someone to talk to about whatever is on my mind. I miss the idea of having a boyfriend. No, I don’t need nor want a boyfriend. They need constant attention, which I can’t give right now. I have one thing on my mind right now and nothing will get in my way– my career. No matter what happens, that’s the most important thing currently. Sorry, boys. Sure, I’ll go on dates and talk to guys, flirt, dance, have fun, but I don’t want to commit to a guy. I can’t.

Then, when I hung out with one of my best gal pals and she spoke about her fiancee, it made me miss him even more.

On Monday, May 27th, it will be a month since we broke up. I’ve only received one letter from him. I wrote him back last week, but he hasn’t gotten back to me. Will he? Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t write back. Maybe it’s too painful for him. I mean, damn, I’m still struggling a little bit. Only on occasion will I miss him. Today just so happens to be “one of those days.”

I need to focus on myself. Where am I going? Who am I? Yes, I’m still trying to figure that out. It’s not easy. It’s rather difficult to “find yourself.” You’ve got to do some deep thinking. Just try it for a few days & come back to me.

I’m just missing having one of those boyfriends.

Stupid. Dumb. Insane. Crazy. Weird. I know. Trust me.

It’s just.. one of those days.

The first few days as a college graduate– Scary. Overwhelming. Lonely. Empty.

Rain pours down on a dreary Friday morning. My windows have drops splashed on them.

9:30 AM.

I wake up in a depressed state. I feel alone & lost, empty even. What is it? Why do I feel this way? What’s the problem? What’s the issue? What’s the problem?

I feel utterly lost. I’m missing something. I’ve misplaced something & cannot locate its whereabouts. I’m sad & emotional. I’m all over the place, which is nothing new. That’s me now– sprawled in several different places.

To add to this, it’s my last week interning in the Big Apple. I have three days left– Monday, Wednesday & Thursday to prove myself, to show something, to separate myself from the rest. The others are gone, but I decided to stay an additional week to help out my editors. I cannot lose contact with those lovely ladies. They are performing the job I hope to obtain one day. I’ll get there. I’ll get it. It takes time. I’ll need to do this in steps, go through various venues to receive that precious gift– becoming an Editorial Assistant. I want it. I’m hungry for it.

But, even though I desire this position so badly I can taste it, I still feel empty & lost. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet that I’ve graduated. In the fall, my life will be bare. What am I doing next? Figure it out. Figure it out. Figure it out NOW. Don’t quit.

You’ll be great, the best,. Don’t give up! I whisper to myself on this gloomy Sunday morning.

I need to focus. I’m fully committed to figuring it out & will NEVER give up. I know what I want & I’ll do anything to get it. I mean, look what I’ve been doing– going to NY for an unpaid internship spending endless amounts of money. It was my dream though. I’ve gotten in & I’m hooked.

I want this. I want this. I want this. I tell myself every single day.

I don’t want to work in retail anymore. I want to be a writer, be a magazine writer. I was told once “Never give up writing. Continue writing & don’t stop.” Nope, not this girl!

I won’t lie– it won’t be easy & I’m terrified beyond belief of my next step. Sometimes, I wish I could crawl underneath my covers & hide from the world. I can’t though & won’t. I’m just very scared.

Everyone asks me that dreaded question I hate– So, what’s next? For starters, shut up, what college graduate wants to answer that question, unless they got lucky & have a job lined up? It’s a dumb question. Don’t ask me, okay? If you’re reading this blog, you already know what I want.

The first few days as a college graduate– Scary. Overwhelming. Lonely. Empty.

Sadness kicks in & I just can’t kick it back out.

6:15 A.M.

My alarm sounded; it was a loud, buzzing noise. No, it cannot be that time. This day cannot be happening so quickly, so soon, so fast. I can’t.

I must roll out of bed & get prepared to sit through a 5-hour long graduation ceremony. But, this time, it’s for ME. I will be the one to receive that diploma. It was my special day and I could hardly digest that information. It was a dream. I was dreaming. I was sleepwalking and making this up. I just started at Temple University. I just chose my classes for my first semester. I just took my first train ride down to Temple scared as anything to be doing this city thing alone. I just began making friends in each class. I just started getting to know my way around campus. I know where to sit & have lunch, which food trucks are superb, where I can & cannot go, where the gym is. How can it all be over? Be the end? Be finished? Be done? I can’t & won’t accept it. I cannot move on yet. I just started! I swear.

Everything flooded back to me–

The homework. The long, terrible sleepless nights. The studying. 10:00 A.M. classes. The 8-page essays. The long, obnoxious lectures. Barely getting to see my family. Not knowing what “fun” was. Peanut Butter crackers. Pretzels. Bagels. Pretzels. Tea. Lunch bags. Hoagies. Fries. Wraps. Veggie Burgers. Gyros. Sitting across from a boyfriend in the SAC speaking about our homework & classes. Holding holds. Kissing. Hugging. Touching. Talking. Sharing. Speaking. Crying. Upset. Frustrated. Sad. Mad.Glad. Happy. Excited. Date. Philly. Dinners. Salads. Turkey Sandwiches. Water. Richie’s. Gust Crew. Spanish classes. Making friends. Saying goodbye. Working Out. Staying After. Her Campus Temple. Writing. Health & Fitness Staff Writer. Dreamer. Creator. Healthy. Group Projects. Math frustration. Running. Rushing. Train rides. Septa pass. Questions. Crappy Professors. Best Professors. Disability Services. Accommodations.

I swear, I just met with Vanessa Dash to discuss my first semester at Temple University. We just spoke. I promise. But, no, it was August 2010 when I had my first meeting with her.

Gosh, I won’t & can’t let go. I can’t. I’m not ready. I need to cling on, hold on tight. I can’t fathom not going there at all. Not for anything.

Makeup was put on, along with a bright red dress. I looked gorg, fabulous, “ready” to graduate.

7:24, I just made that train by two seconds before it pulled away from the station.

I sat there thinking, processing what was about to happen. I was heading down to Temple to attend the Class of 2013 Ceremony. Huh? Why? Why do I need to go that? I’m not apart of it, am I? Nope. I can’t be. 

It was real. It was overwhelming. It was large, big, huge, ginormous.


The graduates sat there as the various colleges were called. Each graduate rose when their specific college was named.


CLA- College of Liberal Arts.

My name was called. I focused on nothing, except for the moment. What was occurring? Where was Matt? He was supposed to be there. His name was in the program. He could have went. He could have been right next to me. That would have been bad, horrible, terrible for me because my emotions are still ripe & raw. They are still around, still there.

After all was complete, I called my family to see where they were located. My brother had no clue my whereabouts, but told me to stay where I was & he & my other brother would find me.

All around me, families were hugging & congratulating their loved ones. Meanwhile, I stood there alone– like a moron, like a nitwit, like a dumb ass on the verge of tears because this day was so overwhelming. I felt every kind of emotion known to man. I wanted something, someone. I felt so freakin lost & alone. I swear, I would have stood there & cried my eyes out. I knew no one around me.

I witnessed this girl run up to her boyfriend, hug him tightly & give him a passionate, long smooch. I looked away. No way. I couldn’t handle to watch that.

When I saw my two brothers walk into the room, I perked up. I knew it was picture time. But, it was completely mobbed as we made our way outside. After taking several pictures, we retreated to the car. I felt okay, alright, I guess. Who knows.

We were going out to dinner to celebrate. Then, at home, I received a bunch of gifts. Later on, I felt it– utter depression, sadness, missing everyone, everything– more so missing my former bf. Gosh, I needed him today. I wanted him today. He’s the only one who understands how I’m feeling, what’s going through my mind. I just wanted to text him so badly. I swear. I’m losing it. I didn’t. I told myself, “No! No, no, no, you can do this on your own. You don’t need him. You don’t.”  But, I want to talk to him about this loneliness, this uncertainty. He KNOWS how I’m feeling because he feels the exact same way. No, I’m not doing okay, alright. I’m doing terribly. I’m a mess. Still. Depressed. I wasn’t happy AT all to graduate. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready. I can’t move on.

Am I really a Temple University Alumni?! I guess. I assume. I mean, Bill Cosby spoke at our graduation, which was cool, but other than that, it was depressing.

Sadness kicks in & I just can’t kick it back out.

#Classof2013 #Graduation

“The Letter”

Wednesday, May 8, 2013–

I got up every morning feeling like crude, dirt, shit the first few mornings after our breakup. I would sulk and not be into working at my dream job– the magazine. I wouldn’t talk much to the editors because I wasn’t all “there.” I was somewhere else. I was in an unforgotten world. I was trapped with nowhere to go.

Then, I became stronger. I conquered the breakup. It wasn’t easy because I really care about this guy, but the doubts were too much to bear. It wasn’t fair and I had to end it. It certainly wasn’t easy. I struggled. I cried. I wept. I felt bad. Everything.

I was strong. I knew I could do it on my own. I could survive. After all, it was only 6 months, right? Can you imagine if it was a year? I would have been hurting worse than I am.

I was done. I was out. I was living. I wasn’t as sad. I was pretty good.

BUT… then… it came ‘the letter’ from… him. From my ex.

It all came back. Temple. Our classes. The hand holding. The kissing. The hugging. Peanut butter crackers.

“The letter.” No, I’m not going back, but damn, why would you do that when I moved forward a little? I was ahead. Man, what do I do, dude? Boy oh boy. It’s a toughy.

WHY THE F*** WOULD YOU WRITE ME A LETTER WHEN I WAS DOING “OKAY?” Why now? The pain & hurt are still there. I still feel it. It still lingers and won’t go away. It sits there like a piece of cake in a resting body. But, why now? Why did you feel the need to write it & confuse the hell out of me? Why would you do that? You know how vulnerable I am at the moment. I could crack at ANY given moment. Literally, I could break in half. I have. I am. I won’t. I can’t.

Why would you write me such an elaborate letter? No fair! That’s NOT fair. It’s bullshit. Strike you. I’m so vulnerable right now and I’ve got so many thoughts running through my mind.

I’m in a fragile state right now and this letter caused a ruckus. It caused a ripple in the waves. No. Don’t do this to me. It’s over. I can’t. The memories though. They’re still there. Like, they’re looming over me. They are still present. I know. I know. Dude, it sucks. I’m sorry. It hurts like hell. No, I didn’t forget about him.

I can’t stop reading it. I read it over & over & over & think, what am I going to write to him? I have lots to sort out before I write him back. Man. It came out of no where.

One day we weren’t talking at all because we needed to move forward without speaking, but then boom….’the letter.’ That letter came & shook everything.





I’m so ready for my New York Week.

With my whole body tingling in a good way, I prepare for my NYC week– Monday, Wednesday & Thursday.

I need to make more connections this week, I whisper to myself. I need to speak with my editors and get to know them so we can have a relationship when everything is over.

You have no clue what I go through, what I endure, what my travels are like, what I see, how I feel, how I look, how I act. You haven’t the slightest how it feels to go to the Big Apple three days a week to intern for a magazine. 

I’m ready. I’m ready for this week. I want this life so bad.

This is the first week that I’m fully prepped to begin my journey. In about 11 days, I will graduate with a BA in English. My Bachelor’s Degree! Can you believe it? Do you believe it?

Magazines. Magazines. And, magazines. I want to be a magazine writer. I’m yearning for that title. I can hardly wait to obtain it, but I must wait. I have to go through a few more obstacles to get there, but I will. I promise. I have the drive, ambition, passion & zest. I freakin’ love it!

I’m so ready for my New York Week.