secrets.

Every person has a secret that would break your heart.

Epiphany.

Night is my time, 1 a.m. my hour.

I realized tonight what I've been holding on to, and what I need to let go of.

He was like a dream, someone I never expected and was shocked to encounter. I don't know what I was to him, except a secret.

And as much as I yearn for him, I realize now that it's only the idea of him. That right now, he is not what I need or want or -- an even scarier thought -- what I deserve. He's someone else's, but he does not deserve to be anyone's. I'm not sure he knows how.

He isn't a good person, not now. Maybe he will be a good man one day, after he's been burned and scarred by someone he cared for deeply -- only then will he realize what he did to the women whom he claimed from the glittering rooftops, and the women he claimed in the stealth of the night.

I extinguished my dignity for him, my integrity. Despite what I knew to be wrong, I let him lead me astray and I think I've hated a small part of myself for that for a long time. I hurt someone I don't even really know because of him, almost without a second thought at the time.

Regret. I can't regret him, because he changed me. But I do regret who I was for that brief time because of him. That's not who I am at my core, but I was a terrible person for him.

I don't like believing that I deserve anything. I don't think I've really done anything to deserve something else. And who am I to make that kind of call? I think that I'll just know when he shows up. I think something inside of me will say oh hey, there you are. I'll know that he's what I need.

But I'll tell you this one last thing: integrity and dignity and values and self respect, those are the things worth holding on to at the end of the day, and if there's someone next to you when you lay down to sleep, they had best be someone who improves those four things, every damn second you spend together or apart.

Hold on we're going home.

Ever just accidentally think of something horrendously embarrassing?

And then it takes FOREVER to unthink about it?

Because this is my life.

We go together like lamb and tunafish.

You know, I'm the kind of gal that is wholly and unabashedly myself, but part of me aspires to be like Carrie Bradshaw.

Maybe not in let-me-tell-you-all-about-my-sex-life way, because...just no.

But, I would like to reach her level of fabulous. And I want her clothes. And her shoes. I'm a fashion whore, and I'm not afraid to show it.

I know she's just a television character, but she's kind of an icon, a strong woman that my generation can look up to.

"Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate."

#mychildhoodwasbetterthanyours

Perusing through Pinterest (the current love of my life), I stumbled across a pin all about the 90's. Born as I was in 1991, I had the luxury of experiencing the glorious television shows (Power Rangers, Rugrats, Doug), books (Goosebumps), and toys (Bright Lites) that came to power throughout the decade. I even listened to the music, my mother being inclined to put MTV on before cartoons. Yes, I had access to Kirk Cobain-esque music long before I should have.

There's really no point to this post, I just wanted to express my deep sorrow over the fact that most of what the 90's brought to my childhood is no longer available to children these days. Maybe there will be a comeback when I have my own kids.

Or maybe I'll have to break out the antique VHS player, the Nintendo 64, and the Power Rangers action figures at family gatherings and embarrass the living shit out of them.

Kiss me and find out how important I am.

Sitting in Barnes & Noble trying to do work but really just secretly people watching all of the ridiculous souls searching for books entertains me to no end.

I really love the people who look like they're committing a crime while they peruse the shelves, glancing nervously over their shoulder to make sure nobody is judging them for what they choose. Or the ones that find the book they want and rush away from the section, as if they can't be seen among the cookbooks.

Hey, at least you didn't accidentally walk through the sex education section. Now that, that is embarrassing -- but only when you run into someone you know.

Really, I just love people watching. People entertain me endlessly. I chalk it up to my journalistic endeavors because then I get to call it social observation.

Maybe I just like knowing that I'm not the only awkward weirdo in the world, and certainly not the weirdest. Not judging, of course. Simply appreciating the communal weirdness.

He out-me'ed me.

Post grad life kinda sucks.

Maybe just in my case. Back in my parents' house, waiting for my temporary summer job to begin in a week, and finishing the last bit of editorial work leftover from the semester, I find myself anxious about my unknown future.

Anxious and, well, just scared.

My control-freak flag is flying high, because I hate (let me emphasize that - HATE) not knowing what the next few months -- the next few years, even -- have in store for me. But at the same time, it's exciting. For the first time in my 21 years, I have no plans for an TBD amount of time.

I have a very expensive degree in my hand. I have a lot of student debt. And I have the option of doing almost anything that I want.

"Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted."

Sylvia may not have lived up to her own words, but I might.