Can I just say, and I'm just being honest...

[J a c k]

Two words you probably won't say, but they're two words you need to say.

I think you know what they are, and I won't respond until I hear them, after your behavior tonight.

1. More
2. Tacos
More tacos. I gotchu, homie. Lol
___________________________

CIJS
It's midnight and I should be asleep, but I'm inspired.

I'm feeling discovered. By me. In a good way. I'm fucking 32 years old, yo, and it took me this long to get to a place where I can look you in the eye and tell you: This is who I am. This is what it's like to be in my head. This is what I like to do, to listen to, to talk about, to write about, to taste. This is what I am and I fucking love it. I'm proud of it. It's my god damned art. When I left the control of the church, a husband controlled me for a decade. When that was over... I had no self.

This is what I came up with. This is me. I fucking like me. Sometimes old me throws a tantrum and wants to tell me that I don't want to put my foot down, because it's scary. Sometimes I forget that I'm strong and I hide underneath old me, but yo! I'm not my past. I think I'm not that bad and fuck, I have good taste in friends.

       

Now I wanna talk about flan. I like it. It dissolves softly in my mouth and awakens everything. So, hey, boo. Your friendship is like flan. So sweet, it's comforting. I feel like it's a selfish luxury, because I get more out of it than you ever will. I have learned so much, about random things, but also about myself. Fuck. So much. I truly consider you one of those things I'm proud of in my new and improved self. Damn. Look at that. That's the kind of human I choose to be my friend. I'm good at this, because look. Flan.

And hey, all my friends here who have ever taken the time to read my CIJS posts, I see you. Thank you. I fucking love you. I'd get "the next round" for all of you ranty mofos if I could. Fucking ey. Goodnight now.