November 06, 2015

Plus My Negative...

What I want is to be positive.

I keep imagining batteries, with the + on one end and the - on the other. And, sure, we all know that I have zero clue how batteries work. (Magic, right? Little fairies on the inside fucking to create luminous heat?) But when you open the remote to slide me into your world, I want you to see the +.

That's important to me.

Of course, I also don't live in a fairy tale. I'm not operating in a world of make believe. And so I end up constantly negotiating with myself. Because I want to be honest and open. I don't want to sugar coat. I'm physically incapable of looking people in the eye (even virtually) once I've had my feelings crushed or my heart torn out.

I duck my head. I turn away. I run for the exit.

Then I realized—while driving (because most of my epiphanies occur while driving, washing dishes, or taking a shower)—that rather than avoid the negatives (gingerly stepping as if to avoid emotional landmines), I ought to be searching for other positives.

Which is why (if you follow me on Twitter) you'll see pictures of coffee, neon, traffic, graffiti, lipstick, flowers, vinyl, toys, art. And yeah—there will be swearing, because I fucking love dirty words. And there will be occasional rants, because some situations are too bleak to keep inside. You need to crack them open. You need to shatter the glass. Crush the splinters to dust beneath your high, stiletto heel.

But for the most part, I am putting the batteries in end to end—they're 69-ing, aren't they, when you think about it?—and I'm pressing the shiny red button. And I'm switching channels until I land where I need to be.

Positive =

Answer my glittery prompt
Enter my November contest


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