An education

Greece, November 2017. Today I came across this: A primary-school principal has issued a statement. In so many words the school will be implementing a groundbreaking and exciting approach to how they treat kids. For one weekend a month they will be allowed to go home without any homework and spend quality time with their families. Now, you might think “wow, this is good. This is a good start”. Let me tell you why it's not. First, I'd like acknowledge that to the people who came up with this “groundbreaking” idea, it probably really did seem that way, additionally this most likely is all they were afforded, instead of saying "screw homework altogether" which the education system's powers that be would be sure to swiftly shut down. However, it also doesn't hurt said powers, as it is cleverly and specifically designed to cater to the small-minded people (of which there are so many here) -who think they are in fact open-minded-, and their warped little realities. It's like a magic trick, “look over here” while the real trick is happening over there like, “look again, guess what? We tanked the economy”.( just a for-instance, not based on actual events, characters that may bare resemblance to existing people are purely fictional ) In actuality it's just another way to better prepare their future-worker bees. Essentially the age at which you become a worker has been significantly lowered. We are planting the idea, the seed from which our slave-like mentality will later flourish. You are getting time off from work little child, get used to feeling thankful. Gee, a whole, one(singular) weekend to be a kid? Boy, oh boy, that's mighty nice of you! Because as an adult, you will work the longest hours, at an often-thankless job and you will get a day off or two and you will be grateful. As if time off is a rewarding luxury and not a basic human right.

The way the education system works here, is that from a young age you are given a ton of homework. You must learn everything by-heart and generally aren't taught to exercise too much critical thought. I'm romanticizing. You are in large discouraged from thinking for yourself. You must study other people's critical approaches even when discussing the arts, a famously subjective matter. You are told to memorize entire tomes and learn complex, university-level sciences. Then you will be sent to actual University where you will study something you like, but mostly something your parents or your teachers or society has encouraged you to study, because God forbid you don't go to University! What will become of you? Almost all of my friends who are musicians, talented ones, have gone on to study shipping. How odd. Although I cannot in good conscience  judge them knowing what it's like to live here. I can only hope that they hold onto their creative outlets, their music. I remember telling a woman in Greece that I had dropped out of college in pursuit of a writing career. I've never seen a person's face contort that way before, I thought she was having a stroke. I also told a University professor abroad the same thing and he encouraged me and gave me the best advice I've ever gotten. 

  I can't tell you how little I remember from when I was in school, and I was a fairly good student. Over time I learned to filter, keeping the important stuff, reading, writing, basic calculus, some chemistry and biology. I learned how to teach myself about the things I found interesting, how to study the world outside of the classroom and how not to worry about proving that I indeed knew what I was talking about. But what if I didn't have to? I wholeheartedly am against homework, especially in its current format. I believe homework should work in the way of one or two assignments a week. Not based on memorizing the opinions of some old-fart, but in going out and experiencing the world. For instance “this week, go to a museum, look at the art, write about a piece that really struck you. Go to a park, learn about plant-life, conservation and how to save the environment. Go to the beach, learn about the ocean and its creatures. Read a book! Write about what YOU thought of it and how it made YOU feel. Stay home and this time on e.g Chemistry Week, conduct an experiment. Start learning a foreign language”. Kids are like sponges, and yes they learn quickly, but overloading them with useless information, all at the same time won't help educate them any faster. Education doesn't take place exclusively in school, it is a life-long learning process, through experience and discovery of the real world, the world out there. Putting bars on classroom windows and teaching high-school kids college-level algebra does not an educated person make. What it does make is sheep. So if that was your goal, you got it! Here's a plump, thoughtless little lamb!

 Of course in any event after we are done removing any inclination for common sense and critical thinking we send boys to the army, just for good measure. Here they are to be taught discipline and how to defend their country. My best friend is in the army. In the event of a war, I guarantee you homeboy gon' be half way to Switzerland before it even starts. And yet, we are going to take 9 months away from your life, stick you in a filthy dorm with a bunch of snoring morons, where you'll have to wake up at a certain time, sleep and eat at a certain time, follow a specific set of rules under threat of punishment like not being allowed to wear long-sleeves before a specific date even if it's cold, because that's the rule(it's true) and you're going to get sick, you won't be able to go home and you'll only be allowed to see your family on one certain day. So, prison. This is the definition of a prison camp. But it's totally normal right? It's not traumatizing at all! It'll make you into a functioning, disciplined member of society, definitely. Oh and we'll also teach you how to shoot guns which, quote, “are designed specifically to take a man's arm clean off with one shot, designed to kill with one shot”. Yeah, cause boys definitely need more violence.There are some of you who will produce the invalid argument of "we've all been there". Yes, and that still doesn't make it right. You are part of the problem. You have been conditioned to believe in the normality of your situation, trained to justify and uphold the reality of your predicament instead of being horrified, much like many women here aren't horrified by their 1950s-stay-in-the-kitchen status.

 You may think this has nothing to do with education or that none of the things I've written about are connected, but I'm sorry to tell you that you are wrong. It is all in the interest of making everyone into worker bees, all to keep them from looking up. The system throws its breadcrumbs so that you may follow, they present you with an illusion, a sliver of something good in a terrible situation, an exciting denouement in an otherwise uninspired plot that only makes you think you've received an education, the tools for an authentic life, the instruments to play your own original tune. The same way people here have wet-dreams about a romantic past as if they aren't living in that very place of inspiration, art and enormous achievement, in a place that birthed democracy and great philosophers, a place in which today a single fire burns down the entire country, a single flood kills 16 people. You wanna tell me how people here are so educated and yet so incredibly stupid? All of these things are products of a dangerously dysfunctional, ludicrous system, a well-engineered machine that strips people of their ability to think critically, learn from their environment, evolve and adapt and perhaps most devastatingly, dream. 
(P.S If you, friend who is reading this, have come out unscathed, a real-life thinking person, it has little to do with your school education, your homework or your grades which at some point felt like a life or death sort of thing. It has to do with you as a person and your ability to learn and think, and the people who supported you into becoming that person, so give yourself a pat on the back, you deserve it. If you managed to get yourself into the University of your choice and studied something you really loved congrats! If you did not get into the University that your parents wanted or didn't follow the career path that was assigned to you, stop worrying, you'll be fine! If you have held onto your dreams and the power they hold, it's never too late. If you are stuck at some job you hate, but are still educating yourself continuously through the world, a day might come that you will stand up and get the hell out. If you have left Greece and live abroad, you've done the right thing. Traveling and experiencing a different culture is an education in itself!)

As far as this year goes.

Is it crazy to think of a year as inherently evil? Can a measure of time indeed be the bearer of such malice all on its own? Because, one thing I think we can all agree on is that 2016 was fucking cruel, and as it nears towards its inevitable end, instead of rejoicing, I find myself terrified. 
For me, it all started almost a year ago on my birthday, when David Bowie died. On my birthday... I mean, how fucked up is that? One of the most talented, wonderful, alien-like creatures and one of my favourite musicians dies on the day I was born. Well, it went downhill after that as we all know. These almost consecutive deaths of beloved famous artists were most devastating, in the way they were often so truly unexpected. It became especially creepy when at the start of the year's final week three more widely adored people died in three days. George Michael, another personal favourite, died on Christmas day no less, forever lending a depressing note to "Last Christmas". Carrie Fisher, who I had just seen in an interview, the eternal Princess of effortless cool, of female bad-assery, of liberation, of taboo issues, and one of the most iconic characters of all time, I could go on... left us the day after George, followed by her wonderful and just as iconic mother. If that isn't horrifyingly eerie, I don't what is. I spent those days in bed, having mild panic attacks, a product of my ever-lurking anxiety and general dread over most things. What else is going to happen, I thought. Is this the part where we all die? Cause at this point that doesn't sound like such a shit idea. The planet is falling apart, Trump  was "voted" President of the most influential country in the world ; the man looks like a thumb, dipped in Cheeto dust with a dead rabbit on his head for crying out loud; and all the cool people seem to have abandoned ship. You know, my theory is, they probably aren't even really dead, maybe they're just in some alternate reality or a parallel universe WHERE SHIT LIKE THIS DOESN'T HAPPEN! One can hope.
2016, also claimed my beloved Grandma, and I'm not saying "also" as a sort of afterthought, like "oh yeah, also my grandma, who raised me like a daughter and was essentially a mother to me, died, whatever", it's just something I haven't really talked about. In my dream, she was so angry, livid that I didn't spent more time with her, that I left her alone and all I could do was cry. That about sums up my feelings about her death. But not about her. She was fiercely loyal, loving to the point where it was pathological, but gentle and generous and kind. She may have seemed weak or submissive but let me tell you she was cunning and strong, an intense personality. She used to tell me, the hand gets weak and cowers but the eye is mighty and brave. She said that when I was too lazy to write my essays for school but I've carried it around with me. What a wise thing to say to a writer! I loved her and she loved me and we had each others backs, always. Some of  my fondest memories are from when my grandfather yelled at us for some stupid reason and we would pull out the couch in the living room and have slumber parties. Just the two of us.
Other things happened, generally everything kind of went tits up but we ain't got long enough honestly...
What an abysmal year! What a wretched fucking garbage-fire of a time!
 Here we are, left raw, damaged and desperate for it to end.
The New Year is just a day away and if by some miracle the apocalypse doesn't come, we'll all be thinking about our new year's resolutions. They always felt like bullshit to me. A self-punishing tool that will set you up for disappointment at the end of next year or a pat on the back as if to say "we'll do better this time". I'll turn back the clock on all my wrongdoings, I'll eat less pizza, I'll be a better version of the person I was. It seems that motif is a bit of an oxymoron. On the one hand it  leaves little room for error but mostly reads like a repetition of all the same ones. As someone who is usually very unforgiving of myself and tries to set expectations very low, I tend to be a little more forgiving at New Year's.
You see, we make our list of pros and cons, punish ourselves for all that we did or didn't do and prepare to pick up the pieces and put them back together. In the puzzle that is us, as you pick up the pieces, you are often trying to place things that no longer exist. The way I see it the puzzle is evolving and in its ever-changing pieces we find our experiences, our pain, our desires, the landscape shifting with every new moment and memory. Instead of correcting what we perceive as flawed isn't it better to make space for the new bits of ourselves we discover? Aren't many of those existing pieces obsolete as they no longer seem to fit? After all this death don't we owe ourselves renewal? I certainly am not the same person that I was at the beginning of the year, and to reassemble myself as an improved version of that would certainly prove fruitless. It is impossible to turn the river back into a stream as is impossible to go back to an old self that has evolved. So take any pieces that you are capable of molding into something new, create your own sequence, your own fluid architecture and lose the rest.  The pizzas consumed, the hours at the gym not logged, the missed opportunities or wrong forks in the road taken, those things don't matter. They are passed, they aren't something to punish yourself over and they aren't a part of where you are going. Fuck new year's resolutions. Let those go and be who you're going to be in the new year without prejudice over past mistakes. Be who the puzzle of yourself is creating, who you want to be.
 I believe that's what I'll do.

Happy New Year! Love E.

What I learned this week

After work, I stopped for a quick drink at the bar where my friend was dj-ing. As I was walking towards the tram stop afterwards, a group of boys, probably in their teens weere catcalling girls as they went by, sexual innuendos and fat-shaming slurs depending on the appearance of each girl. That got me thinking. What a world! Fat-shaming, racism (I've been a victim of both), sexism(that one too) and terrorism. Last week Paris was attacked (so was Lebanon and Africa but who's counting when it's not the western civilization, right?). Social media blew up from all the people who came together to "pray for Paris", which honestly I found ridiculous- again who's praying for Lebanon and Africa- I had even prepared a post about it.
But then another thought entered my mind. A stranger on the street complimented my hair. Not my ass, or my tits. Hair might still be a part of my outside appearance but still, I doubt a passerby could have time to notice my wise spirit or my bright personality. And as stupid and superficial as it sounds, you know, I don't wake up like this dude, I take pride in my hair and, it was just a nice thing to say. It wasn't deep nor profound, but it was nice to hear. I realised how much we need more of that, more nice, more kind. Which brings me to last night. The night before I noticed my cat, Edgar, had not touched his food, I also thought he might have a fever. Yesterday, I had to go to work but I knew he wasn't well. It's true what they say, having pets is like having a child, it's a lot of responsibility and you worry. My stomach was in a knot the whole day. I knew I had to work till 21.00 which was a long time for him to wait and it would be hard to get a vet at that time. My friend who usually texts and then throws his phone cross-country, actually texted me right away with numbers to the best vets in the area. I called the first one from work and explained the situation. She told me that although she closes earlier she would wait for me until I got off work to take him. My boyfriend who was super supportive had a class, so he was trying to find someone else that was able to take me but it would be hard to manage time-wise. By this point my nerves were shot and I didn't know what to do. I called my manager and asked her if there was anything we could do. A while later she called me from her car and said she would be there in 10min. She had gone out of her way to come in to work two hours earlier, even though she wasn't supposed to be working(it's just the two of us) and after I had taken him to the vet she called to make sure everything was okay. My boyfriend also got one of his friends to pick me up and take me and the cat. The vet was super nice and did a thorough exam. He was running a temperature of 40.4 and just like in humans let's say that ain't good. She gave him antibiotics and by the time we were home he was already a little better. The kindness and support of the people around me probably saved my cat, who's only a baby.
Yesterday was stressful, honestly, it felt like I had to do so many grown-up things I had never had to do before. But then today something else happened. As I was closing the shop, my employer called and told me to take some money from the till. When I asked why, he said that we had done well today, that I had done a terrific job and to buy myself a drink on him tonight.
I don't know why people being nice, people being supportive or appreciative shocks us so much but the togetherness, the love, the humanity, that's what this world needs right now. So I won't write about how terrible those boys on the street were and I won't post that post about terrorism because I refuse to spread the ugliness and hate. I'd rather tell you about how much I love and appreciate the little and big things the people around me did for me this week and challenge you to think about any little kind thing someone did or said to you. You might be surprised.
That to me is humanity and that to me is what will save this world.

An imaginary scene at 4a.m titled: Detachment

My left side leaning lazily against the white porcelain sink, I had a chunk of her long auburn hair in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other. I observed, absentmindedly, as the ashes fell like snow flakes in slow motion into the drain. She was bend over, almost doubled over her stomach in front of me while she braced herself with both hands on each side against the bathtub. He stood, his back to me, gripping a red solo cup, half-full with Haig in one hand, his penis in the other as he attempted to aim in the toilet bowl. My thoughts were like dull blades trying to focus but otherwise pointless and disengaged. My ears were buzzing and begged for the music and loud banging on the door in the background to stop. "GO A-WAY"! I screamed as I turned around and went towards the closed but otherwise unlocked door with it's scratched surface and protruding banged up frame. Securing the door and returning slowly to my post I was looking at the square mint-colored tiles reminiscent of the 50s and my grandma's bathroom where I watched her bathe, roll her hair into a neat chignon and put on cobalt blue kohl which brought out her eyes and, which even though she reapplied everyday, never seemed to take off at the end of it. Meanwhile a thick lock of hair had fallen to the side of her oval face and was now dangling with a little bit of vomit and she began crying even louder than before.I went over and somewhat indifferently patted her back in an effort to calm her down. I tapped his shoulder, borrowing a sip of his drink and a piece of toilet paper which I used to sloppily clean the barfed-on lock of hair. My ears were still buzzing and I felt my head spinning but I could hear "Uptown Funk" was playing, something which prompted the girl previously slumped over a stranger's bathtub to jump up, tear-free and spin around grabbing his forearm, launching them both out the door and into the party. Left facing the bathtub, I grabbed the shower-head and started washing away the stomach contents of my friend. Satisfied with a crime well-concealed, I now stood facing the mirror over the sink, which was filthy with cigarette ashes and I remembered that in spite of his usual OCD-level cleanliness he hadn't washed his hands before dashing off. I was rubbing mascara stains off of my cried-on cardigan, when the host came in through the door left ajar, her heels clicking on the tile floor, her tulle and lace skirt dragging. "Go ahead" I said, noticing that the ball of wet tissue paper I was holding was rapidly falling apart and shedding white-ish fibers, giving her a nod through the mirror letting her know that if she wanted to pee she'd have to do it with me here. She didn't seem to mind and sat on the toilet, unclasping her high-heels and tossing them aside. I heard the fake camera chime from an i-phone go off, multiple times a second, the sound of another selfie behind me. I stared blankly at my phone on the mirror shelf.  "Fuck" she said. Unzipping my leopard print purse and reaching inside, I handed her a tampon without turning to face her. I moved so she could wash her hands and she flew out the door, which was now left completely open. Outside was the long hallway, people tittering to and fro and beyond that more people, drinks and loud music. The mood outside had shifted I felt, all sense of feeling drowning in the fluids of inebriation. In another mirror, facing the bathroom door, out in the hallway, this one body-length, I starred at my self in dismay. My oily complexion had my face shining like an August moon, my hair, tucked behind my ears on both sides of my middle part, had lost all volume whatsoever. My curve-hugging outfit seemed less of a good idea than it was when I first put it on exactly 7 hours ago. I looked down at my shoes and the flattened cigarette butt peeking from underneath my right sole, apparently stuck after I had disregarded and stepped on it. On the brand new white Miele washing machine in the corner was a silver tray with ornate carvings that looked antique and on it an array of red solo cups, some empty, some half-full with murky brown liquid which I determined by the smell, was whiskey-coke, and some with bits of tobacco floating like castaway sailors. The smell of alcohol and smoke and vomit made me feel queasy for a moment but eyeing a small, green, glass bottle with a red and green label I grabbed it, unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful of lukewarm lager. I lit another cigarette. I waited for the next guest in my domain. The door open, the music pouring in, the smoke creating a halo around my head, beer in hand, living the dream.

Island Life:Koufonisi

The city has never felt more glum and I feel so disconnected, as if I've been gone for ages. In truth I was only gone for a week which thankfully seemed a lot longer as it was going by but suddenly feels brief and tiresome now it's passed. I wish I had stayed on the island. Time seems to work differently there or wherever summer finds you. As if it stops and starts at its own pace, languidly and hastily all at the same time. An hour feels like ages on the beach and a night feels like a minute. I'm a city girl, I grew up in the city, I adore the city. The traffic, the noise, the impurity and the beauty in the grey and murky. I mean I live in Athens so it's not so murky, actually sunny and alight most days. The murkiness perhaps draws itself from routine, from characters and from the idea that a city should be something out of comic book, dark and brooding. At least in my head. But I adore it. Summers though are really when  Greece is at it's most astonishing. Ever since I was a little girl the islands were my escape. I lived in Santorini as a baby, and later while other kids would visit their grandparent's villages I would be swimming in a different sea, discovering a new island.The water was always essential to me. I was always in the water. I guess it's where I feel most comfortable and weightless, flowing but secure. I swam and held my breath under water until I was blue in the face( I still do) and over the years I've associated the sea, the blue, the island with good things. But I always came back to the city and it always seemed different in its sameness. This time I just didn't get enough. My mind wasn't ready to quit daydreaming and my body didn't want to leave the water. I almost wanted to quit my job, not for any particular reason other than to protest coming back. To live in anarchy, not to conform, not to be told when to come back to responsibility, not to be told when to get out of the water because I'm not a child anymore..and yet isn't it funny that we get told what to do more so now that we are adults than when we were children? Not in the literal sense like when our parents told us to brush our teeth and eat our vegetables. Alas as adults we still have to sleep at a certain time to go to work, work certain hours, look a certain way, eat a certain time and in a sense those things aren't dictated by us we just enforce them on ourselves because of circumstance and routine. Many times I think part of what made me want to be a writer was that I could make my own schedule, not to have an everyday-ness that someone set for me, do it from anywhere and because I hate working with other people. Maybe next year I'll have written a book and moved to an island. Maybe I'll go back to the island we've been going to for the past two years. Speaking of which, the reason I started writing this, my vacation. Koufonisi is paradise, in no way exaggerating it is heaven on earth.

The waters are crystal clear and tirquoise, the cuisine is amazing and the people are friendly but at safe distances. There is a lot of walking involved but it is so worth it. Even this city girl found herself enamored with the blue skies and brownish green shrubs and white flowers that grew in the sand. Walking along the coastline, navigating around rocky, sharp cliffs and white, sandy shores was even more adventurous and majestic done at night, in the pitch black, when the sea looks like oil and everything seems somehow bigger. In total we must have walked about 20-25km during the 5 days we were there. We snorkeled through deep caves that led to open sea and along the rocks where my boyfriend kept collecting live seashells and I kept making him put them back in their "home". We climbed down to the most spectacular hidden beach where the water is milky white and frothy. We didn't spare any expenses or calories when it came to delicious meals and I'm so glad we didn't. I crave luxury and richness and I found all of that in the nature's colors, the sea, the food, the essense of the island life. In the end I don't know that I could live there but it is certainly hard to leave it behind.

Greeks and Retail: A guideline

You know why this country is knee-deep in shit? Well, first of all, the Germans, but also because as a folk they can be and often are, and I think this is the official, scientific term for it, bastards. Otherwise lovely people, Greeks tend to have no respect whatsoever for one another, simply put, they don't give a tiny rats ass about anyone but themselves. I'm sure there are of course exceptions to this (including myself and six people I know and actually don't hate) but I'm addressing this as a national issue. There is even a saying in Greek which is roughly translated to "as long as I'm okay, let the neighbour's goat die". His goat! I mean what kind of monster would be okay with watching the goat next-door die?
Today based on my intimate knowledge on the subject I examine one simple example of how much people here don't give a shit about their fellow human-being. Case in hand: retail. Now, I know what you're going to say. The perils of working retail are pretty much the same wherever you are. Sure, which is why the following series of guidelines should be considered not only the documentation of my personal hell but also as international rules for a better shopping experience. I do live and work in Greece, a country in a recession so bad we had to have capital controls inforced, and people are still out shopping. So let me sing you the song of my people.
Customers. Now, I'm sure that in your everyday lives some of you are most likely half-decent people, it's just that as customers, and I'm sorry to have to break it to you, you suck.
Number one: You are not always right. Never have, never will.
Number two: I'm inclined to be polite but I will not be as efficient if I'm dealing with someone who is not. Take your attitude somewhere else.
Number three: This one makes my whole case. I am here all day long, you have all day long to "swing by". Closing time is definite and non-negotiable. As someone who I assume works for a living, don't you just hate it when someone makes you stay after hours? So do I. Apparently people quite blatantly don't give a shit about this. This is not acceptable.
Number four: Neither is the excuse "I just finished work". And you have to keep me longer at mine?Why?
Number five: Using the excuse "I just got back from vacation" instead of "I just finished work" only makes the situation worse for you. I am now legally allowed to bitch slap you.
Number six: When you see me near the door, holding my purse, at 9 p.m don't ask if I'm closing. Ask how YOU can help ME close faster. The answer to this will always be: by quietly fucking off.
Number seven: If, by some cruel fate you have beaten me at my own game and got me to stay past closing time... congrats you have won this time. However I am not obligated to stay after hours. Your cunning ways may have deceived me but I am not your servant, stop acting like it. Show some goddamn respect.
Number eight: It's August. Yes, I'm tired and hot and I'd rather be at the beach or literally anywhere else, alas I am here and so are you. Stop asking.
Number nine: If you have a child keep it under control. This is a jewellery store not some futuristic, glass peting-zoo. Stop touching my windows.
Number ten: There used to be another store here, which clearly isn't here anymore. Obviously I don't know where it's moved to or if it still exists because a. I'm not the yellow pages b. my job requirements don't include keeping track of previous owners. Stop being offended by this. It's weird.

Bonus: And this is true! I cannot believe I have to say this out loud or even reiterate in my head after I've heard it but... in case it isn't obvious by all the jewellery this is NOT a flower shop and I am most definitely NOT a florist. Our flowers you were admiring outside are purely decorative and most notably fake! As in plastic. As in if I were a florist I would not be selling fake flowers. It's unfathomable that you need an explanation for this.

And there you have it! Until next time, keep your crazy at bay. x

How I stopped being afraid

Written at work, Thursday, 9:30 am, slightly hangover.
For the past few months I've been living in fear. Not actual fear but a numbing, moat-y feeling which I guess can only be described as fear. Fear of writing and being in that vunerable, open place in my mind. The last time I wrote anything that wasn't work related, apart from my witty Facebook statuses (my mom thinks they're funny, so, so should you)? I think it was March, because it was still chilly and I was unemployed. At that point I took my dad's advice of going back to University and being miserable and did the exact opposite, as you do. I got a job which, funny story, I was afraid to get and afraid to start. I started supporting myself and paying my bills on time, queue, intense fear. My job at a jewellery store turned out better than expected and my bosses are actually decent people, when they aren't taking advantage of my kindness and mad skills. Shortly thereafter I signed up for e-learning writing classes which I was scared I wasn't going to be excepted to and when I did afraid to deal with it because I felt I'd fail. And somewhere in all of this, everything else stopped. I don't mean relationships, friends, nights out. I mean I started being a lot more afraid instead of less. I stopped being creative in the ways I was before. I was tired and felt spent. All I talked about was work. My boss is now on leave for the entire month of August and it's just me and the Internet here at work all day, everyday. Oh, and the crazy customers who show up at precisely 21:00 p.m, or as I like to call it the  time I should be on my way home but am not, because well, people. Yes, I'm exhausted, but more than that I've managed, by choice,to trap myself in a situation where work has devoured my life. I suppose  it's easier to whine about work related issues and stress than to have a crack at what is actually bothering me. Sure I could be doing other things as well but I'm too afraid to do them. Why? I'm not telling you, reader, I'm asking you. Why? Even at my most complacent, I still managed to create something. I was broke but I wasn't afraid. I was sad, but not scared. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but doing nothing at all wasn't an option. Last night I was afraid to open an email (gasp)! That's right. I was afraid to stay up late with friends because I had to wake up early. Right now I fear I'm becoming repetitive. My point is, my friend wasn't entirely wrong when he said I was becoming an old lady. My boyfriend, who convinced me to open that email, isn't wrong when he says I can do anything I set my mind to. He also says I'm pretty and an amazing lover and he makes me breakfast on Sundays, which has nothing to do with what I was saying but I just wanted to point out how wonderful my boyfriend is(and I don't want him to think I never write anything about him, so there). My other friend wasn't wrong when she told me to grow some balls( a mission harder than most, since I am in fact a woman). She said "you used to have balls", cause apparently this conversation is turning into some strange reverse Bruce Jenner situation, I don't know what she's talking about anymore. And I do kinda wish I had gone to bed earlier, or my head would be thanking me instead of throwing a tantrum like some spoiled teenager from the Valley, but nevertheless I'm glad I did. I felt a little less old lady and more like grown ass adult. This revelation of course came after half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc(the second half) while watching Bachelor in Paradise(it isn't shamefull if you don't do it alone) so I don't know if it counts as an epiphany.

"How I stopped being afraid" might seem a bit severe, it's more like "how I paused being afraid in order to write this and I'm pretty sure I'll keep being afraid
but at least now you all get to hear about it".