Do I Want To Eat Because I'm Hungry, Or Am I Just Bored: A Novel, By Me

Do I Want to Eat Because I'm Hungry, or Am I Just Bored: a Novel, by me

Yeah but when someone's upper lip is angled like Kim Possible or Emma Stone? That's the shit right there

She just. Reached out. And stroked my hair. It was 5 days ago. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

So touch starved atm that having a pt's arm resting on my knee for a 90 minute transfer so he wouldn't fuck up his IV is the most intimacy I've felt in months

I find I use this blog as a sort of therapy. I've never been able to be open to people. Even anonymously on the internet I tend to clam up, be cagey, or start to perform for others an exaggeration of myself. This blog I think is sort of my latest attempt to see how honest I can be. How intimate my thoughts can be. How much I can allow myself to say. So far, I've said more on here than I've ever said to anyone ever. Most of it is weird, gross, offputting, random, and a little disturbing, but that's ok. I'm writing for me. All these disjointed snippets by no means reflect the person I am as a whole, but they each of them have their own place in the time they were written and the ever shifting person they were written by. Nightmares, dreams, stresses, anxieties, joys, wants, observations, life events, and moods. All are strange and uncomfortable. I'm trying to be ok with that.

Is it too much to ask for Alex Borstein to peg me into oblivion?