Flames. Bridges. The After Life.


The afternoon rain has come, shadowing the movie in my mind. The reel of my life flickering like an old picture show; childhood, heart breaks, friends I met along the road, ones I have lost, the girl I used to be, him, life before The Van, wrong decisions, right choices. All transitioning into the final scene. Here.

I sit inside an old chicken coop I  miraculously transformed into a place of my own. I had actually gotten sick for a few weeks as a result of cleaning god-only-fucking-knows how many years of chicken shit. This place, has become somewhere I can hide from the world to soak in my thoughts.


I’m worried of who I have become as the face in the mirror has shifted from a girl into a woman I do not recognize. Not in a physical sense, but the eyes….softer.

What do I want anymore? I never sought for this life, as I have said before, it just happened. There wasn’t a bucket list, circles on an intended route, nor a proposed ending. I often wonder what the fuck I am doing.

Is the road ever going to call me back? Or is it here, inside this valley, beneath these towering mountains, where my journey ends?


Did I lose my balls? My sense for adventure? Yes. I was brutally exhausted when I pulled up to The Farm. The road had done a number on me and I hadn’t realized it till I put The Van in park. I haven’t driven it since as just looking at her made my skin crawl. I didn’t want to be the chick with the graffiti hippie van. I’m more than that now.

What really fucking kills me, is when I meet people and they say things like…

“ Well, you are at that age where you are capable of traveling.”

“ I remember when I was able to do that.”

“ What will you do after?”

It should never end. NEVER.  Yes, I lost my balls and somehow convinced myself I was too old to be doing this and needed to figure out “what I wanted to do with my life’”. This is my life.

I’ve burned the bridge leading to the old me and there is no turning back now. So where does this leave me? A woman, staring at the flames of her past, no place to call home. Where do I go from here?


The time has come for me to part with The Van. Ideally, I would like to drive her home and keeping her safe till I have a place of my own. Just thinking about the maintenance and gas to get her there is making my head spin. Leaving her to rot somewhere would break my heart. Thirty years from now, I just want my children to think I was once….rad.


I’ve thought long and hard about this one. Life without The Van. Whoa. Over three years ago I first laid eyes on her and two years of living inside of her. I’ve been more faithful to her than any man, which is why I want to lay her down softly. I will cry, like I often did while renovating her and during this journey. These tears will be different, joyous and proud. We did it, when some around me believed I would never even pull out of the driveway. Yup, fuck you.


I honestly have no idea what is around the next bend. I’ve learned to embrace the unknown and has now become the only thing I know. Whatever lays ahead, I’m sure will be just fine and dandy.



Goodbye Facebook. Effective 7/7/14/ MST.

  1. The year I became legal to buy porn, graduated high school, became a stripper, and joined Facebook.

That’s right, eight years. I remember our first post, the excitement of finding you, the classless pictures from 2007 now stored in the “Only Me” folder, my first FB official breakup, a profile picture of me drunk on  the day I graduated high school,  the archived folders of old flames, me getting a tattoo, a brand on my ass, and every other meaningless moment in my life.





I’m leaving you. We are no longer friends. You can’t like nor follow me. My name will no longer come up in the search bar. We will not have any mutual friends.

I’m rustling my hair as I’m writing this, because I’m not quite sure how to say this. Although we have had fun, and yes you now know everything about me, there comes a time when all good things come to an end. This my friend, is it. As Mr. Morrison once said, “This is the end, beautiful friend, this is the end.”

Why? I’m just exhausted, completely and utterly. This isn’t being free, you and I. I miss reading magazines on the shitter and not  friends’ latest post about their horrible day. I don’t want to upload anymore pictures tweaked by third party apps. I feel like you’re the middle man in a stalker situation and I’m getting the creeps. I’m sorry to knock you off the list first, as you know, I am still in love with my blog and Instagram. (Although, I saw Instagram had placed a sponsored image in my news feed.)

This wasn’t stemmed from a FB news feed battle nor slander of any kind from any jealous broads or ex-beaus. This is me, wanting  my life back. I don’t want anyone peering into my current relationship, recent dilemma, or how I’m feeling that day. It’s simply me seeking back my privacy.

I fucking did it. I lived, learned to let go, and told anyone to go fuck themselves who got in my way. I let the world watch me fall and pick myself back up again. Some of you even offered a hand while others put their foot on my chest. I did what I was always meant to do.. be free. So let’s end it here. Goodbye, my friend.

Yours Truly,