I’ve somehow gathered a meager amount of attention with absolutely nothing, so that’s exciting. This blog is going to start to be kind of a dump of the garbage that fills my stupid brain. Nonsense. Somewhat sense?
The thing is, I used to write a lot. Roughly 15-20 years ago, I was constantly typing or writing stuff in a notebook. I had different books for various stories and a rotation of different journals. My teenage years were rough due to a variety of crises, and not just the crises of every Millennial teenager. Writing was my way of understanding the chaos inside and outside of me. Over the years, that outward expression went inward, and I saw this as a sign of successfully growing up. Which was wrong. To the behest of my partner, I started a physical journal again and it was going really well. But my stress and worries and feelings got so big, and I felt so constrained by the limitations I set myself with this journal. And I used to be a writer! I think I’m so smart and funny. I’m subjecting you to it all.
I think this post is just a fancy way of saying this is my therapy until I can find a therapist in real life. So enjoy whatever happens here. I want to talk about issues I care a lot about, I want to talk about how I’m feeling in this current clusterfuck, and I want to talk about my feeeeeeeeeeeelings.
BUT I also want to talk about the music and art that brings me a lot of joy. I’m a product of the passions that brought me here and I might as well share them will all of whoever you are. I sense a lot of dread and it doesn’t have to feel that way all the time. Remember that.
ttyl xJenna
recalcitrance 
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