Let's talk about change.

Humans, it seems, are naturally afraid of change. They fear it so much, that they seek to avoid it, often falling into something that they aren't completely happy with simply so they don't have to seek something else out.

I myself am a victim of routine. I wake up at the same time, drive the same route to work, put my stuff in the same place on my desk, go to the same coffee store, order the same drink, do my daily work things, possibly take a second trip to the same coffee store to get another drink (different from the first, but the same day to day), do the same thing after work, eat the same meal for dinner, and ultimately go to bed after playing through my five lives of Candy Crush before falling asleep.

It's bad.

However the end of an era has come.

Very recently I made a decision (and not lightly, there was a lot of crying and discussion involved in it) that very well has changed the next year+ of my life. After switching my major it's the biggest decision I've made since. As some people know, I've decided to leave my position in the photo department and move on. At first I had no idea where I was going, and then I got an inkling, and then I had a discussion, and then I got a job — as a graphic designer, nonetheless.

It's a step forward. I came to college with virtually no work experience, learned how to ballroom dance, switched my major, got a job as a photographer, stopped dancing, got a job as a photo editor, and two years later I'm a senior with an intent to graduate in the spring working as a graphics person.

My life, if nothing, has been interesting.

There are times where I've shunned change as an overall, but oftentimes I resort to viewing it as a step in the right direction. Although I'm not a necessarily religious person, I am a firm believer that everything is going to happen for some sort of reason. Working as a photographer opened a lot of doors and gave me a lot of skills that I wouldn't have necessarily had prior to. I've worked with people from all walks of life and done so many different things and experienced everything from court to traveling to the middle of nowhere (Wisconsin) and bunny hopping across the seemingly one main road in the entire state after drunkenly eating TGIFriday's at midnight.

I've covered hockey games across the state and got to take photos at the one place of my dreams (Joe Louis Arena), and covered nearly every single game in an entire MSU hockey season — to the point some of the defensemen would smile at me every time they saw me pointing a camera in their direction.

I've made a lot of friends, made a few good photos along my way, and made some self-discoveries. I grew into myself.

This summer I continued to grow into myself. I grew a voice and earned some respect and had an influencing say in a lot of things. I helped contribute to the redesign of a 100+ year old newspaper. I delivered newspapers and designed advertisements and found things that I truly enjoyed doing, doing them with people I enjoyed being with.

People say that the summer before they come to college is a time for change, but I firmly believe it's the summer before your senior year — the time when you start to think about where you're going to be in a year, who you're going to be spending your time with, and what you want to do with it.

It was absolutely a challenging summer, and it definitely wasn't easy, but I've already learned so much and am ready to take another giant leap in order to learn more. Joining the creative team, learning how to do news design and ad design and (possibly) even web design is just another hallway into another set of doors that can open as soon as I fall in love with what I'm doing.

Already something that I'm interested in, joining a design team is certain to bring me to some very interesting places.

And I'm excited about the new direction.

The Evolution of My Future

Someone asked me the other day what I wanted to do with my life -- what exactly was my dream job?

Truth be told I've had too many to count on one hand. I've been blessed with so many opportunities that I really haven't had a solid idea of what it was exactly that I wanted to do.

In high school I wanted to be a famous mystery writer. I had a pen name, a life plan, and aspirations. I even self-published two novels. Everyone told me it wasn't "practical," that I needed a backup plan, like I was some sort of hard drive meant to save the world.

So when I first started college I started as an undeclared pre-med student. As I tell everyone that asks, it didn't last long. They probably wouldn't want a doctor that 2.5ed a chemistry class. Wouldn't really help them all that much.

So I switched my major and had the full intention of being a famous author in general. Back to the life plan. Which sort of fell apart when I realized that it still wasn't a very practical major -- especially since I didn't want to teach. Two years later and I'm still an English major, so I guess we'll see what happens with that. It's since been reduced to "be an author that can maybe finish a book and sell a copy every now and then," but the key is 'maybe finish a book.' Baby steps.

Freshman year I thought for a hot second that maybe I could eventually cut it as a professional ballroom dancer -- maybe as a dance teacher.

After switching my major I got a job as a photographer for a newspaper -- a job which, by so many miracles, I still have. Since then it's gone like this: Wedding photography? Portrait photography?

Last January it was combat photography, then it was sports photography, then hockey photography, back to combat photography, a brief contemplation of circus photography, always intermixed with "be some type of author that maybe finishes a book every fifteen years."

And now I'm back to wondering what the hell I'm going to do with my life. Can I actually finish a book? Could I maybe make it in some type of photography field? Or should I just enlist in the army and attempt combat photography?

Regardless of the constant change I've realized one thing in common with all of my supposed aspirations in life.

Something in my future has to involve story telling. Whether it be in novel form, short story form, poetry. The story of someone's wedding, of a milestone in someone's life. Story through dance and physical expression. The story of war and loss and tragedy, of a team sport, of success, the story of life and death.

Always some type of story.

So I'm not exactly positive what I'm going to end up doing in a year, five years, ten years down the road. I have no idea where the many paths I'm on are going to lead me. Judging by what I've seen and done thus far I know only that it will be different and exciting, and the only thing I can hope to do is one day tell a story that the world can see.

Actual thoughts I have while scrolling through online dating

Alright, but this time it probably isn't a secret that I activated a so-called online dating profile.

Do I plan on seriously using it to look for potential mates? I don't know.

Do I think anything will come of it? No idea.

Do I even want something to come of it? Maybe, but probably not.

Well then why the fuck does it exist? I got bored, okay? No harm intended. I was curious to talk to people in hopes of finding a shred of human decency on the internet (HAH) and maybe make a few friends. 

I think my longest conversation was maybe 10-15 messages, at least 5-8 of which included hockey, and 4 of which included food.

But, while scrolling and occasionally receiving messages, I've had some interesting thoughts.

Maybe this is me trying to be funny. Maybe my standards are too high. Maybe it's too late for me to be awake with a little sleep deprivation. Or maybe online dating just really sucks.

------

Wait did you actually just write me a love poem are you serious I have one photo posted and literally I haven't put any information on my profile.

Okay, yes. Yes I get it that the fact I'm holding an iron and an umbrella while wearing a hardhat is interesting.

why are you even messaging me our match percent is literally 0. stop.

o look you're holding a gun. cool.

seriously how is your hair longer than mine oh my god like how do people do it? i get so annoyed with long hair HOW.

i need to keep a tally of how many shirtless mirror pics there are on this damn site holy fuck.

NO. no i am judging you do NOT use your flash while taking a photo in a mirror are you dumb?

i secretly judge all of your profile photos holy crap i need to just not. stop dani stop.

are you even 26 you look like you're in your 40s???

oh cool you're bleeding you should probably get that looked at.

o look a dog.

o look a hockey player. boy got flow.

oh god another wolverine.

shit is he wearing a black hawks jersey?

wait didn't i graduate with you?

you might actually be a serial killer.

HELP ME.

Only dogs count as best friends.

Yesterday I got a phone call at 7 in the evening, a phone cal in which it sounded like someone had died.

Today someone did.

Today we put down my mastiff of over four years.

But dogs aren't just dogs, as some might say. They don't call a dog a (wo)man's best friend for nothing.

I can't count the times on both my hands where I've been crying in front of someone I considered a really good friend, couldn't count the times where I was upset and not a single person asked me why or the times where everyone in a room ignored my visibly upset manner -- tears and horrible sobbing included.

I couldn't lift a single finger for the times I was upset around my dog and she didn't notice. She couldn't ask me why, couldn't ask me what, but she could do the one thing that so many of my "friends" couldn't do: She could tell me that everything was going to be alright.

Even though her breath smelled absolutely terrible and her slobber would sometimes sink deep into my pores, I always knew that she wanted to make sure I was doing okay, always knew that seeing her would raise my spirits from the ground to the roof.

No one else could ever do that.

I could walk into ballroom practice, into my apartment, into work, and have invisible tears.

Writing this, trying not to cry, trying to hide a grieving process from so many people at the loss of my best friend, only makes me realize that I can go home now and cry and not have that comfort.

Only a dog owner would understand that never-ending love and affection. Understand that the loss of someone that has helped you survive so many days can create a massive sorrow that weighs on your heart.

And weigh it does.

The only thing college has given me is a stutter.

If you've ever spoken to me, you probably notice that I stumble over my words more often than I can speak clearly.

Whether I start to say one word and then I stumble into another, or I combine two words together that don't belong, or even if I just stutter over the first few letters of a simple word.

Generally I'm not too bad -- generally people can understand what I'm saying, they gloss over the misstep as if it'll only happen once or twice. But it continues.

It doesn't happen all of the time, some days are clearer than others. But it still happens and frankly, at 20 years of age, it's a little embarrassing.

I didn't have a stutter when I graduated from high school. I could articulate everything quite well, in both English and Spanish.

Now I stumble over "How was your weekend" and "Esta presentación es de dos castillo."

Somewhere between graduation and orientation I lost my ability to speak clearly and I'm still not exactly how. Maybe it's the pressure of graduation into the adult life, or the pressure of class and work, or the fact that I'm about to be 40 thousand dollars in debt for the rest of my life.

Maybe it's pressing down on parts of my brain that let me speak up and speak my mind, maybe it's just twisting my tongue.

Either way, at the rate it's going, I'll graduate and walk into an interview and stumble over my name.

Athena as my Valentine, and why being single on the 14th is actually awesome.

Two things:

Athena is my dog.

I should probably come up with a shorter title, but I'm not really feeling up to that one.

A few years ago I probably would have posted something stupid on my tumblr like this:

I did actually go back in my blog to 2011 to screenshot that post. It exists.

This year I posted something more along the lines of:

A lot has changed, and most of it comes in the form of my apathy towards most holidays. However I am quite more passive about Valentine's day. I don't actively hate it, it just sort of exists. I mean, being single on the 14th is actually kind of cool.

1. You don't have to share your 6 pack.
     Or any alcohol, really. Before the comments about how single people are all alcoholics drinking away sorrows on Valentine's Day, suck it up for a minute, hear me out. Hopefully you're one of those people that buys good beer. There's a difference between drinking cold piss and drinking decent alcohol. I, personally, am not Bear Grylls and enjoy the latter. If you, like me, do not like to share your booze with other people, you aren't obligated to. Otherwise, say you buy a bottle of wine or a bottle of liquor or a 6 pack. You're probably on a stay at home date with your significant other, and are therefore most likely going to end up sharing your booze. I did not.

2. Sure that dress is cute but look at my Superman sweatpants!
     If I could wear these sweatpants for the rest of my life I would be happy. They're warm, they make me nice and cozy under my Snuggie, they're fucking Superman fucking PJs. I will gladly lay around and not put on makeup or dress pants or a necktie or a dress.

3. YOU DON'T HAVE TO SHAVE.
     Literally this should be the only reason that you need. Shaving. Sucks. Whether it's your legs or your arms or your chest or your face or whatever you shave. IT SUCKS. It's time consuming, there's the possibility that you get to cut yourself, sometimes you run out of shaving cream or your razor is too dull or. The list on why it sucks is so long that it sucks.

4. Legitimately you can just watch Netflix all day.
     Of course, I helped someone move on Valentine's day, but if I hadn't I probably would have just sat around watching Game of Thrones. Until midnight. Literally a season of GoT.

5. No presents!
     I think they actually raise the price of chocolate and flowers and teddy bears and all of that shit at least a month in advance, just in case you're stockpiling for V-Day. But if you don't have anyone to buy for, you don't have to spend any money on things that will either go bad, die, or get lost. You don't have to worry about making reservations at some ~fancy~ restaurant, don't have to buy anyone but yourself dinner (which I mean, let's be honest. Pizza and beer all the way), and you don't have to buy any cards. Ace.

6. You can stay home and not have to watch handsy people grabbing at each other.
     I am all for public display of affection. Seriously, go for it. But for some reason during February it just amplifies. There was one year I actually thought that two people were going to take off their clothes and go at it right there on the floor. Or, as Maverick from Top Gun would say, "No, actually, I had this counter in mind."

7. The next day, everything is more than 50% off.
     If you're going to celebrate Valentine's day, do it on the 15th. Or the 16th. Do it whenever the fuck you want after the 14th finishes. It will be so much cheaper and those reservations won't take fifteen minutes + of sitting on hold.

8. Maybe I'm sentimental, but it's hella commercial.
     Valentine's Day is actually a waste of calendar space, but not because I don't think it's important to ~express your love~ or some shit. There are generally 365 days in a year, why do you need to dedicate exactly one day for your relationship/mushy feelings? Why not have that candlelit dinner on September 10th? Or buy that one red rose on June 30th? Why do people need a calendar date reserved for people to be thankful that they're in a relationship or that they have someone they can share time with? Valentine's day exists so that people can spend money and big name flower/chocolate industries can profit off of the expectation that ~love is in the air.~

Fuck that shit.

Be single.

Don't celebrate Valentine's Day.

Run around your house without clothes on.

Stuff your face with chocolate on the 15th.

Let's talk about sinspiration.

Sinspiration in the fact that I don't have any. And that's like a cardinal sin when it comes to trying to pursue a career in writing things. It isn't even the fact that I don't know how to be inspired anymore -- I know exactly what inspired my last few pieces of writing, and I know exactly why I haven't been able to write anything since then.

But first let's talk about the elusive concept of "Love."

Writers love in an atypical way.

When I fall in "love," I fall for the people that inspire me. I'm not strictly talking about romantic love, keeping in mind the fact I've never actually been in a relationship, but a form of love in general: A love of muse.

There hasn't been anyone in my life to inspire me enough that I fall for them and continue to be inspired. I'm not sure if that's my inspiration going on strike after the last six or so muses failed, or if it's just because no one around me is inspiring.

In the past, someone I've been inspirationally attracted to has inspired novels and poems and short stories. There wasn't necessarily any desire on my part to pursue them romantically or sexually, simply intellectually.

I stole snippets of lives, of interactions, moments. Altered them only slightly, turned them into fiction -- immortalized people with words.

And now it's nearly impossible for me to do.

I have a hard time writing three lines of a poem, no ideas for a novel, and nothing in the short story world.

The thing that concerns me is that I have a thesis to consider, something that I'm going to be working on for a year starting in the fall.

And I've got nothing but a lack of inspiration and no one there to set me straight.

Why social media has saved my life.

Some people use social media as a cry for help.

I am one of those people.

I wrote a post when I first started this blog about how I once felt so close to a group of people that I no longer wanted to throw myself off of a roof.

Today, for the first time in a long time and the first post of the new year, I'm no longer in that place. I'm locked away in my apartment, glad that I'm too paralyzed by myself to leave. Which I guess that paralyzing anxiety is good in one aspect: I won't do anything stupid. With the exception of publishing my greatest secrets on the internet in this post.

It isn't a secret that I struggle with anxiety, but maybe it is a secret that most days getting out of bed for me is hard. It's the most difficult thing I'll have to do, because sometimes ignoring the world is so much easier.

That's why I have the internet.

You can shit on and dog everyone that uses places like Tumblr and Twitter and Facebook and Snapchat and every single social networking site, but sit the fuck down before you do because you don't know a damn thing about that person.

The internet is generally a safe place where I can write and publish my fear and anxiety (and let me tell you, there's enough to go around for everyone). Generally I don't get shit for it. Generally I get strangers half way across the world telling me that I'm a wonderful person or that I'm beautiful or something to make sure that I don't do something I'll regret. These are the people, strangers, that have kept my head up.

Not the people I see on a daily basis.

The people that I see on a daily basis probably couldn't tell if I had laughed so hard that I cried or if I was so damaged that I couldn't stop myself from crying.

In real life, I can sit and stare at my phone for hours on end, going through my contacts, wanting and needing someone to talk to. I come up with absolutely no one. In real life, I don't actually know who cares about me enough to want to sit with me and listen to me talk or cry -- no one has ever been that person for me.

In the real world I don't know who I can call to save myself, because I don't know that they will try.