Over 800 emails.
This. Explains. So. Much.
I broke down and cried about it yesterday. I sat in my office... my own office... the one with two windows facing the mountains and palm trees. I'm up on the second floor, so I can see beyond the building's courtyard. I can see the terrain and the clouds and the weather more than a lot of other employees can. My door has a lock, so I can change into my barre clothes at 4:45 every evening, and not in the tiny bathroom stalls like most everyone else. I have my snacks, and my work-issued iPad, and filing cabinets filled with outdated papers that I'm allowed to shred. I don't have to tell anyone if I'm going to lunch, or how long I'll be there. My assistants play on their iPhones and quickly hide them when they hear me walking towards them. I don't care if they use their iPhones. I use mine, too.
My job is fine. Great, even. Perfect, at times. It was the necessary result of the stagnant climate I found myself in, and knowing I needed a change. I'm applying for my Master's this Fall. I'm going to the doctor this March. Both are accomplishments I wasn't sure I'd ever realize.
I have over 800 emails from girls asking me for my macaron recipe. Asking me where I got a dress I wore two years ago. Asking if I'll be at the show at Bootleg a year ago. Asking if I remember them from the Eisley show two years ago. Commiserating about post-college life, and having too many dreams and not enough realities. Sponsorship deals. Friends updating me about their families, jobs, troubles, lives. People wanting to send me free jewelry, clothes, art, and promote it on Instagram. Plans for winter vacation that I assume never happened, or maybe it did. An offer letter from the President of the university, congratulating me on my new position and inviting me to an orientation brunch.
I missed all of that. I still don't know how it happened or why this email from high school hijacked all of these important messages, and only some of them.
I was crying because I gave up a lot for this job. I can't do my social media as often because there aren't enough hours in the day. I can't show you my FLAWLESS OUTFITS, or my baked goods, or the beach, or my bed... because I don't have time to think about them. And I thought no one had time to read about them, either.
And I was so, so wrong.
Me, literally, blogging from a closet.
Get at me, gay jokes.
These are my New Years Resolutions, readers.
1. Find a place to live -- the apartment we were banking on fell through yesterday. We're bummed. But we're not homeless. Things could be worse.
2. Get my shop back up and running. A house will help with this. A place to unpack things that have been boxed up since Tennessee. A place to set up my sewing machine. A place to bake.
3. Find a way to secretly blog at work. This may require bringing my laptop.
4. Buy a hot as fuck laptop bag
5. Get accepted to the Master's program I have in mind. Kick ass at it.
6. Not let my emails go to an account I never check, because LOOK WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DO THAT.
7. Respond to you guys more quickly. Now that I see the volume of responses I've actually gotten, I can try managing this better. Listen, I have like, no delusions here. I know how many people are on the Internet and how many people use Instagram and how small my numbers really are. I also know that I can never put how many people read my blog on any resume. But I also know it’s pretty cool that people read this for no reason! Like, you aren’t getting credits towards your Viewing Blogs degree. You’re just reading it for no reason. That’s cool to me. If I had millions to my name I would buy you all tickets to Disneyland and make you watch me ride a rollercoaster.
8. Make more gay jokes
9. Come out of the closet