Ok. So here it is. My blog. I've almost been afraid to start one. I've always had a love hate relationship with writing. I love to do it, but it's such a powerful release, it takes a lot out of me. I come to so many startling conclusions about myself by reading my own writing, it makes me nervous to share it with the world. And by the world I mean the 3 people who will end up reading this. When I write, sometimes the words almost fall out of me, I go into this weird trippy trance and things come out that I didn't realize were buried. I don't think of the potentional reader, I just perge unspoken oblivion. Ooooh, I like that. Unspoken Oblivion, that's going to be the name of my band. It was going to be Polly Want A Cracker until someone reminded me of the Nirvana song about rape with the same title. Ruined my childhood dream. Anywaaaaay, so I decided instead of starting to write in my journal again, I'll just write a blog. Let people in on the clusterfuck that is my brain. It's my blog, I'll swear if I want to.

So, let's dive into something personal right from the get-go, tear off the metaphorical band-aid early, maybe it'll make the rest easier. So I named my blog after my star obsession. Sometimes people ask me why I like stars so much and I give them some lame answer about how they represent individuality and mystery and blah blah blah. Not so. Well, they may represent that, but that's not why I love the symbol so much. When I was a little girl, four or five maybe, my mom bought me this stuffed star at a garage sale. It had a large pink star with 3 small pastel shooting stars hanging off of it. It had a hook so you could hang it. I decided I wanted it to hang on my ceiling above my bed. So that night, my dad lifted me up and I hung it on the lamp hook on the ceiling in my room. And he said "Why don't you make a wish." So I did. And I kissed my hand and touched the big star and the three little ones. And then he tucked me in and kissed me goodnight. This became a ritual. Every night he would say "Make a wish." And he would pick me up and I would make a silent wish and kiss my hand and touch the four stars. I got bigger, and the ritual slowly faded. And as my childhood got more intense, I would stare up at that star and still make my wishes. They didn't come true, but that star always represented the possibility that they might. I still see it in my head as I close my eyes at night. I've never said that out loud. So there it is. It's why I drew millions of stars all over my books at school, it's why you'll see stars all over my house and it's why I have one tattooed on my arm. They represent the innocence that once was, the possibility of wishes come true, and goodnight kisses. That is all. I'm spent.