(Late) Semester Reflection

Note: this would have been more effective right after my semester had ended…but it took me a good few weeks to process and shape all my thoughts into something semi-coherent. So here it is, late, like most of the assignments I handed in this semester.

This past semester felt like it killed me multiple times while simultaneously leaving me hanging on for dear life. I’m not sure I’ve experienced a more emotionally turbulent and difficult time in my life, but I feel like I also learned a lot about myself and defined some of who I want to be.

I started off this semester by auditioning for the school musical, If/Then. It was my first “real” audition, the only one I’ve ever done that required me to sing, dance, and act. I didn’t have much confidence in my performance ability, but I figured I would audition for the experience and return for future shows better equipped to handle the process. I was initially cut – as I expected – but when someone was unable to accept her role, it was offered to me. It was a shock to me, yet it was overwhelmingly positive.

Performing in the musical shaped my semester. Because, yes, it was a great experience. I met new friends and solidified existing friendships. I became more comfortable with parts of my identity that I had thought I would never accept. It was all great, except when I came to the point when rehearsals were my life. I’m not sure what I expected – I’d been in shows before; I knew how much work was required of me – but I had to forego many of my goals for the semester because of the time requirements of the musical.

As such, I feel like I barely advanced in many areas of my life. I’m no closer to deciding on a future career or grad school plans. I wanted to use this semester to get in touch with myself and my goals – I wrote that, verbatim, on my list of semester goals – but I feel even more confused now than I did at the start. In fact, after this semester, I’m not even entirely sure that I belong in higher education – or any formal academic setting, for that matter. More and more often I found myself wondering why I was still in college if I weren’t working towards a degree I would use and a career I would love. Last year, when I felt this same level of burnout, I came to rationalize my lack of passion with the fact that I was working towards a career I would hate. This year, though, I was directionless – while I knew I was no longer sentencing myself to medical school (because that IS what it felt like; I felt like I was inflicting a jail sentence on myself), I had no end goal to drive me forward. My future is a hazy collection of half-dreamed fantasies and indistinct wishes that I don’t know how to reconcile with reality.

I also intended to deepen my involvement on campus this semester, but beyond the theater program, I don’t feel like I did. One of my greatest wishes was to use my leadership position in Allies (the LGBTQ group) to incite progress on campus, but I didn’t (couldn’t) dedicate the time towards that lofty goal. My limited supply of energy went first to my schoolwork and then to the musical; there was little left over for other pursuits. And I am proud of myself for this in some ways – I didn’t wear myself down by forcing myself to keep doing things when I was exhausted, and I prioritized my time to take care of my own health. However, that often came at the cost of my involvement. For everything I accomplished this semester, it still feels like I did very little, and I feel like I let my community down.

In some ways, this was a semester of new milestones and firsts, to the point that I feel like I lost some of my identity. Some of the things I did in the past few months were so unlike the “me” I knew that I questioned who I was. I came very close to pulling an all-nighter to finish a paper, staying up until 8 a.m. the night before the last day of classes. I skipped class for the first time – my bio class the morning after that almost-all-nighter. I procrastinated, I went to sleep without doing readings, I skipped readings altogether, I left my finals studying until the weekend before finals. I’ve never been one to relax in my studies, but I somehow did this semester. It was a new low for me, and it scares me a bit to know how much I sank this semester.

That isn’t to say that this semester was without accomplishments. I felt like I truly found my place at Etown in the past few months. While I made wonderful friends in my first year, this third semester was when I felt like I belonged among them, when I truly learned that the people around me were there for me. It was, collectively, not an easy semester, as many of us had our own difficulties, but I found that my friends would be with me through everything. As I left behind a tight-knit friend group when I came to college, I was scared that I would never find another group of people among whom I felt as happy, secure, and comfortable, but my college friends became that kind of family this semester. Endless love to them.

In many ways, I also found my voice in speaking up for what I believe in. While I still have further work to do as an ally to marginalized groups and a representative of my own communities, I think I made significant strides in finding my voice as a tool of advocacy. I am grateful to my women’s and gender studies course – a class I almost didn’t take – for allowing me the time to hone that voice and speak for myself and my thoughts, but I am also grateful for both in- and out-of-class experiences that educated me and taught me humility. That momentum of building my confidence while simultaneously learning humility is a momentum I hope to carry into 2019.

I am also incredibly proud of myself for applying to study abroad. While I told myself my study abroad application wasn’t going to be like my college applications – I would actually do work ahead of time instead of leaving it until the last minute – that was sadly not the case. Still, I got the application and all attendant forms done, and I am now set to study in Florence, Italy, next semester. It was something I thought impossible, but I don’t want to understate the work I did to make it true. Even though I felt like I was clueless and falling apart throughout the whole process, I got it done, and my persistence in doing so is very important to me.

I am writing this conclusion on a different day than I started this post. I am in a much better place, and I hope it shows – I am optimistic about what the next few months hold for me, and I am once more excited to be alive and in this stage of my life. My third semester of college was difficult to the point of almost breaking me, but I’m happy to still be here, still trying and failing and improving every day.


Recent thoughts

I have a fully-finished post in my drafts that I never posted. In it, I tell the future. I should clarify: I waited so long to post it that pattern I observed in that post came true.

The post is called “Comfort Zone.” It talks about how I let myself become too comfortable and I stagnate. I lose all motivation and sense of direction and I end up spending most of my time in bed. All the things I care most about – reading books, doing art, investing in my future, improving myself – are unimportant when I’m in that state of mind. Everything becomes insurmountable. That is where I am right now. It takes more effort that I can expend to even be myself. It’s like only half of myself has loaded and I’m still waiting for the other half to finish up, but it’s been a week and I’m still loading.

This is a fact that scares me. It has scared me since I observed it. When I go through these times, I feel less than whole; I do not feel like myself. And yet, in some ways, this is a very authentic version of myself. This is the me that emerges when I can’t muster the effort to actually be me. The reason I’m scared, then, is that I don’t want this version of myself to actually be me. I want the me when I’m running at 100% capacity to be the real me, but I fear all of that self is affectation.

An example. When I’m busy with work or school or other occupations, I plan everything I will accomplish when I have the time. When I actually have that time, I can sometimes work on those projects, but I often do not. I dream about doing them, I berate myself for not doing them, I stand in front of the materials I need to finish them and I turn away. These are things that I’m passionate about, mind you, things like painting and reading and sewing. I can’t bring myself to work on the things I genuinely want to do. This particular example, involving my creative pursuits, may have other factors at play. I’m not sure where the line that separates “I did this to be seen” and “I did this for myself” lies, exactly. It feels like everything I do is up for consumption. I find it difficult to distinguish where my motivations end and societal pressure starts. Even those things I do “for myself” feel inauthentic.

And that is all related to my general ennui. It takes enormous effort, when I am in one of these times, to examine myself, to reflect upon my motivations. I lose touch with myself because I am unable to explore my mind and my ideas. Some of my best, most productive times are also the times when I am best at journaling – measurable accomplishments make me more eager to examine myself, which is not surprising, considering how much of my self-worth and self-esteem depend on observable accomplishments.

I just wrote “productive” without a second thought but I actually want to get into that. I’ve been obsessed with my own productivity since sophomore year of high school. Even as I surround myself with encouragement, messages that tell me that I am allowed to take breaks, I feel guilty when I am not working. What I’m experiencing now is more than just taking a break – there are other factors involved – but I still feel like a massive failure for daring to take time off during my designated time off. I can tell everyone I know that growth isn’t linear, that we all need breaks to recover, but these aren’t message I’ve been able to internalize. I can’t accept that I can’t function at 100% capacity at all times, and I crash into depressive spirals after overworking myself. I don’t even feel like I’m living right now.

I think college has made this pattern worse because each semester is its own arc – overwork, crash, and recover to overwork again all within about four months. Almost exactly a year into college and I’ve seen the pattern three times, exactly as I knew it would happen. I’m preparing to overwork myself again in a week, when I start my second year of college, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this going.

This is not exactly intended for anyone to read it. It’s more like a documentation of my current crisis that I needed to express, if only for the satisfaction of knowing that I have created something – anything. If you read it all anyway, thanks. I appreciate you and I hope you have taken time today to appreciate yourself.

and what is true is that i loved

Hello these are some things I love and this post is going to read like many tangents all stuck together.

So my friend Sam (thanks Sam) got me into podcasts almost a year ago and I love them. They take some effort for me because audio-based content tends to slip through my brain, but I love them a lot. My favorite podcasts are narrative, and there’s something great about hearing a story read and performed to you. Podcasts feel quite intimate to me, and even though I know so many people experience the same content I do, I love the semblance of a personal story told just for me.

A podcast that I loved a lot recently (as you know if I’ve spoken to you in the past weeks) is The Adventure Zone, which started as a goofy Dungeons and Dragons show and evolved into something much more meaningful and special and beautiful. I have not stopped screaming and/or crying about this podcast since I finished season one last week. It is seriously one of the most memorable and incredible pieces of storytelling (of any medium) I have ever experienced. I don’t have enough words to say what TAZ means to me but listening to it (especially Stolen Century/Story and Song) lit my creativity on fire and now I’m just looking for the motivation to cultivate every seed that TAZ planted.

Luckily for me, the hosts of TAZ, the McElroys, have something of a podcast empire and I’ve listened to some of their other shows to cope with finishing TAZ. I am currently smitten with Wonderful, hosted by Griffin McElroy and his wife, Rachel. Each episode is just an hour of the two of them discussing things they love. It’s the inspiration for this post, actually. It fills me with joy that two adults have such wonder within them and listening always inspires me to love widely, deeply, and openly.

I “borrowed” my friend’s Netflix (thanks Chris) to watch Nanette by Hannah Gadsby and that was the best decision I’ve made in a while. It’s hard to discuss what is essentially someone’s soul laid bare without sounding reductive. It was transformative. I don’t want to co-opt any of her experiences or wrongfully claim a part of her pain as my own, but Nanette was a religious experience and I would like to say thanks to the universe for putting Hannah Gadsby and I in the same reality. If you look into any piece of media from this post please let it be this. (Just a warning if you choose to watch it – there is a frank discussion of homophobia, physical abuse, and sexual assault.)

I love theater. I love the entire experience of knowing that you’re going to a show, and travelling to see the show, and entering the theater as your breath is stolen by a beautiful chandelier, and finding your seat among a zoo of other theater-goers, and your heart swelling as it follows the swell of the overture, and everyone in the theater breathing as one and living out the same story, and the times when you no longer inhabit your body because you have ascended into a theater-driven divinity. I just love live theater so much.

I would like to now share something Annamaria Caputo told me the other night because I love it a lot. I was feeling Bad About Art (you know, the artist life) and she told me the following: “you have something to offer the world that no one else does & nobody else can produce art with the same exact heart & intention behind it that you do” (punctuation unedited). And I love that a lot because even if I still feel Bad About Art I think reframing my narrative to see myself as an artist requires acceptance of those facts – that my work may not be special or good in itself but it’s still my work and that’s something. I love supportive friends is what I’m trying to say and I love that I may have stagnated as an artist but I’m still growing in myself and my identity.

I’ve been cleaning a bunch of old documents out of the basement and I’ve found that I love my younger self. I wrote a four-page essay on the Warrior cats series in fifth grade and a prose poem that was a series of complaints about poetry in fourth grade. I did so much Wicked fan art. I think my younger self was better than I am today so cheers to her and here’s to regaining some of what she had.

I love the concept of reading. Even if I can’t bring myself to read so much recently, the idea that there are so many amazing books full of stories that I can discover is proof of magic in this world. I love entering a bookstore and knowing that I have entered a veritable Cave of Wonders. I love browsing shelves I know well and reminding myself of all the books I plan to read. I love thinking of the many many years I have left and all the books I can read in that time, the mounting pile of stories that I hold within me. I love libraries. I love that I can go to this place where I have grown up and find the same copies of books I’ve checked out from this place since second grade and remember the ones I checked out multiple times because I never bought books. I love looking at the stacks of books I plan to read and imagining how much I will love them. And I still do love reading in itself, even if it is a temporarily inaccessible love.

I love dreaming of who I could be. When it’s hard for me to accept who I am now, I imagine the woman I want to be and I think of how I can make myself into her. I set myself standards and goals that I might not meet, but they send me ever closer to that ideal. I love reading my journal entries from a few months ago and seeing a checklist I have now completed. Those are rare because my goals can be so nebulous but I welcome them.

I can’t talk about love without talking about my mom. The largest portion of my heart will always belong to her.

If you read this whole disasterpiece then thank you and I love you and I would love to hear about something you love the more detail the better (there is a comment section! Let us interact!).

When I Read Too Much

I have read 43 books so far in 2018. That is, by my standards, a fairly low number. And that is intentional.

There have been times in my life when I did nothing but read; it was my sole focus. Reading was a competition against both real and imaginary measures, and I had to win. I had to read the most books and the most pages and the most minutes and I could not escape that.

Part of me wishes I had spent more time learning to live. I was praised for reading, but I sometimes did little else. I avoided life by reading about it. I could read during church, during a party, during a family dinner, and it was acceptable. I could hide in a corner with a book and passing adults would make praising remarks on my studiousness. I wasn’t intentionally hiding from life; I was just doing what I wanted, as most ten-year-olds lack duties and responsibilities. And I do remain grateful for all the lessons I learned from my reading. But when I think back to those years of my life, I wonder how much more I could have developed my social skills, or how much stronger I could have built my friendships, had I not been reading constantly.

Reading allowed me to remove myself from an actual life. It still does sometimes. It became easier to stay home and read for hours on end than to make plans or to take risks or to see other people. During the summer, when the library gave out prizes for every four hours of reading, I could read a book a day – and I felt like a failure when I didn’t. Reading was a default at this point – it was just a given fact that I would read all day. And the praise kept coming, endless admiration for the part of my life that shut me out from anything else.

Reading constantly doesn’t even make me feel good. I feel fatigued and lonely after reading 27 books in a month (see last July). No book seems exciting or engaging; I begin to choose easy reads that bring me little joy just to devour more and more books in as little time as possible. I can get to the point of reading two or three books a day, and I come to hate it. It is only comfort with my normal that compels me to continue turning pages and I hate it.

External elements are a factor. Throughout my life it has been library summer reading challenges or reading logs for my English classes that fuels my obsessive reading, but now it’s Goodreads. Goodreads, for all I like it, turns reading into a numbers game with yearly reading goals. I can meticulously track my reading and count the books I’ve read. 100 books is an achievement. The content of those books is unimportant, my enjoyment of those books is unimportant – it’s just about achieving that reading goal. I have sacrificed days I could spend around my friends and family to achieve that reading goal.

This is why I’m happy that I’m reading less. It represents to me my time spent not reading – when I’m getting out of my comfort zone and living. I don’t spend hours on end reading every single day; that is a rare occasion now, and it is one that now holds weight to me. If I spend an entire day reading, it’s because my book is particularly great or I want to continue a series. I am no longer reading all day just because I’m scared to do anything else.

Maybe ‘scared’ isn’t the right word. I read all day because it’s easy. I don’t have to engage with anyone else. I don’t have to spend money. I don’t have to confront my own anxieties or challenge myself. I can just sit on the couch and read. And to a certain extent that’s great – until it becomes all that I do.

I’m doing a much better job of balancing this year. I still read quite a bit, but it no longer interferes with my ability to do other things. I try not to pay too much attention to the numbers, focusing more on reading what interests me and enjoying each book. I still get caught up in the numbers at times – vowing that I must read more to reach my goal – but that rarely bleeds into my everyday activities.

This post was partially inspired by Ariel Bissett, who has made some great YouTube videos about reading and the culture that surrounds it.

Thank you for reading.


Hello everyone!

This post gives a bit of insight into my painting process using a commission I just completed. It is not a tutorial, but I hope you learn something regardless.

I start by drawing a sketch of the painting’s subject, in this case a cat. I typically use colored pencil for sketches as this creates softer lines than graphite. Recently, I like to match up the color I use for the sketch with the eventual background color – in this case, a muted green.

I then paint the background. For this, I usually choose one base color (green) and mix in others (yellow, gold, white, metallic copper, and a darker green) for a dappling effect. This was my second attempt at the background; my first attempt used too much yellow and looked sickly (that’s why my sketch isn’t the same tone of green as the final background). You can still see the original background a bit through the green on the right side of this picture.

I start with the cat’s face, specifically the right ear. I block out main colors and values and then add details (you can see some of that below). I use a small brush to create the effect of fur. I paint the eyes last, which is why they’re missing from the image below.

When I finish the cat’s face (ending with the left ear), I move onto the body. For this, I use a larger brush and a looser style because the fur on the body tends to be longer. You can see below that the body is a bit ‘messier’ than the face, which is how I like it. I end by painting whiskers (using white paint with a lot of water to keep them smooth) and eyes. The eyes are typically the most important part of the painting, which is why I save them for last: I paint them and the whole painting comes together.

After letting the painting dry overnight, I go back and varnish over the whole thing to give it a nice finish and protect the paint.

And it’s done!

(If you would like a painting like this of your cat – or your dog or bird or horse – please contact me! My commissions are open.)


Nowadays, communication is never easy. It should be easy to say that my feelings align with label x and, therefore, label x is the one I choose. But label x feels like an incomplete picture. It feels like a betrayal of my true feelings to identify with label x. But no other label more closely aligns with the long-winded explanation of how I feel, so what am I?

Questioning is a liminal state. It should be a resting place between two instances of security and sureness. You begin the journey in one place, meander through the challenges of the ride, and end up elsewhere. One place, another place. But it’s been four years and I’m still on that careening car with no end in sight.

You think, on many occasions along the way, that you may have arrived. Something feels like a home. But the doubts creep in, and before long you are back on the road with the same travel anxieties as before. They are only rest stops. They are my truths while they last, and they never last. Every one is proven false and I plod on.

Liminality is exhausting. It is like residing within a fully operational airport in a world where your destination does not exist. You search and search for the flight that will take you where you belong, but you pass each terminal. Once or twice you are tempted to take a flight that feels almost right – but you do not. Almost is not the same as truth.

What am I? I suspect that even if I could put a word to answer that question it would not be The Answer. It would be an answer demanded by someone who is not me, not the answer I give myself. That answer does not yet exist, and it may never exist. I may yet set up permanent residence in that airport.

I am. That’s it.

Commissions – June 2018

Hello everyone!

As of today, I am opening up my commissions again. I will not be putting a limit on commission slots available; I will most likely continue to take commissions until early to mid-August. If you provide a photograph as reference, you must own that photograph or have permission from the owner for its use.

Read on for information about pieces I can do, pricing, payment, and additional details.

Pet Portraits

Acrylic, 12 by 16 inches, simple background

Price: $60 (one animal)

Student price (college or younger): $40

Each additional animal is $10/regular price or $7/student price. A more complex background is an additional charge, negotiable by complexity of design. Deduct 20% of your regular price for a black-and-white painting. Additional sizes are available by request. You must provide photo reference.

(Human) Portraits – Paintings

Acrylic, 12 by 16 inches, simple/no background

Price: $60 (one person, shoulders and up)

Student price: $45

Each additional person is $12/regular price or $10/student price. A more complex background is an additional charge, negotiable by complexity of design. Deduct 20% of your regular price for a black-and-white painting. Additional sizes are available by request. You must provide photo reference.


Acrylic, 12 by 16 inches, simple background

Price: $45

Student price: $35

I have experience painting hydra, but I am able to paint any type of invertebrate by request.

Deduct 20% of your regular price for a black-and-white painting. Additional sizes are available by request. Photo reference is not required, but it is appreciated!

Portraits – colored pencil, natural coloration

Colored pencil on toned paper, 9 by 12 inches, no background

Price: $50

Student price: $40

One person per piece. A simple background (color/pattern) is $5. You must provide photo reference.

Portraits – colored pencil, unnatural coloration

Colored pencil on toned paper, 9 by 12 inches, no background

Price: $45

Student price: $32

Color scheme is negotiable and requested when ordered. One person per piece. A simple background (color/pattern) is $5. You must provide photo reference.

Portraits – pastel

Chalk pastel on toned paper, 9 by 12 inches, no background

Price: $40

Student price: $30

One person per piece. A simple background (color/pattern) is $5. You must provide photo reference.


You may pay via PayPal, Venmo, or cash. My email for PayPal and Venmo is gjulianna2000@gmail.com. If I do not know you personally, I require a 50% deposit up front. Otherwise, I ask for full payment when you receive the finished piece. Tips are appreciated but not at all necessary.


If you would like progress updates while I complete the piece, I can send them to you. If you would prefer a surprise, I can do that as well.


If I am required to ship the piece to you, you must pay shipping costs.

Commission Contract

If I do not know you personally, you must fill out and submit a commission contract before I begin work on your desired piece. The form for the commission contract can be found here. Fill it out and send it to me via email (gjulianna2000@gmail.com).

Additional Information

Every fourth piece you commission from me will receive a 20% discount.

Add $20 to the given price for rush/quick completion (finished within five days).

If you would like me to complete a piece that is not listed here, please message me to negotiate! All commissions for unlisted pieces must use a commission contract unless I determine otherwise. I am willing to try most subjects and styles, but I do reserve the right to refuse subject matter or styles with which I am uncomfortable.

Lastly, if you would like to commission me but can’t afford the listed prices, please message me! The contact form is below. We can work out a payment plan or determine an affordable piece (I am willing to offer smaller/simpler/cheaper pieces by request).

Thank you for reading and for considering my artwork!

Contact me:

Some thoughts on The Band’s Visit

I’ve gone on a few solo train trips recently. Being in train stations while functionally alone – surrounded by people but not with any of them – brings much of the loneliness that underpins my brain to the forefront of my mind. While I’ve always focused on solitary time, I can’t think of an era in my life when I spent more time alone than right now. I emphasize that I enjoy my “alone time” when questioned, but the truth is that I need company as much as the next person. And though I am painfully aware that much of my isolation is self-induced, I have not yet stopped inducing it. I still isolate myself and push people away and end friendships before they even form.

Isolation, both physical and emotional, factors into my loneliness. Long ago, I placed myself in a bubble that I now find inescapable. I’ve grown up with the privilege to see the connections of the world, with access to information and resources and opportunities, but I’ve also experienced a completely different kind of privilege: the ignorance of being a sheltered child. I did not have to truly live in the world; I could remain an observer. Even now I feel as if I only glimpse the events of the world – I don’t feel like I actively participate in my own life. The frequent train trips are a means of control that only exacerbate the issue.

When I ride the train alone, I feel powerfully independent, but I also feel small. This idea is worn out long past interest, but I can think of no better way to describe that feeling. In the bubble in which I grew up, my presence felt notable. Escaping that environment is a relief, but it is a lonely kind of relief. I conceptualized the idea of my own insignificance before college, but I never lived it until now.

And I think this is why I love The Band’s Visit so much. If you’re not familiar, the show (based on a 2007 Israeli film) tells the story of eight Egyptian musicians who are stranded in the tiny Israeli town of Bet Hatikva and the relationships they build with the town’s inhabitants. It’s a show about “insignificant” things – the small moments that we overlook, that don’t seem to matter. It’s a show that recognizes and builds itself upon mundanity and transforms ordinary and everyday happenstance into beauty, though without denying reality. Stuck in “Nowhere” in the middle of the Israeli desert, the residents of Bet Hatikva are more than familiar with isolation and smallness. Their lives exist solely within the sphere of their community; they lament the sense that they are always “waiting…for something, for anything to happen.”

That’s how I feel; that’s how I’ve felt for years. I’ve waited my whole life to be someone Big and Important, but I’m just not. That’s not a sad fact, it’s truth – I am not someone of note, I am not going to single-handedly change the world, I am not going to gain the rapturous attention of everyone who looks my way (as a side note, this is why “Hero” from Ghost Quartet makes me cry so much). But The Band’s Visit is a reminder that I don’t have to be Someone to be…someone. I can still matter and I can still create change, even though, at this point in my life, I feel like I don’t and I can’t.

The last line of The Band’s Visit, referring to the events of the show, is “You probably didn’t hear about it. It wasn’t very important.” But everything that the show has shown until that point emphasizes the opposite: that the “unimportant” moments in our lives are very important. In many cases, they’re all we have. Everyday things are not boring because they happen every day; they build up who we are.

“You probably didn’t hear about it. It wasn’t very important.”

It was important, and we just forgot. We let ourselves think that our lives are not important. We don’t tell the stories of every day. But The Band’s Visit does, and I find it immensely important.

Thank you for reading. You, dear reader, are very important to me.

An Introduction

Some part of my brain has wanted to start a blog since middle school. It’s probably just my entitlement showing, but I’ve long felt that I possess some quality that will draw an audience to me, that I can capture attention by just transcribing what goes on in my brain. However unrealistic it is, the dreamer in me wants to believe that it could be true.

So here I am, starting a blog. I don’t quite know what I’m going to put here–it may end up an utter disaster, so I apologize in advanced for my inevitable missteps. I’ll probably talk about books and musicals at least a little, because that’s what I do. Maybe I’ll post some art. Hopefully at least a few people like it.

This post exists because it felt odd to jump right in with the Deep And Important Thoughts that inhabit the recesses of my brain. I hope you enjoy this bit of nothingness disguised as a post.

Like many things, I am actually doing this now after years of dreaming and conceptualizing because my mom told me I should. If you like anything I write, please direct your thanks to her.

Lovely to have you here, thanks for reading, and all that jazz.