000: An Era of Hope

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Daily writing prompt
What cities do you want to visit?

Across space and time, near and far, fictional worlds and battlefield scars.
The quiet places no one knows. The bleeding hearts and the broken homes.

I want to see the grief, the pain, the broken bone. Shattered buildings and crumbling roads.
Show me the shelters that were heaven within hell. The tears that flowed like invisible blood, unknown.

“That’s morbid.” “That’s fake.” “What’s the cost of compassion these days?”
And to you I say nothing, because my words aren’t for you.

They’re for the ones still struggling.
I know there’s more than a few.

I stand to say, I’m here.
I’m with you.
You’re not crazy, or insane.
Your reality isn’t fake.

I hear you.
Your screams into the void.
You’re late-night cries.
The fear of the monsters lurking within your head.

Show me every inch you had to survive.
Tell me how it cut you and bled you dry like wine.

Tell me your story, every suffering word.
I will stand silent guard, watching as you burn.

And in the ashes, as my soul shatters under the weight of your life,
I’ll gather you in my arms, and hug through the night.

You’re perfect. You’re pure. It was never your fault.
I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry you ever felt so small.

I’m here. I know I’m late.
I never knew how much you hurt.
I know how much easier it would be to hate.

I’m proud of you.
There is no higher truth.
Surviving is brutal.
None of this is easy to do.

And yet, you’re here. Still breathing.
Still going. Somehow holding.

You’re fighting the fight. You’re saying this isn’t right.
You sincerely give a fuck, refusing to unsee the plight.

So burn to ash, my darling, baby phoenix. Rest your weary soul.
I’ve got this watch. And when the morning comes…
know you’ll burn like a star, becoming someone’s sun.

Your life matters more than you know.
There’s only one you. No one else has your glow.

Show me the cities hidden in your skin, the Romes no one knows.
The trauma and grief. Each and every shattered window.

Lay out all your pieces so we can make you whole.
From broken to art, stained glass can play a part.

You’re gorgeous. Handsome. Every single word.
Every wonderful thing and every unmarked tomb.

A contradiction. A paradox. A human to be sure. And yet…

At the core…

In the dark, alone, fighting not to give up…
It’s not Courage or Strength… no neither of them show up.

It’s the soft whispered sounds.
It is a gently clasped hand.
It’s the phone call that’s answered.
It’s the note that’s reread.

Hope. Connection. Unity. Having a common thread.
A single thing, a signal in an endless abyss.

Even here, even now, you’ve never been alone in this.

So rest, fierce dragon, brave knight, fair lady.
Mythic fey, epic creature.
Let sleep hold you as Hope softly sings her song.

Know your story matters.
Each chapter a stanza.
Every impact a note.
Pauses are part of the piece.
It -is- ok to take a breath.

You are a piece of art.
All great things take time.
Your story isn’t over.
And I promise you, neither is mine.

Embrace the ash. Sink into the rest.
That’s where your gains come from. When you stop trying to pass a test.

You’re already an achiever.
And it’s ok if you didn’t know.
So…
be fore I let you go…

Here’s a gold star. I made it just for you.
From one survivor to another, because trust me. I see you.

I know the effort. I know the cost.
I know the wounds you still carry,
even if it’s not mentioned in our talks.

This is for breathing.
For existing. Not for what you do.
You’ve earned it, simply by being here.
By being you.

So go on, little snowflake.
Be your special flavor of fun.
The world needs more of you.
Please tell me your story isn’t done.

Tell me about the rebuild.
The stand-up.
The moment you choose to keep going.
Take that step out into the unknown.

Once you wake, and there’s sun, and you see the morning light.
Let the ground greet your feet. Let it support your height.

Stand tall for but a moment.
Let pride fill your chest.
A rainbow of emotions for to be living is to be blessed.

Honor the ones we’ve lost. The versions you had to lay to rest.
Acknowledge where you are, even if it hurts.
And hold hope, ever gently; tenderly so close.

Welcome to Earth, on this wonderful new day.
There may be gray clouds, so let me be the ray.
The one who greets you, who banishes away the night.
The one who says, I’m glad you showed up another day to fight the good fight.

Let us clasp hands, a silent pledge between brethren. Of chosen family and tribal home.
We’re in this to win it. We’re booting up version 2.0.

Now go be a Force of Awesome.
Spread confetti glitter made of cheer.
Make someone disgruntled with your joy.
Take up space.
Raise your voice in song.
Do all of the things we should have been doing all along.

Rage. Grieve. Bitch and burn to ash.
Then step into a new era. The one you deserved.
The one that’s your birthright.
The one where you belong, because everyone deserves a home.

I believe in you. <3
With respect,
Aven

Daily Post 015: Rambling Through Introspection

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I really need a different computer desk. In the beginning, when I thought I would have the office to myself, it was fine. I would have been able to have another table or a shelf or something to use as a work area alongside my computer. But now that the computer is in my room I don’t have space for that. All I have is a place for the keyboard and bearly any room for the mouse much less notebooks or papers or pencils.

It’s frustrating. It’s fucking up my system.

grove

We all know how that ended…

I’m waiting for my younger brother to bring me his extra kitchen table. I think that will help. I could take the Surface downstairs with me and work at the table instead of being cramped in my room. I think the separation of work and personal space is good for me as well. I function better with them separated. It’s why I went to my sports bar for lunch the past three weeks. After eating I would stay for a few hours and study. It was better than being at home.

Anywho. I wrote on Thursday. The day I got my first stripe for jiujitsu. That was a pretty intense moment for me. It still is. I feel like that writing, that letter to my mom is a fundamental moment for me. It’s one of those writings where anyone can read it, not knowing anything about who I am, and understand who I am as a person.

It is me. Unadulterated. Pure. Raw. It is everything I stand for, that I believe in. It is my core values. It’s my hurt, my pain, my life. It is my declaration of “I’m not giving up.”

I’m glad I wrote it. I feel that I found something within myself from writing it.

Friday I took my test to become a Certified EKG Technician.

I passed.

I am now qualified to interpret squiggle lines and to stick electrodes onto people’s chest like some mad evil scientist. Muahahahahahaha!

I honestly have no idea how I passed since over half the questions were things we never covered in class. They weren’t even things I saw online when I was studying on my own.

Things like the Holter setup and stress testing and lead colors and patient instructions. All sorts of “What the fuck?”

Seriously, by question 70 out of 120 I wanted to thunk my head down onto the desk I was sitting at so hard that it made an audible sound because there was no way I had gotten enough questions right to have a passing grade.

Apparently, I did really well at guessing, though. On a scaled grade where a 390 was required to pass out of 500 I got a 451.

I’ve already talked to the instructor and have plans to type up suggestions along with extra resources I found during the three weeks of the class. This was the first EKG course the school had offered in about a year, so essentially we were the guinea pigs.

Out of the three of use who took the test yesterday, all three of us passed. It was a good birthday present for my instructor. Her birthday was Saturday. I’m glad we all were able to figure it out enough to make it through it. I messaged one other girl who was in our class and let her know to research into the extra topics so hopefully, it wouldn’t be as overwhelming to her. She has a week before she’s going to take the board. Should be enough time to get some exposure to those topics at least.

So that was Friday. It was also my older brother’s birthday. I messaged him. I sent him a card on Thursday. I wrote a pretty personal message saying that I wanted to wish him “a day” because saying I hoped it was happy seemed wrong. I explained that on my birthday even though I had had a good day that I had cried myself to sleep that night because things were different. Mom wasn’t there. Even though it had been a “good” day, it wasn’t a “happy” day.

I told him that even though I knew it was going to be different for him that I was thankful that he was able to “have a day”. I said I was grateful to have him, Jon, Jace, and Lio in my life because I now fully understand just how much each of them means to me.

I know he’s a pretty private person and he wouldn’t really tell me if things were bothering him. I hope he’s ok, and I hope my letter helps him feel appreciated and valued. Yesterday probably wasn’t happy for him, but hopefully, there were some positive points in it and he was able to enjoy them despite the difference.

I didn’t do a whole lot after my test on Friday. My brain was pretty done. Like “melted puddle of goo inside my skull” done. I told one of my friends the hardest question I was going to ask myself the rest of the day was what type of pizza I wanted for dinner. And even then I didn’t actually get pizza because it was too much effort later in the evening. Absolutely no higher level thinking was allowed for the rest of Friday.

I had lunch at my sports bar with an angry orchard to drink. I came home and slept on and off for the rest of the night. I bought Chime Sharp from the Playstation Network for my PS4 since I liked Chime Deluxe so much. Don’t buy it. It sucks compared to the original game or Deluxe. I was very disappointed, even though it was nice to be able to play the game for a bit.

Big Bad and I actually spent the evening together on Thursday. We haven’t seen each other very much lately. I was enjoying our twice a week scheduled evenings. I don’t think that leaves him with much alone time, though.

It’s not the sex I miss even though it’s always amazing and fantastic. It’s the hug hello and the cuddles where we talk. It’s being able to share my day with someone. And of course our cup of coffee in the morning before our kiss goodbye and our, “I hope you have a good day.”

It seems silly to ache over not knowing when I’ll see him again when I leave. I mean… it would be what? At most two weeks? I’ve lived 27 and a half years without. I’m pretty sure I can survive two weeks.

I guess it’s the uncertainty that makes it feel like sandpaper against the inside of my skin. Right now our next meetings seem sort of ambiguous. I may or may not see him on that day. If I don’t then it may or may not be the next time. It’s like being told to wait without being told how long. If I knew how long to wait I would know how to manage my breath so I don’t suffocate before the next time I’m able to breathe. In this instance, it’s my energy instead of actual oxygen. No less vital, though.

Maybe that’s a bit dramatic and maybe that’s wrong of me. I recharge while I’m with him. After studying for 6 hours on Thursday my brain was so dead and overwhelmed silent tears wanted to run down my cheeks in frustration. He offered for me to come over for pizza. We played Mortal Kombat. There was amazing sexy time. There was no worrying about my test. There was wrestling where I got to show him how much I’ve improved.

We haven’t wrestled all that much in a while. I did really well. Totally didn’t get choked out with my own arm. Totally owning ALL of that accomplishment. /flex

He made Thursday night relaxing. Maybe “made” is the wrong word. We didn’t really do anything different. And maybe that’s why I like spending time with him so much. I was able to be me. He was him. We simply enjoyed our time together and the only thing that matter was our enjoyment. Outside influences like tests and work and interviews don’t really matter when we’re together. We talk about them. We acknowledge life. But when we’re together it feels like us.

It’s nice.

I enjoy being with him.

Maybe I enjoy it more than I should? Maybe that’s something I should evaluate and think about. He has his own life and own obligations on top of being an introvert. He also has his second partner.

Maybe once I have a job this issue will work itself out. Maybe I have too much free time. I do think a large part of it, though, is becoming emotionally attached because it’s not really the amount of time I miss. It’s the connection in my chakra that aches.

Yeah… definitely something to meditate on.

Fucking emotions… It’s like it’s never ending… /sigh

On a totally different topic…

I have an interview with the hospital on Monday after my phlebotomy class. It’s for a part-time patient transporter position. Totally hoping it works out. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. I’m going to push for at least $10 an hour. I have eight years of “distinguished” customer service experience since I’ve been awarded multiple times for my work ethic. I also have my EKG certification, along with my other three certifications, and I’m awaiting my test date (still…) to become a CNA.

I am a good prospect. I know what I’m worth and I’ve crunched some serious numbers. I know what I can do and for how long, and even with this job I’m still hoping the lab assistant for phlebotomy works out a bit more than the central services tech position. While I do eventually want to move into the Central Services area, the secretarial phlebotomy assistant position I applied for has better hours to work with this part time job.

Currently, I’m more focused on my financial goal of having the credit card paid off by October than getting into the exact area I want to be in. After the EKG class, I’m actually sort of interested in telemetry. The heart is fascinating.

Being honest with myself, I really don’t know what I want to do in the hospital. There’s still billions of things I don’t know about. There might be something better than Central Services. What I do know is I need to kill the remaining debt I have. Working a full time and part time job may be rough, but I want to do it. The patient transporter position is an entry position, yeah, but I get exposure to EVERYTHING. Every department. I get to see way more people and potentially have way more networking opportunities.

Goal-wise, I want a part-time position by the end of March, which at this point seems fairly promising. I want an additional full-time position by the end of May. Sooner would be better, but by April I’ll be done with phlebotomy, so that would give me a month to find something with my increased hours of availability. I think all of that is doable. I plan to start going through the 30-day challenge again now that I actually have goals and shit I’m trying to achieve. Before I didn’t, which is why it fell to the wayside.

Because of the pending interview, yesterday was an extremely productive day. It helped that there was a strong summer sun yesterday. A nice, warm summer sun.

I started the day by running to the grocery store to pick up a steak and frozen hash browns. I wanted to do something special for breakfast, something different than my egg sandwich. It was the weekend. I didn’t have time obligations. I could relax and enjoy my day, and that’s what I did.

I came home and cooked. I cut the steak up into quarters, I cooked the bag of hash browns and I fried up an egg while my coffee percolator did its thing. Once everything was ready, I sat downstairs using one of the side tables as a workstation. While I ate I made my to-do list and grocery list. I cleaned the kitchen a bit and started laundry. I showered and eventually, I went to the dojo for Muay Thai conditioning. It wasn’t a super crazy intense class, but it got me sweating and I got to focus on the mechanics of my movements which was nice. I guess this week is spring break so the dojo was pretty empty. I don’t mind smaller classes. More one on one time that way. It was the first time I had been back to the dojo since Thursday. It felt good.

After class I came home, showered, again, then headed back out into the world.

I stopped at Target first. I wanted to get a new top for my upcoming interview. I ended up getting three black tank tops. I’m in a size large now. I don’t remember ever fitting into a size large. The red tank top I got while I was in Vegas with mom is a 2x. It’s a good feeling to see that much progress within myself.

I was originally going to get a black workout tank top, but one of those was $15 versus the three cotton tanks for $25. I figured it was more bang for my buck, so that’s the option I went with. With the outfit I like to wear for interviews, I wear the tanks under a sort of jacket… thing…

I’m sure there’s some girly fashion term for it, but the main thing is you can’t tell I’m wearing a tank top. It looks like a nice pretty top that isn’t distracting. It’s clean, simple, and professional looking. At the same time, it’s something I’m comfortable in, which is the only thing I personally care about.

I want to feel normal and comfortable, not awkward and out of my element. The more natural my clothing feels, the more me I feel, the more relaxed I’ll be during the interview, the better I’ll do.

There’s the added benefit that I get to reaffirm to myself that I’m still losing weight by having nice, new clothing that’s smaller than anything I can remember ever owning. The pants I’m wearing to the interview I’ve had since I was in high school. They’re super nice, black, comfy dress pants. I wore them for almost every band performance I was in. I love them, which is why I’ve kept them. They’re almost too big… In another month I’ll have to donate them and find a new pair that I like, which is going to suck because I love those pants so much I don’t want to get rid of them. I might look at having them tailored if possible.

About a week ago I actually got four new pants for $40. They’re actually super cool. They’re called fisherman’s pants. They’re worth looking into. I figured that was a really good way of sticking to my overall style of comfort, but not having to buy new clothing every month and a half. It’s a “one size fits most” style. All you have to do to make the pants tighter is tie the string tighter. The tops I bought yesterday work well with them, too, so I should be set on clothing for a little while. I might get two more pairs of the pants just so I have black ones. Right now I have olive green and red. The black tops go well with them, but I would like to have a bit of color variation. I could get a few brighter colored tops to wear with the black pants and the shorts I have and be set for a while.

I went through my closet last night and pulled out everything that’s once again too big. It’s a good feeling now that I am replacing the stuff that was too big with options that won’t need to be replaced due to weight loss. The pants really are freaking amazing… Seriously, check them out.

While I’m on the topic of being irresponsible and spending money… I also went ahead and purchased the shin guards I promised myself as a reward for passing my EKG board. I’m not going to back out of promises I make to myself anymore. Yeah, money is getting tight. I’ll figure it out. This was something I said I would do so I did it. No regrets. You can’t look at those and tell me they don’t look sexy as fuck. I cannot wait to kick the crap out of some punching bags with those things. Oh man. Legs of steel are coming.

I’m not sure what I want to do as a reward for phlebotomy yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.

My next big goal as far as gear goes will be in August. If I get blue belt during belt testing in August then I’m going to get myself rash guard gear. It’s basically compression gear with a different name. I can’t even begin to think how much different my body will be if I keep training the way I am. It’s interesting and exciting to think about. At the same time, it makes me feel scared and vulnerable.

I’ll still be me, but with where I see myself being in August… I’ve never been that fit or healthy or athletic. It makes me wonder if I’ll be comfortable in my own skin. Will I recognize the person I see in the mirror? I already look at myself and can tell I’m thinner than I’ve ever been. It makes me feel shy. It makes part of me want to hide away.

All of the times I was picked on or ridiculed as a teen… Would those people be nice to me now? Would I suddenly be worthy of their kindness simply because I’m thinner?

It’s another thing to meditate on. It’s funny in a sort of sad, somber way. I’m becoming what society classifies as acceptable, desirable, wanted, and yet there is a frail part of my heart chakra that wants to cry at reaching even this point in my fitness journey, much less further, because for so long I felt unworthy even though I myself, as a person, as a soul, have remained the same.

What was it that made me so horrible that I wasn’t allowed to feel love and acceptance from people? What makes me worthy now?

It’s a tender scar, like so many others, which needs soothing.

Long, overly deep tangent…

After Target I went to the oriental market. This week I’m going to be making beef stir fry, stuffed heart, and spinach chicken couscous along with my breakfast sandwiches in the morning. I’m very much looking forward to trying the stuffed heart. The market has all sorts of interesting meat cuts. I’m looking forward to trying new recipes.

I came home, stashed the food away, ate, then ran up to Publix for a few remaining things. While I was out I got my hair cut and my brows waxed. Those two things were totally and completely a self-indulgence, but I think it’s worth it. I’ve wanted to get my hair trimmed for about two months now because the ends were getting icky, and while my brows weren’t Chewbacca bad, there was starting to be a little nagging voice in the back of my head.

I don’t want little nagging voices in my head during my interview. I want to feel confident and clean and at my best. So I invested in myself. That’s how I’m looking at it.

I came home, updated my resume, and printed out all of the information I needed, including my parking pass for tomorrow. I did go out and get Taco Bell for dinner which was extremely unsatisfying and a poor choice on my part. I had thought it would be a cheap option since through all of my productivity yesterday, including doing three loads of laundry, not just washing and drying, but actually putting away, too, I didn’t make food to have for dinner. I would have been better off going with a slightly more expensive option because then I would have at least felt like it was worth the money.

Oh well. Lesson learned I guess. Fast food really does suck and isn’t worth the money spent. I didn’t starve so at least one positive thing came out of it I suppose.

Today is going to be mostly a rest day. I need to run out to Publix for some fresh dill and butcher string. I want to vacuum. I need to dye my hair for tomorrow. I want to type up the questions to ask in the interview, and, if there’s time, type up my suggestions for the EKG class. I’m pretty low energy, though, and this writing has taken a fair amount of my morning, so the class critique is most likely not going to happen. I’m ok with that, though. I would rather have more time to work on it than cramming it all into one sitting.

Cooking at least two of my meals for the week would also be good that way I have food for tomorrow. None of that is going to get done with me sitting here, though, so I guess I should go shower and get a move on.

Musing Moment 102: The First Dream Back

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I had a dream last night. It was the first night being home from my trip to Ohio. The first night where I can start processing through everything that happened while I was there.

I woke up after it happened. Groggy. Fuzzy. I should have gotten up and written then, but I didn’t. Instead, I went back to sleep. I should have written as soon as I woke up again instead of showering or having coffee. But I didn’t.

I’m ok with that because I still remember the feelings at the end and the conclusions I have come to.

In the dream, my dad and I were in school together. I think it was high school. I don’t remember all of the details anymore but there was a group project going on. I think there were a lot of people in our group. I think it was more than just me and dad, but that detail I’m honestly not sure on, either.

I remember just like most of the projects I’ve ever had to work on, school or otherwise, I was the one doing most of the work. I was making sure things were done properly and that nothing slipped through the cracks. I remember feeling frustrated and used and continuing to work despite the tears running down my face. It felt like no one cared about what I was doing.

No one cared that I was tired or that I wanted a break. No one cared that I wanted, needed, help to get it all done in time. No one was there to make me feel like what I was doing was worth it.

I wasn’t doing the work because I wanted to. I was doing it because I cared, about them, about their grades, but no one cared back.

I was just a background drone, working away while everyone else did whatever they wanted to do, whatever they felt was more important and offering me help.

It sucked. I remember feeling like that a lot in high school, in my relationships, in college. I’ve felt that feeling a lot in life and in the past I would silently accept it like I had in the dream. I would keep doing what I was doing hoping one day someone would care enough to see me. To see my effort and to let me know it meant something to them.

I’m not sure what happened in the dream. I don’t know if there was an event I can’t recall but somehow dad noticed I was doing all the work. He looked at me from where he was across the room and saw I was alone and he wasn’t ok with that.

I think he came over and started helping but that detail I’m fuzzy on, too. I do remember his acknowledgment of the situation, his dislike for it, and his resolve to change it so it became fairer.

I remember there was another scene. Maybe another dream since there’s really no connection to the first one. I was in a hallway. It felt like I was younger. Teenage maybe.

My dad was at the end of the hallway in a large room. I was huddled against the wall because I was scared. I was next to a picture frame though I don’t remember what was in the frame. I don’t think I ever looked at it. I was too worried about leaving the hall. It was dark, sort of shadowed. Dad was in the lit room. He wanted me to come to him but I was scared.

I don’t know if I understood the fear in the dream, but being awake and conscious I can say it was probably fear of rejection. What if I left the hall and he didn’t want me there? What if he didn’t hug me or he told me to go away. It was safer in the dark hall, alone. It was safer to not put myself in that situation. It was safer to not know.

I looked at him. I looked down as I searched within myself, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. I bit my lip as I thought because I have a habit of doing that. I looked back at him as I pushed myself closer against the wall. The wall was solid, real, safe. I wanted to be part of the wall and not have to make this decision.

I knew deep down, really deep down, wanted to be with my dad, though. I didn’t want to be alone with the cold wall that wouldn’t hug me back. I wanted to be with my Superman who always hugged me, who carried me home when I fell off my bike and scraped both of my knees so bad I couldn’t walk, who used to braid my hair, who taught me how to put puzzles together, who taught me how to color inside the lines.

I wanted to be with my dad even if it was scary. I wanted to be with him even if it meant I had to leave the safety of the dark hall and the solid wall.

So I pushed away from the wall. I walked past the picture with my arms wrapped around myself. I walked each painful step while looking at the ground because I was terrified of what I would see if I looked at my dad. I didn’t know how I would survive if I saw anger or disappointment or rejection.

It was already hard enough to breathe through the emotions I was feeling. I already had those infamous silent tears on my cheeks. I was already terrified what I was doing was wrong. How would I be able to keep going if I had confirmation, if I knew, that I was wrong? That I had always been wrong? That I would ALWAYS be wrong?

I stopped when I saw his shoes in front of mine. I stood in front of him, still holding myself, still too terrified to look up. I just wanted all of it to go away. All the thoughts. All the fear. Everything. I just wanted him to hug me and for things to be ok.

And he did. He wrapped his arms around me and I hugged him back as I cried into his shoulder. I cried as I felt love and forgiveness and acceptance and sorrow for all of the past hurts that we had caused each other.

That’s when I woke up. I woke up feeling love and acceptance and I really don’t care what happens in the future. I’m grateful I had my dream. I’m grateful for the time I spent alone with him this trip in the basement where we played darts and talked. I’m grateful for the conversations he had with Jon and me while we drank Not Your Father’s Rootbeer while everyone else was asleep.

I’m grateful that he hugged me goodbye at the airport and that he said he loved me.

I think the picture in the dream represents the past. That’s what pictures are. Past moments. Things we look back on. Moments that have happened and can’t be changed.

I feel like the picture reaffirms my realization from last week. The one about mom’s death and that it’s ok to not want to trade the life I have now to have her back.

We can’t go backward. Life doesn’t work like that.

We can only forward.

I have to leave the past where it is. The hurt, the pain, the fear and uncertainty of my teenage and young adult years… I have to walk through and away from all of it if I’m going to move forward and have any sort of relationship with my dad and half sisters.

This trip made me realize I want to be there for them. I want to be the mentor and role model I wish I had had while trying to navigate life. I want them to be able to talk to me when things are scary and uncertain, or when they need advice but don’t want to talk to their parents about it. I want to be a safe person for them.

And I want my dad and me to move forward from where we are. We can’t go back and change events. We can’t undo the divorce. We can’t undo the hurt. But we can understand this is where we’re at and that we still love each other and that I’m still his daughter and he’s still my dad.

I’m happy I had my dream. It makes me feel like I did the right thing. It makes me feel like I’m headed in the right direction.