Life's Tough... Get A Helmet

Cheetah Bandeau- Victoria's Secret; Grey Racerback- Victoria's Secret; Denim Shorts- JC Penney {4 years old!}

Who's a very happy camper and has two thumbs?

This kid. 

Who just got a huge package from Victoria's Secret? 

This kid.

Who doesn't have to work for the next two days?

... If you didn't answer "this kid" something's wrong with you lady, or Hunter. Seeing as Hunter is probably the only male specimen who reads my blog. 

After eight long days of working, I finally have two days off! I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with myself... okay. I do know what I'm going to do with myself. Send out thank you cards. Go to the beach. See Hunter. Go to the beach. Oh, and go to the beach. 

I've been thinking a lot about negativity and how it affects me. Affects everyone. And, then, when Michelle wrote about "Having it All" and how we as bloggers almost try to make it appear as if we have it all I wondered if I have that impression on people. That because I generally only write about good things if people think nothing crappy ever happens to me. I guess my reasoning for being mostly positive on Ivory Giraffes is because it helps me be more positive in real life. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm not always this happy in real life. 

I have lots of bad days. 

I have coworkers who I do not get along with, and sometimes I'm not very nice to Hunter. 

There are lots of days where I fight with my Mama, and when I take the things I have for granted. I pee my pants. I get overwhelmed. I've had so many falling-outs with friends I held dear, and some of the falling-out was my fault. 

And writing things like this is why I love blogging. I love that we're all real people, and most of us don't try and make it out like everything is all great all the time but a lot of us do try and remain positive. We're not celebrities, we're just people with passion. 

In Which I Call It Like I See It

Life is just an allotted amount of time we have to do big things, to make people notice us so that we can live forever in their memories. And we're all screaming, jumping up and down, doing practically anything to make others see us, but no one does. Mainly because they're all preoccupied doing the same darn thing. We all pretend that we like it that way. That we don't want any attention. But we're just kidding ourselves. No one wants to be forgotten. To die and have not a single soul remember them. All of us, the whole human race, tries to act so tough. Like nothing anyone says or does to us even hurts us. But our whole charade is BS. Everyone is just begging for everyone else to care. But you know? You want it. I want it. Everyone else wants it. So don't we be the ones to step out? To say, "Hey. I see that you're going through a hard time. I get that you're really sad, and you just want someone to say they care. So, here I am. I care." We all just want to be pursued.

... I wrote this in my journal the other day {Some mild editing since then} when I was at the beach. By myself. Being sad and depressed about the fact that one of my favorite people in the world had moved away. I'm wounded. Not just by her moving, but by everyday life. We're all so wounded, but no one ever goes to be the bigger person and say "Hey. I'm wounded too. Just like you." That's all any of us wants. Some recognition.

I don't care who you are. You're wounded. I know it. This isn't just an assumption about you, it's something that I know for a fact. We all have our wounds. Some different than others, but all the same. The same in that they hurt. And they're real. Whether your best friend turned her back on you, your dog died, or your Mom is in the hospital. They're all equal pains. And here I am saying, I'm wounded too. Sometimes I let my wounds define me, even. Sometimes I let them control me. A lot of the time I let them control me. And I'm really sick of pretending I'm alright all the time. It's exhausting. 

In Which I Write

There are days when I long to simply write. To put ink to paper, or in a not-so-romantic way type on my laptop. The great thing about writing is that you can write and rewrite. You can make everything perfect. And eloquent. And beautiful. Whereas when you're talking you mess things up a lot, or at least I do. 

I long to change the world. By writing true and inspiring things. I want to make a difference, and make life better for others. And maybe it's silly of me to think that writing on this little blog of mine will do that, but a girl can dream can't she? My deepest desire is to have someone read about my life, read things that I have written, and have one simple truth jump out at them. To maybe change them. 

I won't pretend that I have the most brilliant life. And I can't say that I have the most brilliant thoughts, either. Maybe I just feel this way because if no one ever learns anything from my life I'll feel like everything I've had to go through was in vain. That there was really no reason to have to go through it if it didn't at least help someone.

But, then. Maybe that's not the point. Maybe the point is that I have to go through it, and there's no real reason. Maybe there's no real point at all. I really don't think that there's a reason for everything. I think that that's what people tell you to make you feel better about the crummy situation you're going through, when really they're just saying it because they feel sorry for you and have nothing else to say but they feel like they need to say something. News flash: Sometimes it's worse when you talk. Sometimes you don't need words at all. Sometimes (Most of the time) just being there is more than enough. I think a lot of the time people will tell you that they're "so sorry" that such and such happened because they want to feel better. It's not really about making you, the victim, feel better. It's about making them feel better. About themselves. Make them feel like they're doing their part and that they're helping you out. Even if it's no help at all. Over the past two years I've experienced that a lot. And sometimes it feels like I have to help everyone else by letting them think they're helping me. 

I'm not really sure what this whole thing is. A confession? A rambling? I don't know. I just knew it needed to be said. You know the feeling? That rumbling in your heart? Something that's been eating you alive, bothering you, and you knew that if you just hit publish you'd be free of it. I encourage you to do that every so often. To open yourself up to the world. It's terrifying, I know. But it's so freeing. 

what i wore// beckoning Spring

Jeans- Delia's (Thrifted); Pink Tee- Forever21; Lace Cami- Thrifted; Belt- Thrifted

There comes a point in everyones year when they begin aching for the season to change into Spring. To see the snow vanish around you, and hear the distinct sound of the chickadee. To smell dirt and mud. To feel the temperature rising, so as to remind you that summer is just around the turn. Spring places a freshness in the air, and with that freshness a longing in our hearts to be free and wild. To roam along the countryside barefoot, and sweater-less. 
Unfortunately for me, Spring does not seem to be making its way any time soon in my neighborhood. Rather we've been hit with a terrible snowstorm that makes me want to vomit and pitch a fit. The temperature is higher today than yesterday, at 28 degrees. In my heartfelt attempt to awaken Spring I've decided to wear Spring-y colors. Maybe, just maybe, she'll decide to make herself known to me.