You don’t have to pay that careful of attention to know that I’m weird about appearance stuff. Many people are; I’m not unique. People judge you based on how you look and that’s so complicated. I have been very lucky because for most of my life I’ve lived in a place where dirty hippies are normal and expected so I’m not someone who sticks out like a sore thumb. I’m kind of normal. I live in the only place in the world where the rich people dress worse than the poor people. I am scared to leave.

But I have to.

If you look through my pictures of my childhood you will see how every so often my hair was butchered short. That was because I was left alone for most of the time starting when I was three years old. I was not capable of caring for myself and no one was interested in teaching me. My mother spent a lot of time telling me that I was a reflection of her and so it wasn’t ok that I was so disgusting looking. But she didn’t help me and she didn’t teach me how to do it for myself. I was just shamed. That’s not true. I wasn’t just shamed. I was screamed at. I was hit. I was told that my opinion about the length of my hair was entirely unimportant because I was too pathetic to deserve it.

I’m flipping out this week because I’m triggered. More triggered than I have been in years.

More triggered than I have been since I tried to throw a super huge party where everyone was supposed to be there because I’m so great. Yeah. That flipped me the fuck out and I had to hurt myself in compensation for being stupid enough to try that.

Traveling is scary because you have one chance to make a first impression. I’ve been told since I was a little kid that I make horrible first impressions but when people are forced to interact with me over a longer period of time they discover I’m actually really great.

That’s not the best dynamic for travel, you know?

There is like 5,000 extra words in my head and no spare minutes in my day.