The year I turned 19 was met with many firsts: my first time living with a significant other, my first major break up, a fucking myriad of deaths entwined with some of the people I care about most, and the first signs of an affair that broke up the superficially picture perfect world I was residing in. It seemed that as soon as life started to settle back down after one shitty event, a few weeks later something even shittier would arise and completely fuck up the normality my friends and I were so desperately trying to regain. This past year greeted me with a solid affirmation that bad things will always come in sets of three and that I’m probably destined to be on the losing team. It’s cool, though. Someone’s gotta be the born loser and I’m not as jaded in real life as this blog may lead you to believe. So right now I’m a 21 year old drop out getting ready to move back in with my parents 8 hours away from the place I consider home. And I guess I’m kinda like oficially inviting you to share in this new adventure where I try to un-fuck up my life and simultaneously come to terms with the fact that im technically an adult being forced by the tiny little bit of common sense I possess to move to a place I’ve always hated where I know no one besides my roommates who happen to be my rad ass but always overbearing parents (which is basically going to consist of too many half thought out rough drafts of the silly, irritating, pointless shit that enters my noodle).