I’m Moving

Honestly, I felt I needed a URL that better fit the content being posted. Even if I haven’t posted in 8 months. I know I can technically change this one, but the process seemed overtly complicated. Blehg

I’m going to try to export my old stuff to the new URL? We’ll see if that works.

Anyway, follow me at journeytothespiritrealm.wordpress.com

View original post

I’m Moving

Honestly, I felt I needed a URL that better fit the content being posted. Even if I haven’t posted in 8 months. I know I can technically change this one, but the process seemed overtly complicated. Blehg

I’m going to try to export my old stuff to the new URL? We’ll see if that works.

Anyway, follow me at journeytothespiritrealm.wordpress.com

There Was Never a Monster Under My Bed

I have a deep, psychological fear of the monster under my bed.

“Leslie, please. You’re 21 years old for christ’s sake. There is no monster under your bed,”

There is, if you would just let me explain.

When I was about 12 years old I had a nightmare. The kind that sticks with you for life, that haunts you even in your waking moments. It is almost impossible to function when sepia images flash through my mind. It is the root of my insomnia and the basis of all my ghost stories.

I was 12 years old and I was running for my life. Running from ghosts and goblins and giant spiders (frequent guests to my nightmares after watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets). I was running, running, running, and then suddenly

I wasn’t.

I was home. I was safe. My mother was putting me to bed, kissing me goodnight. I was climbing to the top bunk, getting under the covers, and settling down for a good night’s rest. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, waiting to begin my dream within a dream. Just as I was drifting off to sleep a green hand with long, sharp, and extremely grotesque nails burst through my mattress, digging into my back.

I wake into real life, screaming, touching the skin still stinging from the imaginary attack. My mother rushed into my room to see what was wrong. I describe to her my nightmare between sobs and gulps of air. She looks at my back “checking” for scratch marks. She assures me there are none, despite my still feeling the claws raking across my skin.

“There is no monster under your bed, sweetie.”

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

I’m not sure I slept the rest of the week.

To this day, that green hand haunts my dreams. I cannot lay on my back without feeling the claws carving four clean lines along my spine.

And now its powers grow. Sometimes I imagine that same hand coming from under my bed. I refuse to let my legs hang over the side for fear the hand will grab me and drag me under.

I am 21 years old and I am afraid of the monster under my bed.

There was never a monster under my bed.

Not until I put him there.

My New Years Resolution

Today I went to Barnes and Noble.

I spent $193.20 on books.

I probably shouldn’t have. I really didn’t need to. But I did. And it made me so, so happy.

But at the same time, I am kicking myself. I really don’t need all of those books. I already have a ton of books I haven’t even read yet. So why buy more?

Because I wanted to.

Because the books I already own are not the only books I want to read.

Because bookstores and books make me happy, and I am in no way going to keep myself from doing something that makes me happy.

THAT is my New Years Resolution. To do what makes me happy, even if my wallet, or society, doesn’t agree with me.

I feel like working out today? I’m gonna do it. I feel like watching Netflix and pigging out instead? Great, those are now my plans.

I’m not going to listen to the people around me telling me how to live my life. Because it’s my life to live. Not theirs.

I am going to do whatever I please, whenever I please to do it.

And if you have a problem with that, feel free to walk out the door. I will gladly close it behind you.

An Introduction

My name is Leslie Jane.

I don’t really know why I’m here. I mean, I do. But at the same time, I don’t.

I’m not a writer. I tried to be, a long time ago. I just could never get myself started. Or I never followed through.

Part of it is probably due to my incessant laziness. Or maybe it’s because of my need for perfection. I mean, why start something if it’s not going to end up amazing? Right? And I’ve never really known how to get started. What do I write about? Does it even matter? god knows I can’t bare to look like an idiot.

That’s why everything has to be done my way. Because if it isn’t, it won’t be perfect. And it has to be perfect; it has to be amazing.

That’s why I’m a little confused. I’ve started this blog, today, right now, with no hope of it becoming amazing. And I can’t figure out why.

Why today? Why this very minute? Nothing special has happened. Nothing about today made me stop and think now’s the time. I just did it.

Who knows. Maybe it will be the best decision of my year. Maybe it will be the worst. There’s only one way to find out.

And that scares the sh*t out of me.