in which geneva tumbles with weight

I'm Geneva. Female. Out of shape and out of touch. 25. 5'8. 225lbs.

The last five years have been a very difficult time in my life and the 80 lbs of fat I put on is only a fraction of the weight. The struggle has been a constant up and down. I started this little blog in 2010. Fell off the face of the earth and ate. A lot. Now I am back. Mistakes have been made. Lessons have been learned. Still here to share all of it. The good, the bad, and the surgary.

Here we go. Again. Always.

RIght now, one day at a time.

He asked if I was mad at him.

I told him no.

He kissed me and told me he loved me.

"You told me that because I’m not mad at you?"

"No. It’s so you knew I wasn’t trying to placate you."

My generation got a cheap college education when we were young, and we’re getting good retirement benefits now that we’re old. Pretty nice. But now we’re turning around and telling today’s twentysomethings that they should pay through the nose for college, keep paying taxes for our retirements, and oh by the way, when it comes time for you to retire your benefits are going to have to be cut. So sorry.

Chart of the Day: Student Loan Debt Is Skyrocketing | Mother Jones

And THEN you’re telling them that they’re the most spoiled, entitled, self-absorbed generation in history. It’s stupid and gross. Love, Rachel

(via rachelfershleiser)

(via fenrisulfir)

An exercise just to see where I left off in the writing game.

The world.

Is glum hum drum.

Geneva tapped her pen against the mostly blank piece of paper and listened to the sound against the backdrop of rainfall and her baleful existence.

She scratched out both lines she had written, the grating sound cathartic.

She wrote.

Writing soothes. So why don’t you write anymore?

The penmanship was a mixture of cursive and indistinct. The ink was dark, wet, and bold and the pen flowed.

She was left handed so it was almost inevitable that the ink stained the side of her hand, smearing the words if she didn’t hold the writing utensil just… so. Physically and mentally every line took careful consideration and scrutiny until three lines in she had to come to a stop.

Because that much consideration took worry and Geneva had been half hazardly diagnosed with anxiety. A diagnosis she felt whole heartedly about.

She wrote.

I can describe the world around me.

And she thought how pretentious and shallow and cliche that sounded after she re read the line three times.

She lowered her pen and drew a straight line through the words. Quick and hard so the sound grated as before.

She wrote.

I like how the pen sounds when I draw straight lines.

And with that, she was satisfied. She pressed all five of the finger tips of her right hand against the paper and drew them together in a pinching motion. The paper bended and folded and crumpled as she worked it into a ball she could fit into the palm of her hand. Her sweaty palm moistened it as she squeezed and rolled. She threw the ball into a small waste basket, on top of other bits of moist, balled up paper.

That was enough writing for today.

I’ve been out of action for awhile.

This is inherently a fitblr and when I’m failing I run away from the reminder.

I hate myself.

I do my best not to give into dramatics and posting it all over the fucking Internet, but there it is. I hate myself.

Some days are better than others.


Talonflame using Brave Bird on Amoonguss.



Talonflame using Brave Bird on Amoonguss.


(via helloeduardo)