february 2 2023
blog post of some sort;
Welcome to my website. I'm not sure how you found it, but glad you did.
I have made it my goal to share my writing this year. I write daily in my journal and have written things that maybe one day I'd want to share, but I haven't shared a single piece of writing. Ever. I've told myself and a few people close to me that I want to be a writer, even been so bold to already call myself a writer. So here I am, being the person I want to be, a writer.
I am inspired by someone I met through a friend last year. She is a writer. She is cool and shares her writing weekly in a newsletter. I subscribed to her newsletter and felt inspired by the simplicity of the format. She updates her subscribers on things in her life. I think this is great exercise to just share something. Anything. So, thank you Dia for inspiring me. Her website is Brokebutmoisturized.com. Genius.
Current hobby attempt: crocheting
I am on a journey of finding my 'thing' I really just want one thing that is mine that I do well and enjoy and lose track of time in the process. So I thought yep, crocheting, this is it, this is me, this who I am suppose to be. So I went out and bought 6 skeins of yarn. I stood in the aisle of Michael's googling what a skein is and how many skeins come in one of the yarn balls. It is just a yarn ball. So I used my 6 skeins to make a big fluffy blanket that a YouTuber told me I could make it 4 hours! Perfect!
It took me a week and a half and it is... an organic shape. Oblong. Impossible to fold on the end of the bed in a rectangle. Not sure if I will be able to be the crochet person I envisioned for myself. But hey, at least my really loving partner bought me a crochet hook set that is now sitting on a shelf mocking me every time I walk by. I'll try again and keep you posted.
Going to the gym: pre-workout confession
I started going to the gym at the end of the summer. I hadn't gone to the gym since I was probably a junior in college, I'm 25 now. I was pretty toxic with the gym so I gave myself a break and found other ways to be active.
Since I have been back in the gym I have been really easy with myself just doing what feels right for me not feeding into the grind mindset. Until last week, when I remembered pre-workout. I use to take pre-workout with one of my old roommates. I hadn't taken it since then and had a lil thought that maybe... it would be fun to take pre-workout and be all yoked. So I caved to my thoughts and bought pre-workout. I have had some nice pumps with it. That's what us gym rats call a workout, in case you didn't know. So yep, here it is, my confession of being a pre-workout consumer.
Thoughts that have nowhere to go:
Woman who says “Sorry I need to clean my car!” still hasn't cleaned her car.
“You can just toss that in the back!” is always paired with a pile of clothes for just in case I get invited to a party after work, and shame.
This mockumentary was suppose to be my senior thesis. I began the filming process in February 2020, and well, ya know how the rest of the year went so my script now sits on the bottom of this page, and now maybe you will read it.
I wrote this speculative script for Big Mouth inspired by my own horrors of middle school Halloween turning sexy. Picture me showing up to my friends house to go trick or treating with my face painted as a clown, wearing my moms pajamas with a pillow stuffed in the back of my pants, and I'm feeling ready for fun with my friend. Picture my friend answering the door wearing the sexy referee costume that is most definitely made for adults.
writing from my notes app that I haven't polished or published
I’ve had 3 distinct instagram name eras. The first being smileyreilly. Huge. This name took me from high school into college, and then graduating college as smileyreilly. After graduating I had a moment of fear of who I am? How can I be this tattooed badass and have a normy-username like smiley_reilly? Yikes. So I had to go full weirdo, my friend and I had the crisis together, so we decided to change our usernames, wanting to fully embody my “I’m different” crisis, I went with wetflyreilly. I settled on this, and then an hour later someone noted that it sounds like I wet my pants. I doubled down because I couldn’t handle to public embarrassment that is changing your instagram name. Now I am yayreilly on the internet. It’ll do for now.
I want to be a writer. Sometimes I say I am a writer. For a moment I believe it to be true. Then I remember that in order to be a writer, according to me, I must share my writing. If my writing exist only for my eyes then I guess I could still call myself a writer, but it gets difficult when I get the confidence to finally exclaim “I’m a writer!” And someone naturally responds, “I want to read what you’ve written!” I then stumble on my words and have a million reasons why I simply don’t have at least one piece of writing that is shareable.
This circles back to wanting the peer validation that I do a thing, that I have ‘a thing.’ I want to believe that I am interesting in my own regard. And sure, I know I am, but it is really hard to remember when I am the only one who can remind myself. It would be nice every once in awhile to hear someone say I love what you wrote! Which would also require me to write something.
My goal for this year was to be a published writer. It is now December. The month where I am met with the reality that is, I didn’t make this year what I wanted. I watched a lot of tv. A lot of it, I mean, I watched The wire, The sopranos, Succession, Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, needless to say, I am in a loving relationship where we love to sit on the couch and watch tv together, hence shows that take time and commitment.
Instead of girl bossing my 24th year, I lounged, I kind of plateaued, I don’t even know if I grew spiritually, what a shame to admit. I mean, I did of course, but in the depths of December I feel as if I have not. I read. Some, not as much as I would have liked. I made a rule for myself to read all the books I have before I can buy a new book, which left me in a place of not wanting to read. The best part about reading is buying the book and hurrying home with anticipation to find all the juicy words that you have yet to hear of before the very moment your eyes read the black words on white paper. No part of me wants to go pick out the lame book that stares at me daily tormenting me for having a short attention span. There are classics on my shelf that I must read to be a functioning part of society, but I am not in AP literature, and my AP literature teacher didn’t assign me to read 1984, or farenheight 911. That is a long excuse for managing my time poorly. Before I start another show I tell myself that it’ll be my last. I know it won’t be. I haven’t had a show in a couple of weeks, so instead I watch Youtube, and I click from video to video, always saying the next one will be my last. I know it is actually going to be my last of the day when I click on a self help video. Watching a self help video on YouTube is just too sad to bear. I refuse to listen to a 19 year old tell me how to wake up at 6 am. I know how. Im just not doing it.
Its hard to admit that I’m just not doing it. “It,” as in living up to my potential. My mom, like most, want their kids to live up to their potential. How? How does one live up to their potential when I have been told my entire life by my parents they are proud of me, before I have even done something. I know, I know, I shouldn't gripe about having loving supportive parents who show love through words of affirmation. I think I could have benefitted from some tough love of having to work for approval, having to work for my parents love a little bit could have really propelled me into a different dimension of life I didn't even know was possible.