It's hot here lately, humid, and I hate sweating but my hair is looking better every day.
I write about queer history and gender in music and I am very happy. I feel proud of myself sometimes.
I still haven't cried.
I was waiting for my paycheck to go through, to buy a new dress for forty-five dollars, but the circumstances dictated that I buy pepper spray instead and somehow, I feel more woman with a weapon than a dress.
For almost a week, I have been able to pass the mirror in my hall without having to turn around and change, without having to turn around and change four times, without being late to anything or missing class altogether.
The world is beautiful but I am terrified to be living in it.
I am still afraid of intimacy and the word 'dermatillomania'. 
I know what I want to do with the next five years of my life and that feels great.
I can write well. I have had five pieces published thus far and that doesn't feel like a lot, but I write well.
I feel angrier and more afraid of men every day.