One year ago, at this time, on this day, I was taking sleeping pills and trying to stop freaking out about my daughter’s surgery in the morning.

I was worried and nervous.

She was sleeping soundly.

One year ago, at this time, on this day, my grandfather was dying.

In five hours, it will be one year since he died. One year since the world lost an incredible, beautiful soul.

I think about the year that has passed, and I feel like losing my mind.

I think about all that I have lost in this year, all that has changed and all that never changed.

I think about Pop. I think about Nanny. I think about how much I let them down – and maybe how proud I might have made them.

I think about the past, and how you can never get it back. Those feelings and moments you take for granted, never thinking about how they won’t last forever.

I think about the future, and how much of it is beyond my control.

I think, sometimes, I’d rather just lose my mind. It’s all too much. All of it, all at once.

But right now, I’m mostly thinking about Pop. I wrote him a letter, back before he died, and I never got around to sending it. Because, among my many, many faults, I am a procrastinator. I will never get the chance to send it, now.

I’m going to post it, here. Maybe somewhere in the universe, out there or right here next to me, he’ll be able to read it.

Do you remember all of the trips we used to take?

Those are some of my best memories.

Bush Gardens, where Georgia and I dressed up as you and Nanny in the hotel room.

When you let us try a sip of O’Doul’s non-alcoholic beer and we got kicked out of the brewery.

The Crayola factory.

All of the camping trips at Morris meadows, and our weeks in ocean city.

Getting up super early to go bike riding with you on the boardwalk was my favorite part.

Do you remember the long drive to Niagara falls? And how we got lost but you wouldn’t stop to ask for directions?

You and Nanny made every holiday a magical, special thing.

Digging for our Easter treasure in the garden of your back yard.

Finding candy bars in your coat pockets in the closet.

Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, where you brought all of us together.

Halloweens on your front porch.

You were the glue that held all of us close.

When I got older, some of my fondest memories became the simple ones.

Sitting in the kitchen and doing word puzzles with Nanny. Hearing stories about her high school days, and how they all used to put their sandwiches in the hands of the statue of Jesus in the courtyard.

Waking up to cheese omelettes before school.

And Sunday lunches.

When I had my own children, I wanted them to know the joy and love I felt from you and Nanny every day.

And they did. Sunday’s were their favorite day, because they got to spend it with you.

I will never be able to express how full my heart was every time I saw you hold them, play with them, love them.

And how much I wish Nanny could have known them. I know she would have adored them just like you do.

I think about you every day. I miss you every day.

You are one of the most influential people in my life.

You taught me compassion, patience, tradition. You taught me to value family, and education. You taught me how to ride a bike. How to drive a car (at 5 miles an hour in a graveyard). How to make the best spaghetti sauce in history.

I love you so much. Your great grandchildren love you so much.

We may not get to see you every week, but we are with you every day. You are in our hearts, always.

I am still learning, and I am far from perfect. But every decent thing about me comes from what I learned from you.

You are the most incredible person I’ve had the honor to know, and though I’m sure I will meet a thousand more people in my lifetime, no one will ever compare to you.

I love you, Pop.



Would anyone care if I started blogging again?

I’ve been thinking about it.

Maybe it doesn’t matter if anyone reads it.


this post is kinda gay.

so, it’s valentine’s day.

since puberty, this day has always meant two things for me:

1. chocolate
2. reflecting on how pathetic and hopeless i am, romantically.

(don’t feel too bad for me….remember what #1 was)

on this blindingly white valentine’s day, i have been taken back to my first real girl-crush.

i was in 9th grade, and she was a junior. my sister’s friend. of course, 13 year old me believed i was madly in love with her.

i’m thinking about this, and i’m laughing at how very much the same i have always been.

and i’m grateful, because it could have been so awful.

now, i’m not saying it was the 70’s or anything, but i do think that we’ve come a long way in the past 16 years with acceptance and compassion when it comes to alternative sexualities.

here is the story….

i wrote her a letter. the most epic, romantic love letter a 13 year old girl could possibly compose.

i included lyrics to Nine Inch Nails’ Something I Can Never Have (see? it’s just me. i have always been like this).

i folded it up the way high school kids used to fold notes – unnecessarily intricate.

i gave her the note.

i waited – most likely crying in my room, listening to said NIN song.

this could have been bad. horrible.

she could have told everyone – she could have told my sister.

in all honesty, i don’t know if she told my sister. or anyone else, for that matter. if she did, it never got back to me.

she wrote me a note back.

it was thought out and sweet, almost as long as mine to her was, and signed with a heart.

she wasn’t into girls. she let me down easy.

i thought it might be awkward, but it wasn’t. we remained friends.

i remember, years after, she told me that she still had my letter. that it was the most romantic letter she’d ever received.

while we don’t actively hang out, we’re still friends now. she might even stumble across this blog post.

whether she does or not, i just wanted to thank her.

honestly, i wasn’t thinking at all about repercussions and consequences. i wasn’t thinking about bullying, being made fun of, harassment.
you know that jason mraz lyric, leap and the net will appear? that’s pretty much my tenet, only it’s more like leap whether the net appears or not.

it’s comforting to know that there are good people. compassionate people. my first “coming out” experience could have been a horrible lesson in bullying, high school politics, shame and homophobia. instead, it was a lesson in understanding, kindness and friendship.

on days like today, where i half-joking/half-weeping reflect on my romantic life, it was really quite beautiful to remember that story.

so thank you.

and happy valentine’s day. hope it is full of romance my 13-year-old self could never have imagined.

i’ll be spending my night at work, eating an entire bag of butterfinger bites.

Y’all ready for this? *trumpet noises*

So….I often wake up with random songs in my head.

Since the beginning of the year, I decided to start keeping track of the songs that are in my head when I wake up.

I believe this compilation could give us some insight into how strange and nonsensical my mind is.

Here they are:

the B-52’s – Roam

Lykke Li – Unrequited Love

Wolftron – Ms Luna Grim

Lykke Li – Sadness is a Blessing

Sophia the First – Good Little Witch

Partridge Family – Come On Get Happy

Emarosa – I Am Waves

Mumford and Sons – Sigh No More

Fun. – All the Pretty Girls

Leonard Cohen – Hallelujah

Emarosa – Pretend. Relive. Regret.

Miley Cyrus – We Can’t Stop

You Me At Six – The Consequence

Henry Hugglemonster – Theme Song

You Me At Six – Stay With Me

Wu Tang Clan – Wu Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthing Ta Fuck Wit

Skeeter Davis – The End of the World

The Used – Blue and Yellow

Hot Hot Heat – Oh God Dammit

And, from this morning:

James Blunt – You’re Beautiful

There you have it. This month in the random songs that are stuck in my head when I wake up.

And I’m out.


My name is emily.

I have been told that when I was a child, I was sweet.


When I was five years old, my parents got divorced. I was happy. I didn’t understand the full extent of their relationship, nor their individual struggles, but I did understand that it was a good thing for them to be away from each other.

I did not play with dolls or barbies when I was a child.
I played with animals.

I had three different sets of toys – one for my mother’s house, one for my father’s and one for my grandparents’.

Each was its own unique kingdom. Each had its own storyline, which was paused and picked up each time I came and went at each place. Like episodes in a television show. I spoke in accents, a lot.

The first time I saw the movie, Aladdin, and princess Jasmine’s pet tiger Rajah, I was insanely jealous.

I used to pretend I was a tiger.

When I was seven or eight years old, I wrote “life sucks” on a napkin and thought about jumping out of my mother’s bedroom window.

I don’t remember why. I’m not sure there even was any kind of catalyst. Maybe it was just foreshadowing.


I believe I was twelve or thirteen, the first time I took a razor to my skin.

My first real relationship began when I was fourteen. I was with him for three years. He cheated on me with quite a few different girls.
For the last year and a half of our relationship, he was abusive.
If someone makes a sudden movement with their arm, while driving, I will still flinch, because he used to slam my head into the window when we argued in his car.

I like to think that was the only lasting effect, but who am I kidding?

I could imagine what that does to a person’s ability to have functional relationships – when their first idea of love turns out that way.

I ended it. It was a hard thing to do, but I did it.

After that, it took me a long time and a lot of mistakes to learn what love really was. To learn who I really was. What I liked and didn’t like, what kind of person I was, and what kind of person I wanted.


I struggled with myself, often.
Struggled with who I was and what I was worth. Struggled with the idea of love and why I could never find it – or how I could be so wrong when I thought I did.

I saw a therapist for a year.
I do not believe she was helpful. But I blame that on myself, because I was a teenager and was never fully open or truthful.

I am now 29 years old.

I wish I saw my father and step mother more.

I do not speak to my mother.

I worry constantly that I will be like her.

I have two children.

I worry constantly that they will be like me.

I still struggle with myself.
With my worth, and my abilities and my weakness.

Sometimes, I do not know who I am and feel utterly lost.

I have faith in very little things.
But the faith I have is unconditional and unwavering.

I have love for very few people.
But the love I have is unconditional and unwavering.

There is absolutely no point to this post.

But there it is. Here I am.


Dream vs Memory

Standing outside of my son’s school, waiting for the bell to ring, I was thrown back unexpectedly into a memory.

My father used to live on a farm.

I can remember, very vividly, standing by a big wooden fence in my big wool coat, feeling the wind biting at my cheeks and thinking how tricky fall was. How it can be so sunny and bright, but so bitter cold.

I know that my father was attacked by bees, once. I remember sitting on the front steps with my sister and picking the stingers out of his back.

I remember that he found a snake, once, and I remember crying secretly when he cut its head off.

I remember that, whenever we got splinters, my father would cut them out with a knife.

I remember walking down to the pond there, and talking to the giant snapping turtles and bull frogs.

I remember watching Charlotte’s Web and eating spagetti-o’s.

I can remember all of these things, but they seem almost like dreams to me. I catch myself trying to determine whether they really happened, or were actually, in fact, dreams I had had.

It’s funny, how you can go for years without thinking about something, and one scent or feeling or word can spark something in your brain to push a memory forward.

I don’t know when, exactly, I made the transition from child to adult, but I imagine I am there now. I am an adult by any standard. But is there really a difference, in our minds?

I can still enjoy all of the things I enjoyed then. I enjoy being outside and playing. Acting silly and laughing. I still talk to animals, and myself, when no one is looking. I still furrow my eyebrows at fall’s deceitful looks, as I pull on my coat and grab my sunglasses.

I have certain memories that I am unsure of. Some things, I have confirmed by my sisters’ or parents’ stories. But there are still a few I can’t decide on.

I have a memory of going somewhere with my father, step mother and sisters. There were a lot of small trees, and I remember walking through them like a maze. It was fall, because there were no leaves on the branches and the ground was crunchy and loud.
I don’t think this is a real memory. I believe it was a dream I had when I was younger.
But I still recall it with the same vivid details as with the ‘real’ memories of childhood that I have.

Which makes me wonder.

Because all of my memories have that same surreal feeling.

So which ones are reality?

Does it even matter?

How Tumblr ruined enhanced affected my life.

I have had this blog for almost two years. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing it, even with all of the changes and hiatuses and stupid posts.

A while back, I was told that I should create a tumblr account, to get this blog to a larger audience.

I said sure, set up an account, and had everything post to tumblr automatically. I didn’t think about tumblr anymore, after that.


Until one day….

I remembered that my tumblr account existed, and decided to check in on it.

Holy shit, my Knox Overstreet blog got 70 notes!



Holy shit, what are notes?!

And thus, my journey into the tumblr universe began.

I started liking posts. I started following people. I started reblogging.

My tumblr became a completely different entity from my WordPress blog and I found myself wondering why the hell I hadn’t been enjoying this beautiful thing before.


So there I was, neglecting Facebook and Instagram and buzzfeed for my tumblr dash, at all hours of the day – and diving into the lively night life of tumblr into the wee hours of the morning. Getting judged for how much of my life was being consumed by it, but not being able to care because it’s JUST SO GOOD.

Then came the supernatural fandom.
Those lovely, lovely people.
By seeing the gif sets and quotes so regularly on my dash, I found myself really wanting to watch the show.
So I did.
And I am now on season 6, and am fully immersed in the show and the fandom.


I get the jokes, now!

I get ‘heat of the moment’ stuck in my head every Tuesday, now!

I ship an angel and a demon hunter so hard, now!



Tumblr users have their own language, and I’ll admit that I am still learning but I do feel somewhat included at this point. I know what ship means, and anon and OTP and I can’t even and unf.

There is still so much for me to learn.

And I am, by no means, tumblr famous.

But I have 42 followers and that feels fucking awesome.

So I will continue to post and repost destiel gif sets and spn posts, kittens and band gifs, quotes and sexy photos, for better or worse!

Blog on, fellow bloggers!