Without getting too personal or exposing or whatever, I had an issue with my boyfriend recently where I was forced to accept the unknown. And even though that's not really my jam, like whatsoever, I thought I could successfully practice the ancient art of letting go.

I failed miserably.  For me, solutions come from fully understanding problems. I want to get to the bottom of things. That's why my degree is in psychodynamic psychotherapy: I believe that understanding the "why" and more importantly the "how it got that way" is essential to acceptance and solvation. (That's not a real word. I just made it up. It means the "action" of solving something. It's the noun of "to solve.") Anyway, I can't really get into it as said bf and I have an ongoing disagreement about my tendency toward vomiting my feelers on a public forum. To my credit, I've been much more restrained than I used to back in the glory days. My ability to fully detail a given issue at hand has been unfortunately but successfully curbed by love. Fucking love. Love is simultaneously blissful and restrictive. Or am I choosing be live restricted? Having yet to reach the root of my restriction, I stepped back.

I've always been a bit of a spitfire, firecracker, a rule-breaker (yep, bonafide badass) - a light fighter of sorts but with a self-destructive ability to forgive and forget. I have strong convictions. This I know. This I hold. For my convictions, I find release in letting the extreme versions flow unfiltered. It allows me to be level-headed and convenient in everyday life. However, the whole cautious approach to my blog I've relationship-adopted over the past six or so month seals my outlet. And is so blah boring.

I detest boredom.

While there are many things I compromise because I love the people closest to me in my life (and wouldn't dream to throw them under the dirty blog bus just because I feel the need to express myself ad nauseum), I cannot compromise stimulation via theatrics en scripto. Not going to do that. Nope. Not never. I am however, going to go ahead and change a few things on my blog. Moving forward, you will find these chronicles scattered with:

• Histrionic complaints at my leisure. 
  
• Dirt...because if you can't get dirty on the internet, where can you?
  
• A dash more sex. I mean, what's the point in being "the sexy one" if you never mention getting it on.
• Reality. Sure, I'm learning lessons all the time; but if I were in the business of preaching, I'd have been born Jesus Christ. Or Jesse Jackson.
  

Plus, this godawful blog is in fact written by a still-technically-single young woman (and amazing dancer to boot) navigating a challenging career and growing a relationship in a city void decent DJs, where people dress like assholes and literally don't follow the proper bagel-making processes. (Thanks for that Cozzi.) Even my dog looks at me like "Can we go home now?" Every day is beauty and every day is a bit of a struggle. A struggle to be 20% less judgmental. A struggle to walk more slowly. A struggle to tolerate inefficiency. A struggle to, at the end of the day, recenter and remind myself that a life characterized by restrictive struggles is no way for a hot girl and a footloose Turkey to get down.

Yet we are here, and here is where we choose to be. So rather than come to terms with the struggle - because that's a big bore - I'm committing to releasing said restriction. Wrecklessly. Intentionally. And write (sic) here for your viewing pleasure.

Emma Dinzebach

Jacob Love via www.ashadedviewonfashion.com