The Luckiest.

You know those moments where you're sitting in a group of friends, sharing a beer and a cigarette, laughing about how you pissed your pants that one time, and this wash of sheer bliss comes over you? You just sit back...you look at these beautiful people, who mean more than any words on a keyboard can express, and you take a mental picture of what your life is like at 22 years old. I hope I can see that pictures for years to come. It was perfect. And I'm having more and more moments like that these days. Not everyday is good. There are bad days. There are days where I don't feel strong. I don't feel like being MacKenzie... but then I have the good days. The strong days. The days where I can take pictures in my mind to carry with me forever. And those days, those pictures, they erase the weakness and the sadness. Always. I'm so lucky. I feel like it's luck. It's not work being friends with these people. I never once ask myself why I'm friends with them. I just sit back and take my mental Kodaks and revel in the fact that whoever is responsible for me being here is making me feel very full these days. Thanks, You.

I think I'm coming into my own a little bit more. Is that growing up? Gross. I don't care. But I'm sticking up for myself. I'm allowing awkwardness to linger when it's earned. I'm not as much of a pushover as I was. I'm not letting the small, insignificant moments linger and turn into catastrophic meltdowns. I'm not lying to myself and others about who I am and what I bring to the table. I'm being me. It wasn't a conscious effort. It wasn't something I even thought about until today. But I was sitting at a bar with my friends laughing about Ace Ventura, being too loud for stranger's ears, and being completely, absolutely myself. And that's a beautiful moment. We live in a world where we don't get that moment because we're striving to be what the TV, the magazines, the powers that be tell us we need to be. To have that moment, to keep getting that moment over and over again... I mean, forget about happy... I feel empowered and fucking wonderful.

I still eat too many doughnuts, because.. umm, they're doughnuts. I still have a messy room, I still drink too much. I still do all these things that might, maybe, probably could offend someone else. I don't mean to make anyone else uncomfortable, I'm just reveling in the fact that there are people that truly get who I am. The good, the bad, the disgusting. The peeing of pants, the cackle heard round the world, the sleep instead of hang out, the never answering of phone calls, the too many phone calls, all of it. I hope everyone can say that. I hope everyone has that person that makes them feel the luckiest. Cause I feel the luckiest at the hands of many a person tonight. That is magic. That is luck. That is romance. I kind of feel bad for the man that walks into my life and sweeps me off my feet. Because I'm already swept... by these amazing people that are my family.

Isn't it disgusting? Give me a week, I'll be back to writing about sadness. Until then, I'm fucking happy. I swear too much, and I'm poor, and lucky. I'll take it.

If you're reading this, my wonderful friends who put up with my obsession of blogging, you've played a part. And somewhere in my mind there is a picture of us, of you helping me become who I am, and there are not enough thank you's in the milky way to express my gratitude. So, I'll just say cheers. Cheers to helping, to loving, to feeling strong.

Cheers, most importantly, to you.