Lemonworld

I'm Muriel.
I'm a writer living in Atlanta.

Portfolio / Travel Blog
For Atlanta arts stuff, check out CommonCreativ ATL.

Recent Tweets @murielvega

The outside (and inside!) of @hodgepodgecoffee always makes me happy. (at Hodgepodge Coffee House and Gallery)

qoyqoyi:

cinematicnomad:

apparently e.l. james called former child star mara wilson (matilda) a “sad fuck” for critiquing the 50shades books a while ago and now there’s a feud. i love it.

this gives me hope.

(via metaphoricaloracle)

Write drunk, edit sober.
Ernest Hemingway (via nudelip)

(via simplycasual)

Always cuddling.

thefrenemy:

Do you feel antsy yet? Can you feel yourself getting older? Are you where you thought you would be?

I know the change real well and it starts to happen around 24. People go “quarter-life” and you feel almost nothing but “yeah, yeah, whatever” and “well, at least it’s not the word millenial” and then you start feeling different. Different meaning smarter, more stable, and deeply, deeply, philosophically panicked. I’m talking the real sweat. I’m talking the whole “I’ve finally realized I’m alive” and the whole “I’ve finally realized I die” and then, the desire to make use of that time in the best way you can.

When I was 21, all I wanted to do was grip onto the cliff and hold on for dear life. All I wanted was the basics: food, air, some solid ground. I’d take any hand that reached out for me. Shitty job, small apartment, tiny paycheck, toes in the water, feeling it all out. Your basic survival story. My Boy Scout badge grew with each small accomplishment: Cool it, mom! I can pay my bills now! I pay em every month! I remember to buy shampoo! I’m just your standard Errand Runner, looking to get home in time to make dinner.

At [21, 22, 23] I was learning how to be a real and functioning human being. I was learning how to balance a fucking checkbook, to stretch out a dollar, to keep my electric and gas running. I was learning how to budget and what to do with brussels sprouts and finding out how I wanted to love and how I wanted to have sex and laundry settings. I was finally throwing out old mascara but still wearing my old, college clothing. I worked hard to stay alive, to keep my head above the water, to buy a cold beer and feel full in a ratty t-shirt. I was searching to balance fear and contentment with just a little splash of secure.

Honestly, I didn’t ask for much. Nobody expects you to go forth, confidently, to your dreams at 22, no matter what they say at graduation.

Then, at 25, I found myself no longer at the edge. This surprised me, because I had been doing it for so long, but I guess I had used my body weight to hoist myself up onto steady ground. I’m alive.

It’s not perfect: I’m not rich, I’m still struggling to pay bills, and I could fall back to the edge at any moment, but I’ve relaxed a bit— fell into the rhythm of a frantic heartbeat and the uknown. I know that if I lose my apartment, I can find another one. I know to save money in case if I lose my job. I budget. I even treat myself, sometimes.

But all that relative, minute sense of safety does is make me hungry for more. I stay up late at night, wondering if I am doing my life right. Am I going to regret this? What am I missing out on? And of course, that elusive asshole of a question:

Now what?

Read More

Really thinking about this as my day of birth approaches in about a week. As usual, all the feels.

peachtreekeen:

Look Away, on the Beltline

adriennepitts:

It’s going to be quite a while before I can share the DSLR photographs I took in Iceland with you, so for the meanwhile, here are some of my favourite Instagram shots taken during 5 days in this most magical of places. I cannot wait to return, and explore this treasure of a place even further… If you’d like to see more you can visit me @hellopoe on Instagram!

All images © 2014 Adrienne Pitts - www.adrienne.co.nz

(via brain-food)

If it is right, it happens — the main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
John Steinbeck, on falling in love, a response to his eldest son’s 1958 letter, from John Steinbeck: A Life in Letters (Viking Adult, 1975)

(via fauxbois)

(via wetpaint)

(via fauxbois)