Hearing about Randell today has just totally fucked with my head. I met him when I was 18 and had no idea the importance of my own actions. He was 13 at the time and a kid with so much character. I worked with him for 4 years, and still made the drive after graduation to make sure he knew I hadn't forgotten about him. He was always playing basketball and wanted to play in college but said he didn't have the money for that shit. I went to his high school graduation and sat next to his mom while she bawled like a baby because he was the first in their family to have a diploma. God, I loved that kid. So much passion that I never had at his age. Always laughing, always making fun of me, always threatening to kick my ass in a game of 21, and he always did. He never made it to college and ended up working to provide for his brothers and sisters.

His life, and now death, has just been a reminder of how much I absolutely love working with children. I was never cut out to be a teacher, but to even just be surrounded by them everyday doing something you love, I can't even imagine. I love writing, I love reading, and I love publishing, but do I love all of it more than this? I've thought about writing children's books, but even then, it's not the same. All I've ever wanted out of life is to feel like I have had a hand in improving something. From here on out, my career consumes the majority of my life, so I should be able to use it as a vehicle to further my dreams, right? I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, but I would give up a nice paycheck and comfy desk to help repaint an old gymnasium and talk to kids and teens about anything and everything. I guess since I've graduated, I've just lost sight of what it felt like to make a difference in someone's life. I really, really miss that.

Randell, I am so proud of you. I always have been. Thanks for keeping me grounded in my crazy college years and showing me strength and courage. Rest easy, kid. I'll think of you always.

I've had a lot of random things on my mind lately.

I did a lot of driving today, which of course led to a lot of thinking. I drove home for the day and had a few spare minutes to visit Mallory. It's been way too long since I had been, and so I drove the familiar road that led to her grave. It was dead silent except Cooper panting, and I just sat for awhile. The weather was nice for it, and even though I didn't say anything, I think she knew I just wanted to sit with her in silence because it was one of those days. It will never feel weird to me talking to cold, concrete slabs, but today I just didn't have any words. I'm glad Cooper came with me though. Even though he's a dog, I enjoyed his company.

Driving the country roads that lead to my mom's house, and just seeing how beautiful and untouched everything always remains, it just made me feel so incredibly grateful. Despite the obstacles I've had in my life, I have breath in my lungs, I have spectacular friends who get me, I have a very strong family who will always have my back, and I have the freedom to do whatever the hell I wanna do with my life. I'm 25 and have the world at my feet right now. I've just started this beautiful journey of discovering who I am, and so far I'm realizing I'm a motherfucking badass. Alright, that was a bit dramatic, but I really like who I am. I'm not perfect, but I'll be damned if funny people aren't the first ones who go to heaven.

I thought a lot about my dad today. I want to write a biography about him. I know it sounds super biased, and it will be, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Someone asked me not that long ago who was my hero growing up, and I didn't really have one. But if you asked me who it was now, my dad is the greatest example of a hero I've ever seen. A man who's worked with his hands his entire life, a man who has made many mistakes and lives with the consequences every day, but a man who loves with his whole heart and will do anything to make somebody laugh. He's taught me to humbly apologize for things I've done wrong, he's taught me how to shoot a free throw, he's taught me to stand proud for what I believe in when people try to push me down, he's taught me to tell me people how I feel right when I feel it, and he's taught me that no dream I have is impossible. Looking at him now, I know there are things he was never able to accomplish in his life, and I would give anything for him to feel complete with where his life has brought him. If I'm not able to do that, I would hope that I can accomplish enough in my lifetime to make him proud of his daughter. I just admire the shit out of that man, and I couldn't have asked for a better example of how to be an extraordinary person.

And lastly, I thought about my brother. I get so tired of writing about it, but it's how I deal with it. I just remembered so many things from us growing up. I really can't even type them all out without weeping like a baby, but I miss him soooo much it hurts sometimes. It hurts in a way that nothing has ever hurt me before. And I really try to remember that he wasn't always like this and deep down he's still there somewhere, but goddamn it kills. I pray for him often because I'm hoping that there's some kind of sibling psychic ability that allows him to feel that I'm loving him in that exact moment. I know it sounds weird, but it's worth a shot.

I'm really trying to live my life for me now, and so far I'm discovering who I used to be and it's wonderful. Ballet has been a window into this world that used to consume me. I definitely don't have that skill anymore, but just to even be at the barre again brings back a flood of memories. I want to get my tattoo before my courage disappears, and I want to take my dad to get a cowboy hat, and I want to climb onto a big rock somewhere and scream over Nashville, "I FUCKING DID IT. I FINALLY MOVED ON WITH MY LIFE."

Even though I hate going to the doctor and I really hate having my blood drawn, I'm glad I had the opportunity to drive home on a random Wednesday. No matter where I go in this world, they are always my home.

I love Nashville so far. I love the city, the people, the atmosphere, just everything. It fits me so well with where I am in my life. I've met some really great people, and I love my job. My new place is adorable and suits me in my newly single life with Cooper.

I wanted so badly to be away from everything and everyone. Now I have it, and all I can think about is how no one has heard from my brother in weeks. No matter how far away I move, it will never stop. When you care about someone, distance does nothing to lessen the hurt. I've been working insane hours, taking classes, going out for drinks, sightseeing, buying everything on Groupon in hopes that I can start this new life that doesn't revolve around my brother's addiction and the way it's affected my family, but weighs on my heart everyday. I would give up my independence and this new lease on life if it meant my family could be whole again. I'd give up everything, everything. Will it ever stop?