Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.
Take me to there.
This week needs to be over. I’m hanging by a thread here.
Take me to there.
This week needs to be over. I’m hanging by a thread here.
I do. Or at least I have recently.
I’ve been on a spiral of bad juju and whenever shit gets overwhelming my head goes dark quickly. I also have this terrible headache that has overstayed its welcome and I dont know how to get rid of it. I might be dying you guys. [She says as she smokes another cigarette]
I really wish I had my painting supplies here, I really feel like just throwing some paint on a canvas, maybe thatll help me sort my head out.
Anyway, yeah, its that time of the year when I get anxiety over everything. I cant sleep, my head hurts and I want to vomit all over this keyboard, but I wont because ew and what a fucking drag to clean that shit up. I mean, really. But yeah, I’m tired of this anxiety and being scared and lonely and having to put a mask on every day. I get very nostalgic about my life back home and the people I love(d). I miss a lot of things, but at the same time I don’t. I hate a lot of things here, but at the same time, I don’t. Basically, I’m kind of a mess.
(Sidenote: There’s a choir of crickets attempting to serenade me to sleep but they’re really only pissing me off.)
I wish I could find a way to fast forward time. To just fast forward to a time when I’m okay with everything. When I’m happy with life and where its led me and where its taking me. But then, the fear sinks in again, what if there isnt such a time?! Eek. Its a possibility, you know? I dont know. Its late and Im tired and I feel like Im rambling. Maybe thats all I need, to empty my head.
I’m gonna go think of things to put in my eugoogly.
How I eat healthy
Baby Carrots- covered in ranch
Steamed broccoli- covered in cheese
Raisins- covered in yogurt
Celery- covered in Peanut Butter
Apple slices - covered in peanut butter
Salad - drowning in ranch and cheese
Granola mix - covered in froyo and candy
Orange juice, lemonades and teas instead of sodas — with vodka, gin or rum
This life I am leading right now. Its unreal. Its driving me crazy. I try to fix it, but somehow I make it worse. And I know its not just me, theres bigger factors, greater things that arent even my fault, that I shouldnt even deal with, but alas, here I am.
This life. Its funny. Its mean and its unreal, but its real and it can hurt. But whats the saying? “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
So, you know, I just gotta keep going.
Also, I’m drunk. So there’s that.
People need to take some responsibility for themselves. I’ve got my own business to take care of.
THIS. OMG THIS.
In his writing tips, Max Sebald echoes T. S. Eliot’s notion of idea incubation and the concept of unconscious processing in creative work, something iconic designer Paula Scher has captured aptly in her slot machine metaphor for creativity.
(via explore-blog)
Things to worry about:
Worry about courage
Worry about Cleanliness
Worry about efficiency
Worry about horsemanship
Worry about…
Things not to worry about:
Don’t worry about popular opinion
Don’t worry about dolls
Don’t worry about the past
Don’t worry about the future
Don’t worry about growing up
Don’t worry about anybody getting ahead of you
Don’t worry about triumph
Don’t worry about failure unless it comes through your own fault
Don’t worry about mosquitoes
Don’t worry about flies
Don’t worry about insects in general
Don’t worry about parents
Don’t worry about boys
Don’t worry about disappointments
Don’t worry about pleasures
Don’t worry about satisfactions
Things to think about:
What am I really aiming at?
How good am I really in comparison to my contemporaries in regard to:
(a) Scholarship
(b) Do I really understand about people and am I able to get along with them?
(c) Am I trying to make my body a useful instrument or am I neglecting it?
In a 1933 letter to his 11-year-old daughter Scottie, F. Scott Fitzgerald produced this poignant and wise list of things to worry, not worry, and think about – the best father’s advice since John Steinbeck’s letter to his son on falling in love and this beautiful letter to 16-year-old Jackson Pollock by his dad.
From F. Scott Fitzgerald: A Life in Letters.
(via explore-blog)
32 years later, you are still missed.