Skip to main content
“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

--T.S. Eliot, The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock

Featured

The Awesome Power of Procrastination

*Trigger Warning: self-harm The power of procrastination is so awesome that even though I have been without Internet access for several hours and I have things that I think I want to do, I have spent that time lying on top of my bed thinking about how I would do all the things I want to do if I were to do them. Very productive. I think that the ideas I have are worth so much more in my head, I can fetishize every negative feeling and pretend that it makes me special or interesting in some way. But when the thoughts become words that I type out and read back, I realise how banal everything about me is. That's probably the real reason writing blog posts and writing in my journal gets a little harder every time. Here is a quick list of the things I should be doing right now: On Tuesday I had a very intense dream that was terrifying enough to make me feel slightly separate from my body all week. Even now, everything feels a little unreal and abnormal; I haven't stopped
Post a Comment
Read more
Labels

The Self-Love or Whatever

“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it's true I'm here, and I'm just as strange as you.”
― Frida Kahlo

I spend a lot of time wondering what the point of this blog even is(I bet I'm not the only one); but I had a bad day today and the two people I tried to speak to about it were too self-centred to even ask what was wrong. Oddly, one of them did offer a half-hearted pep talk(no, I have no idea how that works when they don't even know what the problem is, so don't ask me). This whole journaling of my thoughts would probably be more useful if I knew the right thing to say to myself, but I make up for it by getting all of my jokes and references.

 The man I love told me he would rather drink than talk to me because he didn't feel like getting insulted. It was oddly devastating. I have a terrible life filled with a moderate amount of terrible luck, so I don't cry much any more. But I cried over this. I cried out loud. I wanted to die but strangely it was only for a few minutes. I couldn't think of a quick way to do it and I was too upset for anything elaborate or clever(fucking suicides, amirite?). I thought about cutting myself, but that thought was surprisingly fleeting for someone with my history. But then I thought about my favourite songs and my favourite scenes from Archer(mostly involving Cheryl or Pam) and my favourite Ligotti passages; and I thought about how much I would want to meet someone like me. I would like me if I met me. I know that my reasons for wanting everyone to me more selfless are selfish. I know that I'm a bad girlfriend. I know that I am odd and my tastes are incoherent. But I have fun talking to myself and dancing on my own. I don't know when it happened, but I did learn to love myself.



Another thing I love about me: my love for Demian's Charmed recaps:

Jesus! I'm never going to make it through the season, am I? At the rate it's going, this show is going to kill me by November sweeps. The Cook County medical examiner is going to find me crumpled on the floor of my apartment with what remains of my scattered brain splattered all over the wall from where it shot out of my ear, and on the TV? An endless, Satanic loop of Phoebe Halliwell babbling, "Me. Me me me me. Me? Me! MEEEEEEEE!" GOD!
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular Posts