“Andrew, nothing about you will ever be hot.”
I don’t know why I don’t get down on myself in situations like these. Maybe that’s just my coping mechanism. Maybe it really does hurt my feelings as badly as everyone else, and I just subconsciously get furious.
You know what else weirds me out? When I get really angry, and I mean like, REALLY angry, I don’t lose control. I think I get more in control.
.
And if I’m being completely honest, that scares me.
I’ve lost a lot of friends in my life. It gets easier and sadder the more times you do it.
I worked myself into the ground last week and the week before, and now that my big project is over I’m bored out of my head and having a fuck hard time actually accomplishing anything. Additionally, tomorrow I’m leaving for Chicago after spending last weekend in Pittsburgh and Erie and getting zero sleep, and I can’t tell if I’m excited or annoyed that I won’t have a weekend to chill. Every emotion I’m feeling contradicts another emotion I’m feeling.
I sometimes wonder like… if I’m legitimately a little crazy. Like, empirically speaking, there is no fucking way that everyone on Earth can think the same way that I do. It’s impossible. The world would have ended centuries ago.
Man I haven’t been this angry at people in a long goddamn time.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that there are very good reasons I am alone. Most notably, I’m good at it, and it’s when I’m at my best.
My life was easier when I was working so hard I couldn’t sleep.
The older I get the more I realise there are no grown ups and nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing.
(via mydrunkkitchen)
Adulting: Adulting classic: Do not expect "closure", ever, on anything
This is a sad thing to post about, because show me someone who is seeking “closure” and I will show you someone who is not having a Happy Time. But that doesn’t make closure any more of a real thing that exists than, say, kind and gentle unicorns who think you are pretty and are eager to read your…
Really excellent read.
I think it can probably be expanded upon to a more general message though. (And I have a paper I’m supposed to be writing, so this will be brief.)
The desire for tidy, fulfilling, meaningful endings to the stories in our lives (the real ones, our experiences and how they unfold) is SUPER DUPER unhealthy. The big lesson I learned that turned me from an idiot kid into a semi-functioning Adultolescent was this: Sometimes, shit just happens. Some people are terrible and will play with your emotions like they’re tripping on acid and just found an abandoned Lego store. Some companies won’t hire you, and will hire idiots you went to school with. Some schools won’t accept you.
That’s big-girl or big-boy life. Shitty things happen, and I can promise you two things:
1. You will never, ever find a reason to explain why shitty things happen.
2. You will absolutely destroy yourself if you keep imagining how things could have turned out better.
There is good news, though. Good things do happen to people who stop obsessing about the systemic shittiness (see: major news networks) and start focusing on how to make the things in their life better, whether that’s relationships, careers, or whatever.
I have found one constant to be true. If you work your ass off and focus every fiber of your being on doing the things in your life better, then eventually good things happen. You eventually find somebody you care about. You find fulfillment and recognition in your work.
TLDR: You can’t change a lot of the shitty things that happen in life, and you can understand even less of them. Don’t try. Stop focusing on things you can’t change. Work on shit you can. Like writing, or drawing, or learning to code, or cooking, or being really good at sex.
If there’s no risk of death, why bother doing it?
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this. There are two very strong sensations which by all rights should cancel each other out, but they don’t.
On one hand, I’m lonely. I wish I had someone to watch me work and be here supporting me, fall asleep even though I won’t tonight. Or even a friend to text back and forth with, honestly would be nice. Someone to speak to and complain to, to listen to what I’m doing and stand witness to the effort I have been and will continue to exert.
On the other hand, though… I’m thrilled to be doing this alone. Moreover I’m actively avoiding people who are interacting with me. Because there’s something nice in resisting the people who are trying to talk to me. It’s not that I’m mad at them, or anything. It’s just that there’s this solitude I’m feeling, this singularity of purpose. I haven’t felt it for ages, probably nigh on a year. I haven’t worked like this since college, not since Hosey and the Black Winter. I’d forgotten how in control you feel when you pour every living, breathing ounce of your soul into a project, so much so that it begins eating away at your life force. It’s sharpening. It’s cruel, and painful, and I’m not getting paid overtime, and it’s hard, so hard.
But damn it do I love this feeling.
Damn Negro, I am drunker than I thought.
Nice.
