Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.
when u take off ur iphone case and it feels like ur holding a newborn
to get a sense of how big the universe is, imagine a window. now imagine a guy leaning in the window and explaining that it’s super big, and huge
real life high school advice:
- dont slack
- be friends with everyone
- kiss ass like there is no tomorrow
MOM I'm practically an ADULT ugggh you never let me do ANYTHING in olden times i could get MARRIED *eye roll into another dimension*
for my birthday i want food and to stay on your health insurance
I still feel like that 90’s was 10 years ago.
Boy: Wanna go out sometime?
Me: No, I’m sorry. I’m really trying to focus on my career right now.