my sister tells me to stop working so hard, easy for her to say since she’s graduated and somehow found a job and is happy and successful and all that. and she has a cat. her name is nikita and she’s very cute and sweet but she makes me sneeze and my eyes dry up and my throat feel icky. she jumped on my bed, though, so I’ll most certainly be getting a great night of sleep tonight.
I’m very behind on interview studying and it’s becoming a huge concern because I really need to ace this interview. I just can’t afford to not, at this point.
I’m getting so distracted by iphone games and youtube, mostly because I just feel so unhappy here and I am never in the mood to get shit done.
my sister is in a happy relationship, I think. sort of. and it’s weird seeing her like that and talking in a baby voice to her cat and talking about grocery shopping and her co-workers and her boss and her landlord and rent. she seems so grown up. I’m not ready for that. not really. I might be capable of forcing myself to think I’m ready for that.
about that stuff and I think that I want it and it’s scary that something so important that I’ve lived my entire life believing can be changed from something that has lasted maybe a little over 18 months
like okay yeah that’s a long time but compared to about 10 years?!
bleh life is hard and I just want things to happen the way I want
“I understand, all right. The hopeless dream of being - not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace. Suicide? No, too vulgar. But you can refuse to move, refuse to talk, so that you don’t have to lie. You can shut yourself in. Then you needn’t play any parts or make wrong gestures. Or so you thought. But reality is diabolical. Your hiding place isn’t watertight. Life trickles in from the outside, and you’re forced to react. No one asks if it is true or false, if you’re genuine or just a sham. Such things matter only in the theatre, and hardly there either. I understand why you don’t speak, why you don’t move, why you’ve created a part for yourself out of apathy. I understand. I admire. You should go on with this part until it is played out, until it loses interest for you. Then you can leave it, just as you’ve left your other parts one by one.”—Ingmar Bergman (via emotionalelixir)
“The summer ended. Day by day, and taking its time, the summer ended. The noises in the street began to change, diminish, voices became fewer, the music sparse. Daily, blocks and blocks of children were spirited away. Grownups retreated from the streets, into the houses. Adolescents moved from the sidewalk to the stoop to the hallway to the stairs, and rooftops were abandoned. Such trees as there were allowed their leaves to fall - they fell unnoticed - seeming to promise, not without bitterness, to endure another year. At night, from a distance, the parks and playgrounds seemed inhabited by fireflies, and the night came sooner, inched in closer, fell with a greater weight. The sound of the alarm clock conquered the sound of the tambourine, the houses put on their winter faces. The houses stared down a bitter landscape, seeming, not without bitterness, to have resolved to endure another year.”—James Baldwin (via leadingtone)