“The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd; the longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.”—Fernando Pessoa (via runawaytrain)
“SOMETIMES WHILE I RIDE THE SUBWAY I TRY TO LOOK AT EACH PERSON AND IMAGINE WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE TO SOMEONE WHO IS TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH THEM. I THINK EVERYONE HAS HAD SOMEONE LOOK AT THEM THAT WAY, WHETHER IT WAS A LOVER, OR A PARENT, OR A FRIEND, WHETHER THEY KNOW IT OR NOT. IT’S A WONDERFUL THING, TO LOOK AT SOMEONE TO WHOM I WOULD NEVER BE ATTRACTED AND THINK ABOUT WHAT LOOKING AT THEM FEELS LIKE TO SOMEONE WHO IS DEVOURING EVERY PART OF THEIR IMAGE, WHO HAS INVISIBLE STRINGS THAT ARE CONNECTED TO THIS PERSON TIED TO EVERY PART OF THEIR BODY. I THINK THIS FUN PASTIME IS A WAY OF CULTIVATING COMPASSION. IT FEELS GOOD TO THINK ABOUT PEOPLE THAT WAY, AND TO USE THAT PART OF MY MIND THAT I THINK IS TRADITIONALLY RESERVED FOR A TINY PORTION OF PEOPLE I’LL MEET IN MY LIFE TO APPRECIATE THE GENERAL PUBLIC. I WISH I THOUGHT ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE THIS MORE OFTEN. I THINK IT’S THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT OUR CULTURE TEACHES US TO DO. WE PREFER TO PICK PEOPLE APART TO FIND THEIR FLAWS. CULTIVATING THESE FEELINGS OF LOVE OR APPRECIATION FOR RANDOM PEOPLE, AND EVEN FOR PEOPLE I DON’T LIKE, MAKES ME A MORE FORGIVING AND APPRECIATIVE PERSON TOWARD MYSELF AND PEOPLE I LOVE. ALSO, IT’S JUST A REALLY EXCELLENT PASTIME.”— DEAN SPADE (via 1112pm)
Thank you dear,but don’t be. I wrote that in the throes of feelings, and now I have let them go. I was blessed to go out today with the friends and a had a fantastic time, so I feel a whole lot better. I guess I just needed some perspective.
“You’ll probably find that the worst-case scenarios for both paths are about the same. I mean, you could die in Moldova, or you could die being hit by a car on your way home from a data-processing job in Albany. But seriously, worst-case scenarios are often, well … feelings, or else very remote risks that look silly when you write them down.”—"When to Make Massive and Ballsy Changes For Your Career" (via)
I went to that job interview yesterday. I thought it went well… so why did the guy hire somebody else? I’m going to spend my afternoon chained to my computer, AGAIN, crossing down the list of jobs on Craigslist, eBay, Indeed and CareerBuilder.
I also am planning on having people meet Iris and I at CJ Barrymore’s Saturday night. I’m making an effort to try to reach out to others. I understand now why people like me don’t do this sort of thing; it’s exhausting. I’ve invited old friends, and also new friends. Blue Eyes seemed super excited to go. I also want Sal Paradise to be there, which entails me calling him sometime during today. I’m terrified.
I also have to go to my gym, cancel my membership, clean my house and go to the meeting. Ugh. Even when I’m not at work, I’m at work. I want to go out of town again.
He pasado las últimas quatro semanas pensando en lo que salió mal, y lo que yo debería haber dicho y hecho. Estoy cansada. Te amo, pero algunas dias, te odio tambien. No importa lo que hago, me siento como que estoy tratando de escapar de mis sentimientos por ti. Lloro cada vez que la unidad más allá de su antigua dirección.¿Por qué no puedo superarlo? Quiero olvidarme de ti. Odio lo mucho que mi amor por ti es comiendo me viva. Cuando te fuiste, me salvó la cara, pero con toda honestidad, yo estoy todavía torturada. El remordimiento quizás atormentarme todos mis días.
My dear sister graduated this evening. We went to the same high school. As hard as I tried to look happy for her on her big day, all I could think about was how awful it was when I was there. I’ve spent the last three years out of high school trying to pretend that it didn’t happen to me. Whenever I have to go back, or whenever I run into a teacher or classmate in the course of life, I can smell the stench of spiritual death. Whenever I am at my alma mater, everything comes rushing back…everything that made high school a time worth forgetting.
I did everything this evening that I was supposed to do: secure eight seats, cheer loudly, record cheesy home movies and smile wanly at old teachers. I even made smalltalk with a girl I had graduated with, despite her being in a higher social caste. She’s breathtaking to look at and smart too. She was in a higher caste then, and most certainly is now that she poses semi-nude to pay her tuition. Needless to say, those three minutes in line were painful for the both of us.
And now? Now I am exhausted. Now I’m back in the cocoon of my unmade bed, the blaring jazz music and the pile of old textbooks I can’t sell. I’m back to applying for jobs I won’t get and looking at apartments I’ll never live in. I’m back to dirty dishes and dirty clothes piling up in my bedroom. I’m back to driving my parents’ Tercel into the ground and living in this bloody room next to the kitchen with the horrible carpet and the stained walls. I’m back to staying up too late reading stale jokes on comedy websites and wishing I had more friends. I’m back to staring at pictures of a man who (can’t? won’t?) doesn’t love me at one in the morning, and wondering who are all of the people in the photos with him (all whom he apparently likes better than me).
I’m back to where I’ve been since high school— drowning in a sea of my own dreams, wounding myself with my own thoughts, burning up from the inside out.