Do you ever feel like other people are way better at life than you are? I do. It’s Friday night and I’m watching Teen Mom 2 and eating Chinese leftovers and not wearing pants. What is wrong with meeee?
$40 million in your bank account, or peace in the Middle East for, say, 500 years. What do you choose?
If the 500 years of peace in the Middle East results from everyone in the region legitimately abandoning their respective organized religions in favor of rational, progressive, and cooperative humanism, then I choose peace.
If the 500 years is just the same ancient tribal bullshit without the bullets, then I’ll take the money and everyone can go fuck themselves.
I don’t have enough money to pay for all the things I have to pay for, my dresser is broken, my phone is broken, I owe over $20,000 in student loans, my sleep patterns are fucked up, I love someone who lives far away, AND I HAVEN’T BEEN IN A LAZY RIVER ONCE THIS SUMMER. I just cannot.
“how far have you walked for men who’ve never held your feet in their laps?
how often have you bartered with bone, only to sell yourself short?
why do you find the unavailable so alluring? where did it begin? what went wrong? and who made you feel so worthless?
if they wanted you, wouldn’t they have chosen you?
all this time, you were begging for love silently, thinking they couldn’t hear you, but they smelt it on you,
you must have known that they could taste the desperate on your skin?
and what about the others that would do anything for you, why did you make them love you until you could not stand it?
how are you both of these women, both flighty and needful?
where did you learn this, to want what does not want you?
where did you learn this, to leave those that want to stay?”—warsan shire, “questions for the woman i was last night” (via seabelle)
He came to New York to see me. Left Philly on a bus at 5am for me. It was all a surprise. It was mostly beautiful. He introduced me to his friends and kissed me in front of them. He met my oldest and dearest friends. He offered to carry my bags (I’ll never let him) and fucked me in the shower. He let me sleep on his shoulder on the subway. He came to me this time. He held me tight and made me promise to call him when I got home, no matter what time it was.
He didn’t answer. We never hang out in the same city. We’re both going places fast and not together. He also saw some other chick in Queens and smoked with her. I think they may have used to love each other, or fuck each other. I think the Frank Ocean song “Golden Girl” makes him think about her. Every Frank Ocean song makes me think of him. He doesn’t like to hold me when we sleep. He’s trying. We’re having fun. This is fun, right?
I would go anywhere in the world with him. Every time I go to a new city, especially with him, I think about leaving KC. I feel so guilty. I’m supposed to run for office. I’m supposed to build something here, but I don’t know if I’m ready to plant my roots. I’m itching for something different. My mentor wrote me a letter and signed it, “You’re gonna rule the world someday soon. Yay! XOXO.” I feel like if I don’t stay here, I will let everyone down, maybe even myself. If he asked me to move to San Diego, I would consider it, but I don’t think he ever will.
I just want to be in a place where nothing matters but us. But you can’t live your life on vacation.
Oh god my mom picked up a bag with my vibrators in it I did the whole “swipe from hands and attempt to throw across the room nonchalantly” thing it was like something out of a TV show it was so stereotypical.
LOL this has happened to me before when she was helping me move. I have a toy draw (drawers taped for moving and also because, duh, something like this would happen with our mother) and she tried to undo the tape and I’m all “WOAH MOM can you please help me with this box actually?” *wipes brow*
I haven’t smoked a cigarette in 43 hours, going on 44. (Yes, I’m counting in hours, because I’ve heard the first 72 are the worst.) I’ve only cried once. I was in my car with a pack of cigarettes and did not smoke any, so I’m very proud of myself for that.
This is literally terrible, but I’m glad I’m doing it. I got super sick on Saturday night and decided, since I had a soar throat and wouldn’t be smoking anyway, that now was an ideal time to stop. I just really hope it gets easier. I’m going cold turkey, no nicotine replacements or anything like that. Since I’m ill anyway, my body feels totally fucked up, and I can’t tell what is nicotine withdrawal and what is the lingering effects of my 24-hour flu. It’s all bad.
Ooookay, time for some emotional/personal blogging.
There are so many things I want to do that I’m not doing and I don’t know why. I have this bad habit of living aspirationally, always in the future, wasting time in the in-between.
I am in love with someone who lives 800 miles away. I didn’t think I was before I saw him again, but now, I know and I don’t know what to do about it. Do I tell him? There’s no way we could be together. He’s going to graduate school in San Diego. I could pick up, move there, live on a beach. California has elected officials. I could work for them, too. I can do anything I want. It’s like he always knew.
He texted me even when I was distant. He called even when I was hung up on other dudes. He hasn’t changed and I feel like I’ve fallen even more for him, that I care more now, and I hate being the person that cares more.
He’s black. I’m white. I don’t know how much it matters. He goes to an HBCU. I picture him marrying a black woman, having beautiful children with a black woman. I don’t know if I measure up. I sometimes feel like I’m not good enough for him, but he’s the only person I’ve known in a long time that I think is good enough for me, is on my level, who works as hard as I do and dreams as big as I do.
This shit is hard. I need to get out more. I need to get my house in order. I need to make more friends. I hang out with about three people. Other than that, I’m alone. I don’t date and I don’t know why. I’ve got 50 dudes sitting here on my Tinder feed and even when they talk to me first, I don’t respond. I am closed off and afraid of letting somebody in because then I might have to change, adapt, get my fat ass out of bed and start living my life again. Loving someone far away, as real as I feel it is, fixes that dilemma. They are an aspiration. He’s always on my mind, but he’s never in my way.
I have a job that I love, but it has become the new normal. As much as I’d love for my 9-5 to be my life, that’s not what a life is. I can work late. I can work weekends. I can avoid my empty bed, but I still have to lie in it.
I want to travel. I’m going to Chicago in June and Brooklyn in July and again, here I am, living in the future. I want to go to any city he’s in. I’ve got to make it back to Atlanta before he leaves in October because I fell in love with his city, too. I’m married to KC, but I find a mistress every beautiful place I go.
Every day is an exercise. Every day has to involve conscious love. No more lying in my fucking bed watching shows that I’ve seen before. Sometimes I forget that I’m a rockstar. Sometimes I forget that I deserve all good things. No more.
“But confusingly, misogynists are sometimes men who speak softly and eat vegan and say “a woman’s sexual freedom is an essential component to her liberation. So come here.” It’s a tricky world out there. And while I’d prefer a critical approach to gender from men I elect, read and even bed, in my experience, the so-called feminist men I’ve met deep down have not been less antagonistic or bigoted toward women. What I see over and over again is misogyny in sheep’s clothing, and at this point, I would rather see wolves as wolves.”—"Stop fawning over male feminists" (via hereticswords)