“She opened the shutters. She hung the sheets over the sill.
She saw the day.
A bird looked at her straight in the eyes. “I am alone,” she whispered.
“I am alive.” She entered the room. The mirror too is a window.
If I jump from it I will fall into my arms.”—Yannis Ritsos, Morning. trans. Nikos Strangos (via grammatolatry)
- The cashier at CVS told me my 6 pack of limonata was ringing up as $1000 dollars. He found this “crazy.” It took at least 15 minutes for him to figure it out. I did some passive aggressive sighing, but not loudly.
- I waited on the hot platform for 40 minutes before my train arrived. There was a broken track at 59th st. Trains were rerouted.
- Creepy old guy on the subway was creepy and kept giggling maniacally so that I couldn’t concentrate on my book.
- A lady on the subway was rude to me. I stood up on principle, despite my tired feet, because I didn’t want to sit beside her.
- When I got home, I had to murder a very giant bug. I was depressed.
- Now I am drinking wine and googling things like “jalapeno margarita nyc” and “how old is Ted Danson” instead of GOING TO BED like I really fucking should
“Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you’ll never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. Even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope for something good to come along. Something to make you feel connected, to make you feel whole, to make you feel loved. And the truth is I’m so angry and the truth is I’m so fucking sad, and the truth is I’ve been so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long have been pretending I’m OK, just to get along, just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own, and their own is too overwhelming to allow them to listen to or care about mine. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.”—Minister, Synecdoche, New York (via mysoutherndiscomfort)
I love your blog, I love your writing, and I feel like I know you're a really good person even though I don't know you in the least. You just kind of...emit warmth. Even on the internet, which is saying something.
You never come off as whiny, even when your writing leans towards the morose/introspective. Keep writing--you're awesome. :)
Thank you so much! I love you, too. Also, I take a strange delight in having my writing characterized as morose.
Everyone should read Chelsea’s blog, and if you’re not convinced just look at this right here.
“Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don’t regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the living room couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.”—Dorianne Laux, Antilamentation (via grammatolatry)
“A growing body of social science research reveals that atheists, and non-religious people in general, are far from the unsavory beings many assume them to be. On basic questions of morality and human decency — issues such as governmental use of torture, the death penalty, punitive hitting of children, racism, sexism, homophobia, anti-Semitism, environmental degradation or human rights — the irreligious tend to be more ethical than their religious peers, particularly compared with those who describe themselves as very religious.”—Why do Americans still dislike atheists? - The Washington Post (via joemuto)
It’s starting to be that kind of sticky hot that makes my hands feel dirty even right after I’ve washed them. My body feels like the opposite of the word lithe. I keep losing things. I am wide and unwieldy and full of mistakes. I don’t know what to do with my body that wears my clothes like the sturdy trunk of a tree wears its branches.
The other night I walked home barefoot from the subway, heels in hand. It felt good and not even disgusting. It wasn’t that my shoes were hurting that much, but that I couldn’t bear to move so slowly anymore. I felt nine years old again for a block and a half. I felt hot and almost free, except for my dress, which was too short and too tight with falling down straps. Dear god, what a relief to be naked and alone at last.
These days I feel unlovely, and staircases look daunting. I cringe at the thought of putting on another pair of black tights for work. They seem disrespectful to the sunshine. A slap in summer’s face. I’ve been scowling at mirrors and into refrigerators and at the phone.
I’ve really got to get an air conditioner. What happened to spring and where are all of these bruises coming from?
this isn't a question, merely a comment on your post....
thank you so much for writing this. I am 32 and feel the same way! I work in the profession i studied and i'm over it but don't know what else to do. you are not alone in this... most 20-40somethings nowadays feel the same way. You are not doing anything wrong or wasting time. Just think that everything happens for a reason and right now you're here at this job but maybe some doors will open that you weren't expecting. Or maybe this is just a job that you have to pay the bills while you allow yourself the freedom to explore what your life's passion is.
This comment was in response to this post. (I’ve been awful at keeping up with my ask box lately.)
I think waiting for something better or more in line with your (changing) interests is important. Patience is important. But it’s also important to nourish that discontent to a healthy glow. Being discontent, and recognizing it, is sometimes the push you need to make changes in your life.
I Googled pictures of Frances Bean and found upon your blog. I see that you love Jenny Lewis and writers and reading and prettiness, all things which I love, too. Just curious, where are you from? I see Brooklyn is your home now, but where did you live before? <3 Jessica
Hi, Jessica! I lived in Fayetteville, NY, a small town outside of Syracuse.
“So what’s your situation? Your deal? Your pribbity-prob? I mean, I know it. You are making yourself healthy for the world. You are eating a bagel but not eating a bagel, if you catch me, you are calorie-counting you are carb-avoiding you are bagel-frisking. You have decided to make a semi-good choice. Now look, I am no stranger to this. I am of course the one who is seen arguing, gin aloft, I get PLENTY OF EXERCISE because EVERY MORNING I WALK for TEN minutes to THE SUBWAY. The gal who she says, nah I’m not LONELY I’m just BUSY ALL THE TIME that’s not even the same thing as LONELY have you guys seen my CRYING PILLOW I mean NORMAL PILLOW, o. Ya burnt, honesty with thineself. Ya true burnt. But so I get it. You want that bagel but that bagel is deadly so you scoop that bagel, honey, you scoop it like a bridesmaid at strip-a-robics. But. Can I just ask. What’s wrong with a nice piece of toast, then, or perhaps an English muffin? A bialy, in times of great need? Is it because you feel as though you canna put cream cheese on these non-bagel items, well, can I be the one to tell you the good news, you can! You can and I have, in fact, my fave after-school snack The Middle School Years was three slices of toast, one with butter, one with peanut butter, and one with cream cheese. See also how to get a beer belly before you even have a single beer ever. But do you see? You can put whatever on whatever! THEY WILL NOT STOP YOU!”—How You Gonna Keep ‘Em Down:Y’all bagel scoopers (via heylabodega)
I love all your rants and comments about life! :D so very interesting to read, and I know kind of what you mean about not knowing what to do as far as a career goes, I've felt the same way :)
Thanks. I think a lot of people share this struggle to make sense out of their lives. We are taught from such an early age that we can and will be anything we want to be. It can be daunting to compare what we are with what we once thought we wanted.
'But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that wouldn't make him less handsome or me more so. I wish I had light hair and a fair skin, and was dressed and behaved as well, and had a chance of being as rich as he will be!'
I had to google this quote. It’s from Wuthering Heights. I’m not sure why someone sent it to me anonymously, but I think it’s kind of awesome that they did.
Lately I've been feeling quite down, kind of lost, can't seem to find any direction for a career, where I should move to, what I'm doing at all really. Then I saw this and it has made me feel quiet a bit better, perhaps it'll do the same for you...
"We grow, including the intellectual and the spiritual, without being deeply aware of it. In fact, some periods of our growth are so confusing that we don’t even recognize that growth is what is happening. We may feel hostile or angry or weepy and hysterical, or we may feel depressed. It would never occur to us, unless we stumbled on a book or person who explained it to us, that we were in fact in the process of change, of actually becoming larger, spiritually, than we were before. Whenever we grow, we tend to feel it, as a young seed must feel the weight and inertia of the earth as it seeks to break out of its shell on its way to becoming a plant. Often the feeling is anything but pleasant. But what is most unpleasant is the not knowing what is happening. I remember the waves of anxiety that used to engulf me at different periods in my life, always manifesting itself in physical disorders (sleeplessness, for instance) and how frightened I was because I did not understand how this was possible.
With age and experience, you will be happy to know, growth becomes a conscious, recognized process. Those long periods when something inside ourselves seems to be waiting, holding its breath, unsure about what the next step should be, eventually become the periods we wait for, for it is in those periods that we realize we are being prepared for the next phase of our life and, in all probability, a new level of the personality is about to be revealed."
— Alice Walker, Living By The Word
“You know like when someone very motivated and talented and enthusiastic and mature breezes past your work life like a little storm, and then an even smaller voice inside you scolds yourself and is all like, “Why can you be like Beth?” and you make a scrunchy face and think about all the opportunities you miss and how much you love television… Then you remind yourself that you are 24 and she’s in her 30s so of course she is successful, but is it possible, at the same time, for people to be so young and colorful that you can actually feel yourself dying?”—
I made tissue paper pom poms for my birthday party, earlier this year. I hung them up by poking a needle-size hole through one of the "petals" and tying it with fishing line. I stuck it up to the ceiling by tying the opposite end of the line to clear push pins.
Awesome! Thanks for the tip. I will still probably end up buying them because every craft I make looks like the misshapen artwork of a four year old child.