Archive for July, 2012

July 26, 2012

asd

July 24, 2012

tell me something good: 5 things that make me happy

I had a longer post to go along with this, but all my words felt a couple steps behind how I felt. It was important to me that I post this today so maybe I’ll put up the full post another time. Here is the main gist of it:

Today was a bad day. These little things made me happy, and I hope they make you smile too.

1. this picture of my cat

2. this clip from Friends. or pretty much the whole series.

3. thought provoking conversations with my sister

you have to read very carefully between the lines

4. this PostSecret

Dear Stranger, I found the crumpled envelope containing the love letter you wrote for “Rachel” and didn’t send. I read it (sorry!) so I know just how much you love her. The envelope was already addressed, so…I mailed it to her. If I were her, I’d love you back.

5. this Kafka quote:

The birds flew up like corks out of a bottle, I followed them with my eyes, saw them climb in a single breath until I no longer thought they were rising, but that I was falling, and, clinging onto the ropes in my dizziness, I began involuntarily to swing a little. Before long, I was swinging harder, the breeze had grown chillier, and quivering stars had replaced the birds.

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July 17, 2012

I’d clearly make it as an international spy

People are always asking me about my roommates and honestly, I can’t tell you a thing about them. Seriously, I don’t even know their last names, or even how to spell their first names.

I don’t even have their numbers even though I offered them mine and they took it…is that like roommate rejection? I didn’t think it’d be that big of a problem until coincidentally enough today on the bus to work I began to wonder if I turned the stove off. Cue the inner panic that’s rapidly mounting when I realize our fire alarm is of course disabled and oh god I’m gonna come home in 8 hours to a whole apartment complex of smoke and ash and why do I not have my roommate’s number?? Don’t worry y’all. The apartment’s fine.

But anyway. One of the things my roommates like to do is lock the deadbolt on the door so I can’t get in even if I have the key. Normally this is okay because I just ring the doorbell and they open the door and we’ll exchange our one word of the day (“Hi,” or sometimes even “hey!”), unless their friend is there in which case then we can start talking. Is it weird that I’m better friends with their friend than I am with them?

Sidetracked again–the bus rounds the corner on the ride home and I see my lovely, lovely apartment quad standing there so beautifully unscathed by any sort of fire that would result from a silly, careless girl who left the stove on. and then because my brain hates me I begin to wonder if maybe my roommate is dead (too morbid?) from carbon monoxide poisoning and maybe it’s one of those things where the fire is contained and I’ll open the door and BOOM, you know like in the movies? Does this even make logical sense? Someone let me know.

I feel the door, and it’s not hot–good sign, right? It won’t open though, because it’s been locked again from the inside since I left. Initial joy that my roommate is not dead inside is quickly replaced with annoyance after waiting for about 30 seconds…she’s taking a nap and can’t hear the doorbell.

I scout the area. The balcony railing looks climbable, even though it comes up to my chin and there’s only one notch like thing for me to put my feet on. But I watch too much Jason Bourne and I think I can do it.

The chair we keep out there is on the other side, which slightly annoys me. It’d be so much more convenient because then I can just step down efficiently and gracefully instead of potentially falling down. A few jumps and a couple of squashed bushes later (sorry) though, I’M IN (albeit in a very inefficient and ungraceful way).

Because I then realize I could have just climbed the other side to use the chair.

July 16, 2012

there’s too much noise around my brain.

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July 6, 2012

I’m throwing myself a pity party

It’s 8:52, which means there’s only 8 minutes left, but you’re all invited. Because misery loves company, but you know what’s even better? Having misery AND all your friends with you feeling sorry for you.

Whoops, seven minutes.

Six minutes because I don’t know what to write.

Here’s the thing about feeling sorry for yourself. It feels great, because you get to complain and play the world’s smallest violin and if you have great friends (read: suckers) you can get all their sympathy, and maybe even get some sympathy cookies too.

I’m talking small potato feeling sorry things here. The kind of things that happen because it’s usually somehow in a little way your fault and you realize it but you’re still allowed to feel sorry for yourself right before you begin hating yourself. Usually they’re first world complaints, like “wah wah wah I can’t finish my filet mignon.” “wah wah wah I forgot to tell starbucks I wanted my latte iced”

Today it’s things like like “it’s over 100 degrees outside but I’m sick and have a sore throat and stuffy nose and I’m constantly cold and THESE PEOPLE KEEP TURNING THE AIR UP AND I’M TURNING INTO A POPSICLE.”

or, “I came home late from work and all I wanted to do was fall into my bed and find sanctuary from my sickness. Instead I found bed bugs all over the apartment.”

or “wah wah wah I really really wish I bought those apples but I was too lazy to carry them for the THREE MINUTE WALK HOME and now I’m hungry and sick and all I want to eat is an apple.”

By the way, all these things are happening to me. See what I did there? I started complaining about my problems in such a subtle way I bet you didn’t even know you were being complained at!

Now where are my cookies?