Fredrick Edwin Church
Yes I do. I think everybody does at one point or another. Some feel it more than others though.
I am not quite sure what to say to help you though. Do things that make you happy. Small things. And don’t let yourself be anchored down by big meanings and grand problems and existential questions. Keep it small. And go forward one day at a time, slowly. And you’ll grow and learn and expand.
If this feeling continues though, you might want to see a psychologist to a professional at least. They might be able to help you more than my meaningless words.
now we have a whole plot line involving wheatgrass smoothies.
writing a fanfic in google docs with a friend.
Our main question right now is: would this character be more the type to have a blackberry or an iPhone?
Obviously important concern to plot and story…
Imagine how much younger I would look if I actually took care of my skin and stuff (like washing it with proper soap and moisturizing it and wearing sunscreen and not tanning all the time as soon as I get in the sun).
Like, I could be one of those young cops that look young enough to go back to high school undercover and secretly protect the daughter or son of that very important foreign dignitary who is in protective custody because he has promised to testify against a drug warlord. Or something.
It could totally happen.
The Black Sea at Night, Ivan Aivazovsky, 1879
It’s the veil of the internet. If you met me in real life you would be: Who is this chick and why is she such a dork, make her stop, please.
Seriously though, thanks. I’ve never been considered cool. Oh god, you should have seen me in high school…
You say that like it’s a bad ting ;)
Sunrise with Sea Monsters, J.M.W. Turner, c. 1845
Extra sweet. I always put lots and lots of sugar in it.
I made a crossroad deal with a demon.
Today is a day of black outlines: strong, dark inky lines around everything, colours filling the spaces in between, blocks of reds and greens and yellows and blues. It is a day of discordant bird songs, and loud flapping of wings. A day for sharp cheese and bitter coffee, dirty glasses and chipped teeth. A day of badly-begun stories and unresolved endings and unravelling plot lines and empty metaphors.
A day where no matter how shallow you breathe your lungs always feel too full, filled with smoke and rain and dirt, while all the while your skin burns under the sun.
It’s a day of conflicting seasons and small loves with the life-span of a mayfly.