I hate the term ‘real life’. I had no idea life could be fake. I mean, when I’m daydreaming, when I’m on the internet, when I bury myself in my apartment for days, it’s still real life. The friends I have online, and the friends I’ve met in school, or at the library, or at the pub, are all real friends.
The days I spend on the computer, writing or just procrastinating by looking at silly videos and constantly refreshing my tumblr dash, are still real. They’re as real and legitimate as the ones I spend with my family, or the ones I spend at the museums, or that one time I went to the woods and got lost for hours. Different, yes, but just as real.
It’s just me and my life, and it’s all so, so very real. All of it.
‘Real life’ is the most useless redundancy.