I’m the type of person who can only survive the day-to-day when there are things up ahead to look forward to. Vague, lofty ideals like a potential white wedding or children who will grow to resent me do not count.
I don’t think my tiny little defense of KJ is proverbially wiping her tears late at night—I doubt she’s even crying. It’s more about getting people to rethink WHY they get so riled up by some lithe young woman who’s totally killing it.
A rebuttal to The Harvard Lampoon Editor’s recent silly piece about women reaching “peak frump.”
A good sign that you’re having a meltdown is that you just spent $15.00 on an Eckhart Tolle audiobook. It’s a last ditch attempt to run away from your current self and discover that elusive peace of mind.
It was all my insecurities manifested as some sort of Dali-esque nightmare…the makings of a surrealist film that Women’s Studies majors would go to town with.
I continue to suspend the reality that inspirational quotes trend towards the cloying and the cliché, earnestly hoping that their repetition will pay off.
Reuniting with my favorite camp counselor years later over breakfast was not something I’d ever expected, but it turned out to be one of those epic gifts of the life cycle that make you stop for a minute and think: wow, this shithole is pretty alright.
“You haven’t read ALL the important books on writing, so you’re probably missing a few crucial insights that all other writers are sitting on like golden fucking eggs.” And other dumb stuff I tell myself, after the jump.
Character is not built upon alcohol intake or the submission to social pressure. I’ve been told, at least, that it’s more about “doing you,” and if that you would like to get your sleepy ass to bed, then that you should do.