About
I don't commit to things. Like this blog. So I rarely post anything. But when I do, I mean it.To weep, to write.
To speak, to fight.
To lose an hour of sleep at night.
To think of you,
of him,
of I.
To promise never to truly die.
To express each feeling with a breath,
to listen until there’s nothing left.
To lose your thought,
to second guess.
To whisper out the very rest.
*if your team isn’t in the playoffs, rooting against the team that eliminated them Philadelphia Flyers is an acceptable alternative.
GO DEVILS!!
(Source: brotips)
I’m bored. I remember why I don’t wake up at 7AM voluntarily. Because when I do, this happens:
tumblr. facebook. febreeze. shoes. walmart. mcdonalds. BP. tumblr. tumblr. tumblr. facebook. hotmail. facebook. tumblr. tumblr. tumblr. tumblr. netflix. fridge. bathroom. fix hair. bed. tumblr. netflix. facebook. creep on friends. creep on exes. tumblr. tumblr. roll around in bed. stand up with purpose. forget purpose. bed. tumblr. hulu+. check phone. no friends. forever alone. tumblr. tumblr. youtube. netflix. facebook.
Seriously. And it’s only noon and I could just be waking up right now and that means that I would just now be starting this endless cycle instead of being five hours in and already being bored of it.
Meanwhile I could be doing laundry, FAFSA’s, showering, cleaning.
No. It’s my day off.
tumblr. facebook. febreeze. shoes. walmart. wendys. tumblr. tumblr. tumblr. facebook. hotmail. facebook. tumblr. tumblr. tumblr. tumblr. netflix. fridge. bathroom. fix hair. bed. tumblr. netflix. facebook. creep on friends. creep on exes. tumblr. tumblr. roll around in bed. stand up with purpose. forget purpose. bed. tumblr. hulu+. check phone. no friends. forever alone. tumblr. tumblr. youtube. netflix. facebook.
It’s kind of a big deal when I come on here and write something and not make it private. That’s because everyone needs to listen to me because I actually really have something important to say:
STOP TELLING PEOPLE TO READ DAMNED. STOP READING DAMNED. STOP BUYING DAMNED SO CHUCK PALAHNIUK DOESN’T PUMP OUT ANOTHER ONE.
Seriously. It’s kind of hard for me to say this because I love(d) Chuck. I adore Fight Club, Survivor, Rant, Lullaby, and Invisible Monsters. All of those books were climactic and they had plot lines and well developed characters and meaning.
Damned does not.
Stop trying to make Damned happen! It’s not going to happen!
x62x:
This post is intended as a lament of sorts, a lament for something in the culture that is dying and may never been seen again.
Pretty, pretty is dying.
I had a boyfriend a few years ago who said the same thing about me. He might not have lasted but my pretty has.
Proud to be pretty <3
You know, because I’m nineteen and I still have one.
And said future is not going to be what I’m doing currently. Which is working at a large corporation where I am dispensable and I have to cater to annoying customers hand and foot while they treat me as if I am a second-rate human being. Okay okay, enough with the melodrama; only half of them treat me like this. The other half are trying to make small conversation during the fifteen or less minutes we have together. And I like that. I really, really do. I meet a lot of people and I talk to a lot of people and generally, it’s a good enough time that I’m not dying inside like I was at my last place of employment. But all of this is just kind of not important.
My future. I have like, twenty different ideas of what my future is actually going to be. I want to act. I want to be a flight attendant. I want to be a pilot. I want to work on a cruise ship. I want to do all of these things but what I’m going to pursue is -drum roll- journalism and advertising! So that maybe one day I can work on a magazine. I dunno. I like writing and when I have something to write about I would say I’m pretty good with it. And I’ve been interested in fashion ever since I was old enough to play with Barbie and the Princess Diana paper dolls I once cherished. And then I started cutting out pictures in magazines and at one point I was even assorting them into a little notebook (something I keep meaning to start up again because it was quite inspirational).
And after some googling, I’ve found somewhat of a path. Nothing solid. I still need to finish my gen-eds at community college but I’ve made the big step to researching colleges in NYC. Yeah, New. York. City. But the one thing they all stressed was that I need to write. I need to write about anything so that I can find a voice. So this is the beginning of “I am going to come on here everyday and write about something pointless and silly and hope that it turns into something”.
And the only reason I am not setting this as private is because I would love if someone out there in tumblrverse who was also traveling the same path or has already found their seat at a magazine could give me some advice. It’d be nice.
Lemme back up. For a while now I’ve kind of had this feeling that I could be fine with anything that life gives me. I used to have this passion and these big dreams but I had fallen into a rut of complacency. If I end up with something good, awesome. But if not, I was going to find a way to make it the best. But either way, I was going to be fine.
But I don’t want to be fine. I went to that concert last night and it woke me up. It was the music, the rush of the crowd, having everything I’ve ever wanted right in front of me (seriously though, Adam came up and sang on the bar and I was one of the lucky few to be standing directly beneath him). And no, I’m not saying that Adam Lazzara is everything I’ve ever wanted. That’s just creepy. But his lifestyle…I just…I want it so badly. And to have it close enough to touch made me realize it’s closer than it seems sometimes. What do I want? What does Adam have that I don’t? I want to be doing something I love, something that makes me feel alive. I want money, not for the sake of money, but for the experiences I will get from having money. I want to see the world. I want to accomplish things. But mostly, I just want to connect with people. I want to connect with the people the way that Taking Back Sunday and Adam connected with me last night. It was the first time in a long time that I’ve actually felt alive.
I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I’m going to be something.
Submitted by dianaafiifah
(Source: staypozitive)
Okay so the first day we met, you were all friendly and stuff. You mentioned a girl you just reconnected with or whatever, you made jokes but made sure to say you weren’t flirting, you did all this shit to make me believe you weren’t just trying to get some tail. There were signs that I should have seen though: the bragging, being the most prominent. So the next night, you call me up late, ask me to meet you. You ask it, make sure it’s a “question” but you don’t really give me a way to say no. But it’s fun and I’m bored and we could be friends I think. Friends would meet friends to hang out at night, right? But then you start pulling all these lines and making moves.
“Hold my hand”
“Let’s go for a walk”
“Blah, blah, blah, hot, blah, blah, blah”
It was the second night I knew you. Second night. I leave, after dodging some more moves thereby making the night all awkward. And a couple days after and what do you get? You’re calling me. You’re calling me at midnight. Fucking midnight. I’m in pjs already, ready for bed. I didn’t get out of bed and put make up on at midnight for my last boyfriend and I’m sure as hell not going to do it for some guy I just met who wants to get some at soon as possible. If that’s what you’re getting at, good luck. You can try to trick me, try to play me like I’m sure you have plenty of times in the past. But I’m not dealing with this bullshit. Put in the effort, call me when the sun is still up, get to know me as a friend first. If you aren’t willing to give me that then piss off.
and other people are making lists, worrying, or any other of the menial tasks that fill their nights, I do that for about five seconds.
And then maybe I’ll think about that boy I can’t get out of my head. The one I hate but he still creeps back into my mind every now and again. And that’ll last for a good minute.
But then all that’s over. And I’m thinking about the clothes in my closet and I’m piecing them together and imagining when I’ll wear them next. And that lasts for hours.
