quibbling hipsterhood, documented!

I am sitting on my bedroom floor, eating room temperature egg drop soup and rereading all of my travelblog posts from the past 2.5 years. Shit is unreal. Hey, remember when I used to write about things outside myself? Like, articles? The news? Even fleshlights was a topic apart from me (and still is.)

No proper segue exists to say this, other than I have uncovered a lot of sticky, cobwebby things inside myself recently and, for lack of any other containment, decide to share it here. To myself. And maybe one other person. Or maybe hundreds of people who were finally tired of 4chan and found this to be just as mindlessly disturbing.

Examine: The main way to live a contented life is to put yourself first in your own story.

1) I don’t know what love is. I am genuinely perplexed. It’s an abstract noun, but what the fuck.

2) I’m always figuring it out with the wrong person at the wrong time, which led me to this: “How can someone, anyone, not love me?” Not in the sense of “What is there not to love?” but on a different indignant level. Possibly the most human question that’s ever occurred to me; I can’t or don’t want to think of an answer, because it really is inconceivable. Maybe most people feel that same about this in regards to themselves and it’s not just me thinking things like “DO I HAVE NO INFLUENCE ON YOU AT ALL? HOW ARE YOU NOT SWAYED BY MY VERY PRESENCE?”

3) When I am not being abused, I am the abuser.

4) The difficulty of distance, in the self or intra-relationships. No longer feel like elaborating on this but I don’t want to delete it because then I need to change the numbers.

5) Epilating is nothing short of masochism. I finally understand why my roommates used to epilate at unreasonable times, like 3am, because it’s truly an 11th-hour activity: grimacing, some tears, and maybe a little bit of praying.

6) Room temperature egg drop soup has negative appeal.

7) I can’t follow my own advice. “Changing your image and attitudes won’t bring him back into your bedroom.” Okay, so that was actually Ben Gibbard, but WHATEVER.

Listening to The Smiths and read every single travelblog post with tears streaming down my face. So good.