wretsky
I think in most things function is more important than looks. - Eric
I always choose my shoes based on fashion, rather than function. It seldom works out in my favor. -Blair.
It was 5am and with no end to her manic insomnia, she decided to put her hair in a beehive. She had done it once before, for a special occasion, but she wasn't sure why she thought the monumental task that involved lots of hairpins and sticky pomade was a great early morning project. It was the mania; it told her what to do. But, was she really going to crawl under the covers around 9am, feeling like a zombie, with such fabulous hair?
Things never go according to the plans you make when you're sixteen. I thought I was going to simultaneously rock the academic world in the Ivy League while somehow find time to be a rockstar, rivaled only by Courtney Love. Needless to say, I did neither of these things. I attended the Ivy League, but by no means did I rock it. I can't even play a four-chord song on acoustic guitar. I've spent quite a lot of time, actually, trying to figure out an alternate plan. I've got one now, at least I think I do. It's one I feel really positive about, but I can totally see my thirty-two year old self journaling about the great plan I made when I was twenty-four and how it all crashed and burned.
Was she becoming completely unhinged? Day after day of serving identical looking food to identical looking people. Having the same conversations with her co-workers about low calorie foods and gym workouts, when they all called her fat behind her back anyway. She couldn't even bring up books. She was a college graduate and these people got confused when she used a word that had more than two syllables.
It was below freezing outside. It was bad enough that she had been in the middle of a manic episode and hadn't slept in going on 36 hours. She was finally starting to come down and now she had to brave the cold to deal with someone else's emotional problems. She was really in no fit state to interact with anyone after 36 hours of coffee, letters, poems, journals, more coffee, more journals, more poems, more letters, and more coffee. She was like the walking dead.
His deep, bellowing laughter got on her nerves. In fact, most sounds that came from his body annoyed her - his laughter, the way he wheezed and coughed after his morning run, the sound of his voice - entirely too loud - when he talked on the phone. Unless he was rhythmically breathing in his sleep or making sounds of pleasure while he was coming, she preferred not to hear him at all.
She folded her paper program into a makeshift accordion fan. It wasn't at all proper for such a formal affair, but they really shouldn't have held such a formal affair outside in the summer heat.
"I've been meaning to have this talk with you for a while. And I'm only saying this because I love you and I think you're amazing. But you are so miserable and you are the source of your own misery. It seems like you get some kind of enjoyment out of wallowing and complaining. Sometimes, I feel like you are living your life on a bench on the sidelines. If you're unhappy, you need to get up and change things. No one else can do it for you. You are the only one who can." - I was really weirded out and angry when you said this to me. But separated by months and perspective, I realize you were 100% right. Thank you.
She fell asleep with the window open, allowing the crispness of winter to fill the room. She hadn't left the house for a few days and the fresh air felt really good on her bare skin.
She couldn't lie, not even for self-preservation. She scrunched up her eyes and made this sort of terrible smile with her mouth half open that was the tell-tale sign. When you saw that smile, you knew she was concealing something from you.
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