I’m socially anxious and therefore socially awkward by default. But when I’m feeling low, awkward doesn’t come anywhere close to adequately describing my social interactions. Totally incompetent is a much more fitting expression here. Today it’s been one of these days. I thought a trip to the supermarket would cheer me up—because of Oreos. I always reward
A tiny thing Crying and cowering Behind the bins Is that— A cat! A kitten rather All big-eyed And terrified Shh, shh, she said There, there You’re good now She broke Into a smile Because the life She saves may be Her own
I’m overworked. No, really, I’m always overworked but now I’m acutely overworked. That’s why I thought that before resuming work, I could grab a blogging break. Not a break from blogging but a break to blog. You know, so I could feel guilty afterwards for not having been working. Overwork is an awesome way to
It’s been such a wonderfully quiet day. No one called me, no one mailed me, no one came banging at my door in the misled belief that when I’m the concierge, I can set their problems and the world to rights. Only the cat has been disturbing me. She’s excited I didn’t leave her forever
To take a break from contemplating suicide, I thought I’d brainstorm some ideas to stay alive instead. That’s my notion of testing the power of positive psychology. I believe I’m doing it right, theoretically, but really, I’m not feeling it. Let’s go through the exercise though. Here’s a bunch of random reasons why avoid suicide.
When I’m translating and come across a specific term not listed in a general dictionary, I use Wikipedia. The same Wikipedia that I would tell my students never to use (or should they still feel the compulsion, to limit this activity to the privacy of their home, much like masturbation). I input the term in
Peeling pink polish On a girl who’s been biting her nails Again Because the pain is easier to bear Then Disclaimers: I don’t bite my nails I don’t use pink polish I don’t write poems
I have bouts of insomnia alternated by bouts of sleepomania. I don’t sleep when I’m too stressed out and I sleep all the time when I’m too stressed out. Yes, I’m aware it’s the same thing, it depends on what kind of stressed out exactly I am at the moment. Right now, I’m the kind
LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE What the fuck? That’s a bit too much to ask, Right? Isn’t there an easier task? Like, Die or Lie in bed and Stare at the wall. No? Alright. If you must. I certainly can’t.
My yesterday’s post concerning my anticipation anxiety (a fancy term for being preventively scared) about my father’s visit rose some questions. Such as, have I never met my father before? What’s wrong with my father? What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is it even all about? Let’s start chronologically. I grew up with both