I don’t even know what the title of the post means (but I can’t be bothered figuring out a more meaningful one). What is it, to be where you’re meant to be? Who does the meaning? I don’t know. I know who doesn’t do the meaning though: me. (Also, god, because I’m godless and faithless.) I’m
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.
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
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
I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me. —Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy My father is visiting tomorrow in the middle of the night. Specifically at 8 AM. This illustrates his
These days it’s the first anniversary of my nuthouse staycation. Despite the bad publicity these institutions suffer, my experience was that of the best holiday I ever had. There are so many reasons. You’ll never have more you-time. There was an obligatory programme to take part at for most of the day, but it was
Most of the time, I know exactly what to do. Much of the time, I do the exact opposite. I’ve been procrastinating a lot these last few days. I know why. Because I’m an idiot. Also because I have too much work and there is no end to it. I’ve been diligently overworking myself for
I’m fucked up. Seriously. It confuses and saddens me because I’m a rational person and I don’t make sense to myself. My reactions to things are the opposite of what you, I or anyone would reasonably expect. When something bad happens, I’m perversely pleased and think, Serve me right, I deserve it. When something nice