3712Fuck life, I’m going to bed
So I’m going to be yet another pessimist, self-pitying, young adult, but I want to vent and no one reads this anyway.
I feel like I am a winged bug, flapping my wings as fucking hard as I can, but there’s no lift off. There’s just the buzzing noise and I feel as if any minute now I’m going to be crushed..or eaten. It’s not that I feel entitled to my dreams (I mean I do, but I don’t have to admit that on here) but I don’t understand why everything seems to fall in place for those around me. I just want to be given a chance, even if it’s a long shot.
Dear Job Gods, I’ve applied and applied for the things I want to do. When do I get a chance at something great?
Love,
Ordinary and non-descript
forever a favorite: Imogen Heap
The first book I’ve read cover to cover, in over four years,…is called Just Kids by Patti Smith. The first hand account of Patti and her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe, two artists that struggled and then made it. It is now my favorite book.
When I’m on a phone interview
Posh smiling?! It’s a Christmas miracle! But based off that synthetic glow of her skin complexion, it was probably photo shopped smile
…..I swear I have better things to do with my time
The Coen brothers are geniuses, I’m trying to put into words what an incredible force they are and I really can’t. And as if they aren’t already superior humans, Joel is married to Frances McDormand. What more could you ask?
Becoming a real person…?….!!!
I signed so many papers/documents/waivers/forms today. I could’ve signed up to adopt a komodo dragon for all I know.
BUT now I have my own life insurance..which means I am literally worth something. Huzzah adulthood.
I was sort of kind of anti-Rothko, meaning I interpreted his work to be a bunch of carpet tiles/weird Home Depot reject paint swatches , until two years ago. I was in a class “Art Since 1945” taught by Howard Singerman, and it was the best class I ever took. I went to this exhibit at the National Gallery of Art and wrote a paper on The Black Paintings in the tower. Rothko painted environments “color fields” that are meant to be viewed up close, so that the spirit of the color takes up your entire periphery. They are landscapes/voids/expansive in all directions at the same time. But fuck, what do I know?
20 somethings
This is not a pro-20 somethings post, so if you are 20 something and looking for commiseration or encouragement, go back to being bored on other social sites.
I am a 20 something and let me just say how fucking annoying we are! We LOVE to complain! The world is out to get us, and it’s not our fault, but we can sure as hell let people know how shitty it is for us. For US, not anyone else. Because our problems, even if they are the same as other peoples’, are far greater and detrimental.
Why do I have to wait tables and make sure your salad has goat cheese instead of feta, no onions, extra tomatoes, with dressing on the side? I have no problem being waited on by others, but for some reason the fact that I, a twenty-something, am waiting tables, is just depressing. Even though I needed/wanted this job, I should not have to do this. Why? Because I feel like, personally, I am stooping below my potential. And if I was offered that internship, that I was overly qualified for, I would have cured cancer by now.
And somehow, my failure to do anything else besides wait tables, is you, the customer’s fault. And I will let you know this, when you impatiently ask for a refill for water, by giving you a look that says “why don’t you just kill my family and cut off all my legs and arms and soak the rest of me in acid?” Because that is pretty much the same as asking me to refill your glass of water.
While refilling your water glass, I could’ve intagrammed a picture of a sky that could’ve been seen by Disney and at the very moment they saw my work, they realized that I was the missing link to their dream team. They would’ve called me instantly, and Justin Beiber would’ve been visiting the Disney office that day and he would’ve offered to make the call since he had nothing better to do. I would’ve picked up and accepted the $800,000,000 job and Justin Beiber would’ve liked the sound of my voice. So much so, that he would want to hear it constantly, and would quickly offer for me to live in his guest cottage.
So BASICALLY, because you asked for a refill, I have missed the opportunity for a Disney job and to be Justin Beiber’s roommate.
I don’t even remotely like Justin Beiber, but I can still be angry that life is so god awful when you’re a twenty something.
