Today I had a chocolate bar with cherries and chili peppers inside of it. My co-workers want to go to happy hour later because I work somewhere where that’s what people do at 5pm. My bedroom is a mess, but that’s what you have to deal with when you move.
I was thinking.
I’m not sure what alternative there was. Maybe people shouldn’t text someone back in fear that a few months down the line you might want something else. I guess I should have predicted the future. Sometimes I feel like my life would legitimately benefit from a crystal ball.
The world does not revolve around a singular perspective.
I am immune to everything when I see his face. Only a few weeks deep and I know that I’m drowning.
I met Star Jones yesterday. My legs are covered in bruises because I’m trying to be a vegetarian again and sometimes that turns into fragility. I come home with bottles of champagne and chocolate cake some days, and sometimes I come home with anxiety. It takes 15 minutes to walk to his house in Mt. Vernon but some evenings it feels like an hour. It always amazes me how unsound and strong he can appear in the same moment. Even when he is directing a crowd of 500 people through a loud speaker, one look into his eyes and I know that he feels broken some days. Perhaps this is why we are similar. It’s not serious and then it is but really it’s just something else entirely. Maybe not even of this time. It’s a lot of talking and staring and trying to decipher the world through a small bias lens of insecurity and hurt and 2012. Most days I just think about duvet covers. Duvet covers and throw blankets and which desk is going to work in the room which I have reserved but cannot move into for a few weeks. I think about a diet of chocolate cake and champagne and a lifetime of professionally apologizing for things that were not my own doing. It takes it’s toll after a while. but Star Jones knows all about it.
I am eating a creme brûlée doughnut and I’m just not really sure what else there is to care about.
"There’s an oft-reblogged John Waters quote: “If you go home with somebody, and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ‘em.” That’s a good rule. But is the bar for literacy so low that simply owning books is enough? Many of the guys who talk a good game on their profiles about “liking strong women” don’t have a single piece of art created by a woman in their well-curated list of likes. They may say they want to hear my opinion, but their choice in consumption seems to indicate otherwise."
Welcome to Baltimore, where emotional immaturity runs rampant. Is literally no one capable of being an adult sometimes?