Today I am in control because I want to be. I have my fingers on the switch, but have lived a lifetime ignoring the control I have over my own world. Today is different.
How can we say nobody’s perfect if there is no perfect to compare to? Perfection implies that there really is a right and wrong way to be. And what type of perfection is the best type? Moral perfection? Aesthetic? Physiological? Mental?
I am equal to a baby and to a hundred year old lady. I am equal to an airline pilot and a car mechanic. I am equal to you. You are equal to me. It’s that universal.
Except that it’s not.
The world is full of assholes. What are you doing to make sure you’re not one of them?
I can’t stop myself from reaching for the bottle that’s under my seat. I’ve gone all night without a sip, but it’s not about being addicted. It’s about being told what to do my whole life and doing it and then losing everything anyway.
Dude, what matters is if you’re happy. What matters is your future. What matters is that we get out of here in one piece. What matters is finding the truth of our own lives, not caring about what other people think is the truth of us.
But it feels good to love a thing and not expect anything back. It feels good to not get an argument or any pushiness or any rumors or any bullshit. It’s love without strings. It’s ideal.
“You two would make a cute couple,” she says as she passes by with a full dough tray in her arms. I don’t know why she says it. We aren’t doing anything but folding boxes with the other drivers and telling dirty jokes.But we would.We would make a cute couple.
I knew not to give the best of myself to the worst of people.
Look at our culture. Look at the computer-enhanced people we compare ourselves to. Look at the expensive cars and trinkets we’re all supposed to have. Look at how many people are wrapped up in that! Imagine how much money and worry we’d save ourselves if we stopped caring what kind of car we drove! and why do we care? perfection. But there is no such thing, is there? And if there is, then everyone is perfect in their own way, right?
I am tortured too. I am tortured by belly fat and magazine covers about how to please everyone but myself. I am tortured by sheep who click on anything that will guarantee a ten-pound loss in one week. Sheep who will get on their knees if it means someone will like them more. I am tortured by my inability to want to hang out with desperate sheep. I am tortured by goddamned yearbooks full of bullshit. I met you when. I’ll miss the times. I’ll keep in touch. Best friends forever. Is this okay? Are you all right? Are you tortured too?
Isn’t it funny how we live inside the lies we believe?
I’m sorry, but I don’t get it. If we’re supposed to ignore everything that’s wrong with our lives, then I can’t see how we’ll ever make things right.
We are all made from star dust and we will all return to star dust, like a cosmic palindrome.
Only you can allow yourself to be angry.
Everybody’s always looking for the person they’re better than.
I place us where we are a happy couple who are madly in love, and we are kissing the way people kiss on their wedding day. With joy and relief and love. Without guilt. Without Shame.
I’d rather feel something for real than pretend it’s not what it is.
But that’s a side effect of alcohol, isn’t it? Stopping to think about other people is not on the bar menu.
I was also built from delusional optimism and folly.
You know that saying about how you don’t know what you have until it’s gone-I already did know what I had, and now that she’s gone, I know even more.
The simplest answer is to act.
I didn’t think about anything past tomorrow because anything past tomorrow was just like cloud busting – it depended soley on the person looking at the clouds and it could rain any minute