“Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.”—
Shoes that don’t fit
Causing blisters on my heels
Trying my father’s cigarettes
To see just how it feels
Tried on my father’s shirt
Too big, didn’t fit
Tried one of his cigarettes
And the matches made it lit
Put myself in their position
But I can never take their place
Maybe if I just listen
Broken dreams I will replace
Talking to my boss yesterday. He puts up both his hands and looks me straight in the eye. “This hand is the shit I can control” he says. “This other hand is the shit I can’t control. Once you realize that, you can begin to live your life.”
When you’re down, it always seems that every little incident keeps you down or sinks you further. This whole month of July has been filled with some pretty revealing shit that I’m still trying to process. Part of it is my own damn self convincing myself that it’s worse than it really is. Whatever the case, what my boss told me resonated more than anything else i’ve heard of thought of during this time. It makes absolute sense.
People always have coping mechanisms and ways to deal with internal turmoil. This is how I deal. Putting too much emphasis on other people (shit I can’t control) instead of myself (shit I can control) is what is causing this grief and anxiety. It won’t happen overnight, but I know that a gradual shift can happen.
Hopefully by then I’ll have happier tumblr posts to write.
"Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that, one magical day, good luck will suddenly rain down on them - will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain down, yesterday, today, tomorrow or ever. Good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day on their right foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms. The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the no-ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way. Who are not, but could be. Who don’t speak languages, but dialects. Who don’t have religions, but superstitions. Who don’t create art, but handicrafts. Who don’t have culture, but folklore. Who are not human beings, but human resources. Who do not have faces, but arms. Who do not have names, but numbers. Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the crime reports of the local paper. The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them."