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295
I never visit my special friends for dinner; the thought of dining with strangers has always repulsed me. In such places, it feels less like eating and more like being consumed.
A person doesn't eat; they are eaten
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Now it’s my heart. I’m angry with it. The constant beating. We’re wired to be unaware of it, so why am I aware of it now? Why is the beating making me angry? Because I don’t have a choice. When you become aware of your heart, you want it to stop beating. You need a break from the constant rhythm, a rest.
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how do you say 'please talk to me more, I crave your company.' to someone without sounding desperate and creepy.
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Okay,Who is Elenore? She sounds like the kind of person who brings a single, wilting flower to a party and announces, 'It symbolizes the fleeting nature of joy!' Elenore, just bring a casserole like a normal person! What did the casserole do to deserve that. Elonore and her entire, utterly un-romantic, 'woe is me' manifesto is making me sick... Who is she and why does her name brings lots of sadness to my soul
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Realizing you are born an artist you are just vulnerable and afraid to make evidence of it
295
This is for our weird bunch. The ones whose internal 'socialize' battery icon starts flashing red after three minutes of small talk. The proud bookworms who can discuss the semiotics of a dusty tome for hours but freeze when asked about the weather. We're the theoretical coffee lovers – the ones who romanticize the idea of a perfect latte while secretly preferring a cup of tea with a little bit of suger that give away it's 'im there but im not' taste.
And don't even get me started on the 'ocean lovers' stuck landlocked, staring wistfully at desktop backgrounds of waves, because the logistics of actually getting there feel akin to planning a moon landing. Then there's the delightful phenomenon where our basic grasp of language, solid enough when we're alone, collapses into primordial grunts the moment we're surrounded by actual 'cool kids' (and let's be real, brother, if you even think about whether you're cool or not, you've already lost the battle).
But my favorite attendees? The indoor enthusiasts. The reclusive connoisseurs of their own sofa indentations. The ones whose families occasionally send out search parties, only to find them perfectly content, still in their pajamas, having successfully merged with the furniture. Their main concern isn't FOMO, it's 'Fear Of Missing Out on My Own Refrigerator.'
This wouldn't be a party, per se. More of a collective sigh of relief, punctuated by sporadic, mumbled conversations about the existential dread of laundry. We wouldn't need fancy catered food; just a vast, self-serve buffet of lukewarm pizza and enough silence to hear our own thoughts finally uncoil. We need a place where the only expectation is not to function at peak capacity. A sanctuary for the delightfully dysfunctional, the terminally tired, and the perpetually pondering. Now that's a festival I'd actually leave the house for... eventually. So please someone pls host :
The Post-Traumatic Exam Stress Gathering: An Ode to Exhaustion-dedicated retreat for Exam Survivors.
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Repost from bullshitting to all
those who think college would be any better than your school life, adulting will be better than your childhood experiences, and job might feel okayish than your teenage broke era. i hate to break it to you, but those same people transition into the next phase without learning the proper lessons from their past ones and then drag others along with them. you'll be helpless crying about how is any of it my fault, but all you'll find is yourself sliding down the path to more misery.
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Up and fighting death(studying jurassic period like we aint gonna be the next species to go through line of extinction in ESP way)
