These days have been stupid, I finally get why Sylvia Plath felt the way she did.
How many Sex and the City episodes will be needed to make me feel like a complete adult?
Carrie Bradshaw is what I call my ideal life, fabulous, easy, fulfilling, with great friends, in a great city. Carrie works as a writer and she is an accomplished one you don't ever see her sweating over money or her job except for that one time after Aidan... anyways, I play SATC over and over in hopes to absorb Carrie's luck and make one of my own.
These days have been stupid, I finally get why Sylvia Plath felt the way she did, I live in a big house with nothing to do all day more than take a big look on the inside and realize that I don't get it and that as a matter of fact, I'm rather frustrated. I read, listen to music, paint my nails, send my CV all over the world and cross my fingers, I go thru my phone, and entertain myself with movies and shows but the thing I cannot get out of my head is: myself. As if in a kaleidoscope I fail to get out of my own way, always there bothering myself to death, making sure I don't go one step without my self-doubt, there helping me ignore the fact that I need new friends or perhaps a change of attitude towards them.
On the other hand, my Dalmatian puppy Princesa Bromelia got her first heat, great. I've been inside this house keeping her away from 4 male dogs that the neighbor owns, picture me and 3 dogs following me around waiting, hoping that maybe I know better, maybe I'll save them or the impending doom in which the earth is in... that's what I read every time I look at their eyes and all I can do is scream to their cute faces: I HAVE NO CLUE, that or that all I know is that I'm going completely nuts and perhaps I want to, perhaps it's for the best. Yet the new moon resolutions gathered with feathers and rocks on my window might differ, but as one of the voices in my head pointed out today: New moon rituals don't work overnight, and now that I'm going down this idea path I realize I might have to go completely nuts to be able to get my resolutions.
I'm tired of everyone around me, I'm tired of the collective mind of my peers, and it makes me fucking mad because that only reflects on me! I've been getting drunk and high and sleeping early waking up in the middle of the night thinking it's already 5 just to realize it's only 12 and that I'll have to take allergy pills to fall asleep. As if the show inside my head wasn't enough my diary ran out of pages and I haven't been able to bring myself to get another due to my social anxiety plus my curly hair, because yes, I'm curly and self-conscious about it.
Anyways I'm just a girl...that is a fan of Carrie Bradshaw and can't bring herself to wear her hair curly. I hope my emotional being doesn't take this as a personal treat.
- Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami
- L'étranger by Albert Cammus (I thought it translated to "El extraño" but the man at the book store was quick to correct me and said: "El extranjero")
- Primero estaba el mar by Tomas Gonzáles
- The color purple by Alice Walker
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