dissapointment
I was hoping I'd have something more uplifiting to write about. But sometimes fate takes control and things don't turn out as you planned. I haven't been home for more than a day and already I feel it. The wanting to be back. I went from cloud 9 to reality in the matter of seconds. I wish cars didn't exsist so there wouldn't be any car accidents or pollution.
It was so nice to be disconnected from this side of the world for 3 weeks. I need that. To be disconnected from time to time, its liberating.
I don't know what I want.Sometimes I think I have things all figured out other times I feel like I don't know what step to take next.
Chile was amazing, when I'm in a better mood I'll write about it and post pictures
my aunt said it best,
"de lo bueno, poco"
Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share - House of leaves.
It was so nice to be disconnected from this side of the world for 3 weeks. I need that. To be disconnected from time to time, its liberating.
I don't know what I want.Sometimes I think I have things all figured out other times I feel like I don't know what step to take next.
Chile was amazing, when I'm in a better mood I'll write about it and post pictures
my aunt said it best,
"de lo bueno, poco"
Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share - House of leaves.