Can anything ever be easy???
Nothing can ever just go right for me. Every aspect of my life has to be a struggle, you know? My career, my finances, my relastionships - nothing can ever just work out the way I want it to.
This is not to say that things are bad - it's just always a struggle. For ONCE I just want one aspect of my life to open a door. I want someone to just cast me. I want money. I want to live somewhere awesome. I want some level of committment. Instead I get dead end auditions, no work, no guarantees in living situations, and the greatest guy in the world who's only flaw is that he's afraid to commit.
UGH
I'm just so sick of it. Something needs to work out soon or I'm going to go mad.
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood,
Stop up th’access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th’ effect and it. Come to my woman’s breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murd’ring ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief. Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry ‘Hold, hold!’
This is not to say that things are bad - it's just always a struggle. For ONCE I just want one aspect of my life to open a door. I want someone to just cast me. I want money. I want to live somewhere awesome. I want some level of committment. Instead I get dead end auditions, no work, no guarantees in living situations, and the greatest guy in the world who's only flaw is that he's afraid to commit.
UGH
I'm just so sick of it. Something needs to work out soon or I'm going to go mad.
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood,
Stop up th’access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th’ effect and it. Come to my woman’s breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murd’ring ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief. Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry ‘Hold, hold!’