I cant get no....
I am not afraid to admit that I am not completely satisfied with life.
That is not to say that I am unhappy, this isn't true. But internally, it seems that I am constantly raging against those who promote the facade that everything is sweet. Can't we all be honest and admit that at least some of the time, life is a struggle? And no amount of love or money or sex or beauty changes that. I will admit that I am particularly good at painting my face with a smile in spite of what I may feel are dire circumstances. But once in a while I get a really desperate need to let it all go and be real. Sometimes shit is really hard. There are a lot of things that I wanted for my life that aren’t going to happen.
By no means am I suggesting that I have had an especially shitty life. I am not starving, I have safety and love and my friends make me laugh. But I think there is a fairly distinct possibility that the feeling I have right now is somewhat universal. Or perhaps it is just me and my broken head.
I am certainly coming to terms with the realities of brain chemistry imbalance (the lesson is, do not ever think you are cleverer than the little white pills.) But it doesn’t mean I like it. I just want to be able to get out of bed in the morning with regularity.
I am quite resigned to the fact that I am too soft for this world. I roll over on my back seeking belly rubs and am too often gifted with behaviour too rough for a soft kitty such as myself. I cry and whine and wonder out loud to anyone that will listen. I would like to understand. But life just goes on baffling me again and again, with its beauty and dullness in equal measures. I say dullness, because nothing is really bad per say. I've not yet come across anything in life that I have not been able to get past - with at least my vital organs intact. But repetition of such events tire me. There is no choice but to keep running, but sometimes I just want to stop and have time to fill up on the beauty before its all sucked out of me again.
All of these paragraphs started with "I." How painfully fucking self centred of me huh? Well its my journal, f off. That was not meant to come out pathetic as it all sounded. No matter I suppose.
And now, for some amusing photos of Pete Doherty and kittens - by Hedi Slimane. Amusing until you remember the episode of The Sopranos where Chris kills the puppy.
That is not to say that I am unhappy, this isn't true. But internally, it seems that I am constantly raging against those who promote the facade that everything is sweet. Can't we all be honest and admit that at least some of the time, life is a struggle? And no amount of love or money or sex or beauty changes that. I will admit that I am particularly good at painting my face with a smile in spite of what I may feel are dire circumstances. But once in a while I get a really desperate need to let it all go and be real. Sometimes shit is really hard. There are a lot of things that I wanted for my life that aren’t going to happen.
By no means am I suggesting that I have had an especially shitty life. I am not starving, I have safety and love and my friends make me laugh. But I think there is a fairly distinct possibility that the feeling I have right now is somewhat universal. Or perhaps it is just me and my broken head.
I am certainly coming to terms with the realities of brain chemistry imbalance (the lesson is, do not ever think you are cleverer than the little white pills.) But it doesn’t mean I like it. I just want to be able to get out of bed in the morning with regularity.
I am quite resigned to the fact that I am too soft for this world. I roll over on my back seeking belly rubs and am too often gifted with behaviour too rough for a soft kitty such as myself. I cry and whine and wonder out loud to anyone that will listen. I would like to understand. But life just goes on baffling me again and again, with its beauty and dullness in equal measures. I say dullness, because nothing is really bad per say. I've not yet come across anything in life that I have not been able to get past - with at least my vital organs intact. But repetition of such events tire me. There is no choice but to keep running, but sometimes I just want to stop and have time to fill up on the beauty before its all sucked out of me again.
All of these paragraphs started with "I." How painfully fucking self centred of me huh? Well its my journal, f off. That was not meant to come out pathetic as it all sounded. No matter I suppose.
And now, for some amusing photos of Pete Doherty and kittens - by Hedi Slimane. Amusing until you remember the episode of The Sopranos where Chris kills the puppy.