"I don’t know why. I just do."
"Oh, he’s smart, funny, beautiful, nice…"
"We just get along really well."
So, it’s a positive reinforcement thing? We enjoy our time with someone and thus we want to keep seeing them to experience the positive emotions and chemicals that we feel? Is that love? It’s like an addiction, right? Like cigarettes. So, we love cigarettes, too. But sometimes people give up cigarettes for the people that they love. I guess you can get more out of a person than you can a cigarette.
You make me feel good, therefore I’m going to make you feel good so you can keep making me feel good.
It all seems a little bit silly to me.
Eating straight from the pan. #studentlyf
I too can command the wind, sir! I have a hurricane in me that will strip Spain bare if you dare to try me!
—Elizabeth: The Golden Age, 2007
When I was younger, I saw 20-somethings sitting at coffee shops and thought they must be so happy now that they’re older and have their lives together. Now I’m the 20-something and I see that life doesn’t slow down and fall into place just because you’re old enough. Being older just means that you have to make time to stop and enjoy that coffee.
In tennis “love” means “nothing”, “nil”, “zero”.
1. Be retarded enough to want to write one.
2. Create some totally non-cliched sassy, introverted, self-important protagonist who plans on spending Christmas alone.
3. Write a passage of voice over starting with “It’s the most wonderful time of the year…”
4. Create a best friend who convinces her to join his family for Christmas.
5. Decide that she’s going to meet someone interesting and discover some things about herself throughout the course of the night.
5. Start playing classical music including Nocturnes, Symphony No. 40 and the Swan Lake Suite.
7. Let the cheese flow through you and into your celtx document.
8. Drink lots of red wine.
9. Hate yourself.
is killing my creativity.
Plucking out each unfertilized egg like the wobbly teeth of young children from their pink-fleshed gums.
Putting them in my mouth one by one;
caressing them with the fingers of my teeth as I hold my breath,
finally clenching the fist hard enough to burst the fragile skin and expose the vermillion flesh.
The blood drips through the crevices and seeps down onto my tongue producing a taste both sweet and sour.
A taste worth red hands and every minute of the hour.