June 2010
1 post
May 2010
1 post
“Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an...”
– Lemony Snicket (via napoleoncomplex) (via novemberspawnedamonster) (via metalshell) (via clairefisher)
March 2010
1 post
Ruth: Maybe it's for the best.
Nate: Or maybe it's not for the best. Maybe it just is and now I have to live with it.
February 2010
8 posts
“Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.”
– Franz Kafka, diaries [ thanks to lapetitebaobab, venus-as-a-boy ] (via samsaramotel) (via crashinglybeautiful)
“The fact is that all of us have only one personality, and we wring it out like a...”
– S. J. Perelman
sarahbelfort:
The gallows in my garden, people say, Is new and neat and adequately tall; I tie the noose on in a knowing way As one that knots his necktie for a ball; But just as all the neighbours on the wall Are drawing a long breath to shout “Hurray!” The strangest whim has seized me… After all I think I will not hang myself to-day.
— G.K. Chesterton, ‘A Ballade of Suicide’
Beginning to understand what was wrong with Abraham Lincoln.
Tiresome when one’s dreams are so easily interpreted.
“Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who...”
– Lemony Snicket (via devilduck)
“We’re all lonely for something we don’t know we’re lonely for.”
– David Foster Wallace (via shynessisnice and signa) (via samsaramotel)
November 2009
1 post
Thinking of the good old days when we had e. coli.
October 2009
10 posts
“Life is a very bad novelist. It is chaotic and ludicrous.”
– Javier Marías (via The Paris Review) (via sagittarian)
Sean Penn’s Dickensian Harvey Milk has worn out his welcome.
on the magic mountain and other hospitable places
It wouldn’t necessarily be that bad to go to prison, because at least we wouldn’t have to worry about daily life.
You’d havesomewhere to stay, they make you food, no bills; basically all you do is read and excercise.
Wikipedia's list of well known curmudgeons →
Meanwhile, I want to kill the soundtrack to Juno.
A gray day. Good reason for chicken soup and The Graveyard Book.
Illness has superseded hypochondria.
September 2009
13 posts
I can’t stand the rain. But I like the clouds.
A few years late
but Little Miss Sunshine is awful.
Bought a cruller to get me through the day. Tastes like nothing.
And in other news
This morning, the effervescent barista introduced himself. “We see each other every day,” Andrew tells me. “I want to say hello officially.”
“You’re always dressed in the most comfortable-looking clothes when you come in.”
This comment sends me into immediate spiral of self-defeat. To be clear, I do not wear tracksuits or pyjamas into the coffee shop.
Silver lining
Nothing like a health crisis to eject oneself from solipsism of daily worries.
Rose early enough to obtain elusive pumpkin scone. The downside to these numerous attempts for seasonal pastry is that I’ve come to be recognized by cafe waitstaff. It’s terribly shameful being a regular.
Another day, another morning without pumpkin scones.
Had to contend with back-to-school commute this morning. Would have rather stayed home and eaten scones.
