After actively resisting for years, I signed up for Twitter, and I’m already overwhelmed / overthinking / drowning in inadequacy, and I’ve already accidentally tweeted MYSELF. What do I tweet that’s different from what I blog? Should I tweet at other people, retweet their tweets? AM I TRENDING YET?
I’m re-writing the frantic and hilariously depressing movie I wrote about my breakup, in the hopes of gradually moving on and also making hundreds of millions of dollars and literally using heartbreak to pay off student loans.
To get in the right headspace, I’m torturing myself by listening to this song by the Weepies over and over, and no, the irony is not lost on me. The Weepies’re especially torturous and nostalgic, as the night of my SECOND I’m leaving you and moving to LA party, he played a song of theirs in our favorite dirty bar at something insane like 3 AM and we danced to it, and it was lovely.
Lovely Sad song: meet sad movie. You’ll do nice over the credits.
Can’t go back Now
Yesterday, when you were young,
Everything you needed done was done for you.
Now you do it on your own
But you find you’re all alone,
What can you do?
You and me walk on
Cause you can’t go back now.
You know there will be days when you’re so tired that you can’t take another step.
The night will have no stars and you’ll think you’ve gone as far as you will ever get.
But you and me walk on
Cause you can’t go back now
And yeah, yeah, go where you want to go
Be what you want to be,
If you ever turn around, you’ll see me.
I can’t really say why everybody wishes they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself
And you and me walk on
Yeah you and me walk on
Cause you can’t go back now
Walk on, walk on, walk on
You can’t go back now
In an epic / noble / whitepeopleproblems quest for wall art, I recalled the artist I stumbled across a few years back when google image searching Cutie and Bear. PS, if there were a job that was Google Image searching, I should have that job, as I do as as if it were. That is probably actually someone’s real job. Mark Ryden’s paintings are beautiful, funny, odd, haunting, and 90% guaranteed to make you feel like you’re on shrooms, while also inside of a nightmare, while also in the Toys R Us in Time’s Square. I love them, but fear that if I hung one on my wall, I would wake up to a large headed baby simultaneously murdering me and eating a balloon.
Had I an inheritance, I’d blow it all on records. But none over 5 bucks / all awesome / each provide a different soundtrack to the independent movie in which I am the protagonist and I never leave my apartment.
Bring your own sensible lunch to work! Naturally, for the rest of the week, indulge in 17 dollar salads, but for this day, you are basically the best person, like on the entire planet.
I have a little outdoor cabana and I can plate cheese and have coworkers over for intelligent and non-intelligent conversation. I have arrived (?) (!)
That time you write a movie about your break up and then don’t read it or look at it for two months and then think, I should probably look at that and fix that, so it can be a thing that can be used as a sample of sorts and perhaps bring great opportunity so that it will all have been worth it, but you’re scared to read it because who knows what’s in there, so you print it out and lay it on the table and just kind of look at it, but not read it at all.
You can make your own PIZZA DOUGH and then also PIZZA? All you need is a pizza stone, pizza stuff, an oven, optimism, and a 20 minute conference call with Jason Barbee so he can explain his crust recipe to you with loving detail. Steps:
1. Put the yeast in the stuff and watch it do some stuff.
2. Add the flour and stuff. Then, let is rise, which, if you listened to Jason, it will.
3. Punch it and toss it around and make a stupid and terrified face while doing so.
4. Put some stuff on it.
5. Bake it.
6. Eat way too much to all of it.
7. Dream of teddy bears with knives.
8. Wake up confused.
9. Eat the rest for lunch.