Living
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I just read through a super-important document I’d written late last year, and man was it terribly written. Jeez. Way too emotionally invested, which hurt the message and the quality. I don’t know if I could’ve helped it at the time.
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Sitting in a cafe. Dancing Queen comes on. Five tables around me are singing it. I love today.
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Whenever I shave, I keep nicking myself because of my super sharp jawline and my preference for old-school tools. Am I shifting my shoulders to the left, and then back to the right while looking coy suffering from success?
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I lack a good word for this, so we’ll say it pisses me off that the time to learn how to live overlaps with actually living. This is bad design. I need to make enough mistakes to know what I want and what I need and what I value, and pass an exam on those so my brain is like a cache for my heart, and only then should I be allowed to live.
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I’ve been ending a lot more of my sentences with “I don’t care” lately. It’s relaxing. It’s had the same effect that turning on read receipts had for me: open loops close quickly and don’t turn into a headache, and that makes me feel nicer about the people in my phone (who are obviously not the same people I meet in real life, but somehow have the same names and everything).
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I think I should grow a moustache.
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Thinking of a “reminders” list where I basically just write down little phrases I come across that remind me of someone or someplace. I suppose I like making lists.
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Put a bookshelf together! Everyone pat me on the back.
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I miss having a Bluetooth speaker.
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It’s snowing outside, and I mean, I can see tires digging into snow now. This is really pretty, and kind of terrifying because I haven’t bothered to get snow boots yet. Gulp.
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Talking to a friend and realizing that there’s likely a finite amount of time left before we can no longer have this kind of conversation with each other.
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Got an email from the local library asking me to return the book I’d borrowed. It was an okay book; I just like being part of a library. Don’t get me wrong, Blossoms in Bangalore is good and Champaca is beautiful (these are not the same thing; going to Champaca is the gold standard of performative reading, but you do need that sometimes), but bookstores in general cannot compare with a real, proper, massive, organized, stone-building-with-computers-on-every-floor library.
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Don’t really feel like going out today. Will probably stay in and just do some fall cleaning (is that a thing?).