Someone Hire Me in 3 Years Please

Hey God,

Thanks for the gift.

If you can be happy, then stop stressing about whether you could be happier.

House Hunters: The Tired, Poor Grad Student Version

I'm a 22-year-old graduate student. I'd love a spacious room with lots of sunlight and a large closet, an open eat-in kitchen, a cozy living room and clean bathroom, in-building laundry and bike storage within a 10-15 minute walk to the Red Line. My budget is $1100. Hit me up.

How did we end up like this?

Looking for a little white house...

The housing struggle is real. These spreadsheet skills are coming in handy though! Praying for good roommates, a cozy room, a convenient location, and on an affordable budget!

Happy March!

It's all just very tiring, you know?

Soured

When I was little - littler, honestly - I used to - well, I still do - hold on to treats longer than I should. I used to save chocolate til it frosted over with that white flaky powder old chocolate gets. I would save cotton candy until it inevitably absorbed water from the air and turned into a hard semi-chewy ball of sugar. Fruit would get mushy, bread would go dry, the filling of egg tarts would slowly pull away from the flaky crust. Even now, I saved the chocolate-covered strawberries I loved so much until the berries pulled from the coating and dripped juice when I bit into them.

I wanted things to last. I wanted good things to last. But I wanted them to last so badly, they soured in my hands.

It was only recently I realized I do the same with memories. Late nights, car rides, time spent... Replayed so many times and loved so hard that once the opportunity came back to have them... Somehow they weren't the same. Not sour, really, but not sweet. Not right. Not what they should be. Because the passage of time had, like so many other things, slowly warped and morphed and changed these into something different. Something not right. Something not what it should be. And so the sense of loss pervades, because in being afraid of loss, I lost what little I had to keep.

And so what do you do? You let go.

How do you measure, measure a year? What about half of one? What about something that was supposed to be half of one?

Goodbye

And so she chokes back sobs and self medicates with stories and tea and longings for the past, or a future that will never be.

I like to, I try to, collect beautiful things... Surround myself in their glow. But that's the thing about love - it cannot be contained.

A Fool's Choice

And what now, now that the world seems so terrifying and forbidding? Now that all motivation has been lost? What did you expect? What did you want? Why do you keep pushing yourself down into the dirt with the inability to just do? 

Who did you think you were?