I regret something I didn’t do. I didn’t do it for the right reasons. This is why I have this urge to do something for the wrong reasons. Just once. Would you rather regret having done something or not doing it? – Of course. Isn’t it obvious?
Sometimes when I look at his pictures and see how happy he is, I touch my forehead and wish I could rewind. It doesn’t mean that I’m not happy for him now. But he and I could have been happy, too, maybe… Well, for at least a year or so? Sure. Why not? My regrets are primarily based on things that I didn’t do. The chances were there, but I wasn’t. I remained faithful to a lunatic.
We are five women at work. It’s tough. I never usually go to Christmas parties, but it would have been suspicious if I hadn’t gone since we were only five people. Two of them are married, one’s engaged, and the others are taken. They had nothing to talk about except their “men.” No, I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t want to be part of their lives; I didn’t want to know anything about them. Those are people living lives I don’t ever want to live. (Watching Desperate Housewives is totally enough for me!) I can’t talk to taken women. This isn’t good. Why did they tell me about their sons? Now I find out I went to school with one of them! It has nothing to do with their ages because one is 19 (the youngest of all my work colleagues). She always told everyone about her boyfriend, and everyone was listening, even though she talks like a waterfall. Okay, maybe it has something to do with age, but it’s primarily my inability to adapt. If I know I don’t fit in; I don’t fit in – I wouldn’t even try.
For God’s sake…when I say I’m pro-choice, it has nothing to do with being pro-abortion. Just because the US people have come up with this term doesn’t mean it has one set meaning.
Do you know what pisses me off? – That I’m so fucking slow. Me of all people. I’m known to be the most hectic person: fast at making burgers, fast at the till, fast at unloading delivery pallets–just fast at getting everything done. And for some reason, I’m still not fast enough. I’m not advancing spiritually.
What is life like in slow motion?
I remember what it was like when I was eight. The lunch breaks and recess at school used to last for hours, even though they were only twenty minutes at a time (after each second lesson). I thought childhood would last forever. It would have been a good reason to kill myself back then if I had known what suicide was.
I probably would have if I hadn’t encountered the magic of writing stories, passing on my feelings to fictional characters and then making friends with them. If that sounds scary to you, you have no idea how difficult it is to make friends with yourself. You are your best friend, and if you neglect yourself, you’ll have to make it up to yourself. I’m angry with myself because I have no time for myself.
The master of horror writing says that if you want to become a good writer, you need to read and write for over four hours a day. What the fuck am I going to do?
The ashes of 2009 started to fall from the sky last week like snowflakes. First, they melted, and now they’re sticking to the ground. Walk on them, and they will remain under your shoes. Take the ashes home, and they will turn into dirty water.
Wipe it off.
Are you happier now?
