Yes, I admit, I have ventured into the life of the living dead these past couple weeks. Masses of work have appeared out of nowhere. First, its presence was that of a fruit fly. If I kept waving it away, all was well, but it would inevitably come back to the sweet scent of my procrastination. Then, this fly transformed into a fucking monster. It creeped up behind me and just ate me in one bite, leaving me whimpering and passively fighting it with no use.
And now that I have crawled out of zombie territory (hopefully), here is a quote to enjoy. Not at all angsty like the excessive amount of egocentric teenage girls crowding around on tumblr (not that I have tumblr or anything…).
It’s something I need to remember. Fate is not a fact. Everything did not necessarily happen for a reason. I just sometimes like to think so, because more than anything that notion is comforting.
Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun – drenched Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely quotable.Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always shit.
You cannot romanticize hurt.
You will have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything will suck – and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way.And there is no divine consolation – only the knowledge that we will hopefully experience the full spectrum – and that sometimes, just sometimes, life will feel like a Coppola film.
And with that, I bid you adieu.
ps. whyamistilluphowamigoingtogetupdamnyouinternet (bonus points for understanding this)