I’m not as happy as I look in this photo.
I’ve been diagnosed Bipolar II. Decided to see a professional after a depressive “episode” that lasted for months (probably had something to do with Blur.) For some reason, it doesn’t feel right. I can’t put it into words. This may just have something to do with having been proven wrong about the assumptions I’ve had all these years being tossed to the curb. I take the meds anyway.
There’s a guy I like. Works at this restaurant I recently discovered and has since fallen in love with (the place, not the guy.) He reminds me of Bucky Barnes, for some reason. He does the whole eye-fucking thing with me. I may be a little bit obsessed with him; I’ve been trying to find out what his name is for weeks. But I skip out on the place for a month and the next thing I know, he’s got a band around his left ring finger. Fuck me, right?
Then there’s also this guy I sort of like. Not really, but he’s a cool guy and we click. Anyway, he likes my friend. Surprise?
I have a credit card now and will be handling the family’s bills.
Been going out and seeing movies with friends.
I went on Tinder again. This time I actually got to talk to some people. There’s this one guy who likes memes and has a lot of ink. I like him but he can’t hold a decent conversation–always turns it into weird “edgy” one-liners. He’s the only person I actually go back to Tinder for, but my app’s been fucked up for a while, so I don’t know.
I’m still unemployed. I’ve taken up baking to pass the time. I don’t know what to do with my life, still. But I’m moving, little by little.
Believe me, I am still alive
How strange. This intro to a Mexican telenovela just started playing in my head last night. I have a vague memory of having watched the show in the afternoons when I was around 4 or 5, but aside from that I don’t remember any episode from the show, or what it was about. The show’s title, El Diario de Daniela, has floated around in my head for most of my life, without really being attached to anything. I finally decided to look it up, and was somewhat surprised to find that all these years I had been humming the melody correctly—note for note—in my head, right from 00:30. It’s strange, because I don’t really think about it, I don’t actually remember anything about it, and yet I’ve never forgotten it. And last night this intro just began playing in my head, snippets of its tune mixing in with Blur, Beach Boys, and the Swiss Army Man soundtrack. I wonder if it’s trying to tell me something. Maybe my mind is so hung up on the present and future that it’s decided to introduce some positive/neutral feeling of nostalgia for the past, if only to ground me.
Odd. Last night, too, I remember being hit by a vivid memory of this very particular scent. It was the smell of lotion from a brand called Bambini. They used to hand out samples of the stuff during school fairs back in 4th grade. I remember the smell flooding the classroom as girls ripped open their packets, eager to try them out; sweet and cloying, the kind of fruity smell that would give you headaches after a while. There wasn’t an image in my head, but the memory of the smell was very realistic. I almost thought someone in the house had bought a bottle of the lotion and was using it in the middle of the night.
I’m being haunted by insignificant sensations from my youth.
1. Go on the internet, read random articles about movies and music and what have you
2. Find an interesting-looking movie that you know nothing about
3. Read about the hype, if any. If none, read the barest minimum of plot summaries, production notes and cast interviews. Do NOT watch trailers
4. Forget about it for a few months
5. See its title written on some scratch paper you kept in your wallet
6. Download it for shits and giggles
8. Get absolutely wrecked by it, and cry about it, rave about its artistic merits, and recommend it to people even though you know they won’t watch it because they know you’ve got a thing for weird stuff
9. Do intensive research on the movie, its director/s and writers and cinematographers, its cast, and its soundtrack
10. Zoom in on a character/actor
11. Obsessively do some career-spanning research involving Google, uTorrent and YouTube (and in some cases, Spotify); for rarer items, risk giving your device AIDS by perusing the occasional Russian website
12. Watch all their material you could get your hands on, and start expanding your research into whatever is the subject matter of their movie/s
13. Begin learning about mental illnesses of musicians from the 60s, pedophiles and “grooming”, American Lo-Fi, Russia in the 19th century, Wall Of Sound, etc
14. Have your life taken over, have no one to talk to about it, and cry
17. Repeat steps 8 through 16
18. Finally get so emotionally worn out by it by the 10th runthrough that you decide to stop watching it
19. Don’t watch or listen to anything new for a while, avoid attachments
20. Get bored about not being emotionally moved by anything
Made this post because I am currently caught in the gentling slope of a Blur addiction and the rapid downward spiral of a Swiss Army Man and Paul Dano bender, and thought to chronicle the various steps of my media addictions.
Hey look, I made a thing.
I haven’t made a thing in a while. This came about while I was having a liedown on the couch this afternoon. I got bored of TV, and it started raining hard af, so I had nothing else to do. I fiddled with app after app on my phone until I pulled up Skechbook Express. Hours later, this happened.
Rather proud of how this came out. It’s not very.. artsy or anything, but I like it. Pat on the back for me. More of these to come, probably, since I’ve got a lot more time on my hands now that I’m jobless(!). Wonder what I should do next..
You opened a can of worms, my friend. You probably didn’t mean for that to happen, but it did. I can feel you inching farther and farther away from me, further proof of how guilty you’re probably feeling about everything. The way you acted that one night changed the way we would be for the rest of our days.. And I’m willing to bet every cent I have to my name that you know full well what happened—hell, you can probably pinpoint the exact moment you fucked things up. Know how I know? ‘Cause I can, too. I did. I knew it was happening. I saw it right before my eyes. I didn’t think to stop it, though. Probably because I thought you knew what you were doing.
No, scratch that—I hoped you knew what you were doing. I prayed that you were awake and aware of the way you set the drapes of my mind on fire, aware of the way the flames shone through the windows of my eyes. I pleaded with all of my heart: please tell me he’s doing this on purpose.
But you weren’t. No one ever claims to be when they’re drunk.
No plans, just feelings
My lungs know more about me than I do.