i’m trying to not care anymore.
but it’s a day by day process, and some are harder than others.
that's all.
hey i'm casey.
i don't know how to explain myself.
this page is the best i can do.
i don't know how to explain myself.
this page is the best i can do.
Sep 23
Jun 13
to do list
-stop undercutting every compliment anyone gives me
-tell my best friends how much they mean to me
-don’t feel so damn unpretty
-have fun at work!
-write in my gratitide journal every night. it really does help.
-forgive myself.
-love myself.
“ Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don’t regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don’t regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.
— Dorianne Laux (via jessicachu)
I don’t know where I’ve been lately. Physically I’ve been busy as heck; taking my exams and studying and working. It’s been exhausting. But mentally, I have absolutely no idea where I’ve been. I tried to explain it to a friend a couple of days ago. This is as best as i can explain it:
Right now the lump-in-the-throat pain floods me, steals my breath. It passes, yes, but leaves me deflated, feeling nothing but a weird vague restlessness that lingers.
“ I’m afraid of time… I mean, I’m afraid of not having enough time. Not enough time to understand people, how they really are, or to be understood myself. I’m afraid of the quick judgements or mistakes everybody makes. You can’t fix them without time. I’m afraid of seeing snapshots, not movies.
— Ann Brashare (via creampuff) (via jessicachu)
(via allposters)
Things that make you go hmmm
I am out of touch. I am so out of touch with this world of dating that I dont know how to take interactions between a man and myself anymore. I used to be able to read what a person was feeling, thinking, etc…or at least I thought I did. These days, I have no fucking clue. I have no clue what happened, what to expect, or what to look forward to. The mystery of life and love is so mysterious I find it hard to even fantasize anymore. I find myself at 30 years old just as confused with men as I was when I was 20. At least at 20 I had the drugs to blame for my lack of understanding. What’s my excuse today?
I remain in the dark. A dark so blinding that I cannott find which way is up or down. What used to be fun is suddenly mundane, expected, and uncomfortable. I miss the days of middle school when the boy you liked sent you a note, threw the dodgeball at you, or oh so terrified asked you to dance to some horrible tragic Mariah Carey song. Things were easy back when the worst you had to worry about was a french kiss. I miss my Mom’s minivan coming to pick me up from the school dance. I miss the sort of late night phone calls that consisted of telling the other person everything you’ve ever wanted to tell anyone. I miss the seeing the person near your locker and having your heart stop. I miss romance. I miss sweetness, and I miss the innocent and exciting feeling young love once bestowed upon us.
May 29
May 28
