Sometimes it just makes me feel so sad that people like me because it’s like ... what is there to like? And then I feel bad for tricking all of you, and then I feel even worse for when you all figure out that you’ve been tricked by a boring, talentless person
I’m sorry, I know this is me being post-surgery, end-of-year tired sad. I’m just tweeting into the void. I just don’t want to go through it anymore. Through implies another side, I guess, and I don’t know if there is another side to get to
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I don’t know if I will articulate this quite right, but sometimes I think we place so much thought in what future selves will think of us (“what will the history books say about 2020?”) and not much about past selves. I know, it sounds silly, but hear me out.
Imagine telling an ancestor about this year, about how much we were able to do to prevent and protect. There are anti-masker, anti-science villains, of course, but they’re the outliers; most of it would astonish them. So much of this year has been acts of love and sacrifice.
Sometimes I think that gets lost because the awful stuff makes for more compelling news. Of course it does! But people from historical pandemics would, I think, mostly be astonished at what the average person has been capable of doing thanks to technology, science, etc
9yo: why don’t we celebrate New Year’s on the winter solstice?
9yo: the days LITERALLY GET LONGER
Me: I don’t know, ask the ancient romans, they picked the kalends of January
9yo, philosophically: well I guess I’m going to have to learn Latin then
Guys don’t worry I’ve got him covered. There’s a Wheelock’s kicking around here somewhere too
I generously liberated this book from my high school’s book room even though I never actually took Latin in high school
Every night I tell myself “tomorrow will be better” but eventually I just ... run out of steam in believing that’s true. Anything could happen, I know. And yet this year has proven that those words are more curse than hope. I don’t know.
I know this is a silly hope to have, but I really wanted to just publish one really good thing before the end of the year. But none of the things will make it out. 2021 will be it.
Sometimes making it through the day as a very depressed person is like going down the monkey bars and it’s fine if I can only be busy and distracted but, come midnight, it’s really like the sensation of swinging through that momentum and reaching for the next bar and grabbing air
(I know, I know, no one wants to hear my midnight depresh thoughts, the worst most hackneyed etc)
Ain’t it just the horrible, formless December darkness closing in and in and in until you can’t breathe
I believe in ghosts because I cohabitated with some kind of supernatural entity back when I was 19 and even though I know it is absolutely not in line with science at all, it was still extremely real. A story!
Back in the early aughts, I lived a flat on Pepperell St in Halifax with two friends, near the bread factory and around the corner from Freeman’s. You could still smoke indoors back then and we would stay up all night studying at Freeman’s, chain smoking and drinking black coffee
We had the upstairs of an old two-storey house, built sometime pre-WWI. It was close enough to the university that there were lots of students around, but far enough that some of the surrounding houses were family situations. I had a female roommate (K) and a male roommate (I)