realising that we’re almost halfway through the year 2013 and i have literally achieved nothing
I guess that’s not really true, I’ve achieved some stuff. But dat sandwich iz 2 adorbs
My day in court’s going to be yet another vomit party. I couldn’t sleep yesterday either. I think it has something to do with all the coffee and tea I’ve been drinking, so I’m going back off it now, and hopefully also start eating right again.
My body’s not the happiest with me, for good reason.
When I say be creative, I don’t mean that you should all go and become great painters and great poets. I simply mean let your life be a painting, let your life be a poem. — Osho (via theglasschild)
(Source: larmoyante, via lovechildofvenus)
No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment. —
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
(Source: riddikulus6244217, via forever-without-you)
This wall art was called “speak no evil, but express yourself”. The NJC was pretty much the coolest place ever.
Couldn’t sleep all night. Not one second of sleep between 1am and 6.37am.
This day should be labelled “do not want”.
Also things are sucky and I’m going to complain, so, suck on that.
I don’t talk about my dad a lot, and that’s because my dad doesn’t talk a lot.
When I think of honour, and integrity, and the difference between right and wrong, I think of my dad. My dad is my conscience. Dad taught us (and continues to teach us) to be considerate, to always put family before anything else, never to cheat or take shortcuts to success.
Indeed my strongest and most moving memories of my dad are silent ones. I remember, clearly, him standing and staring at the sunrise from the window. We have a huge floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over the pool and he stood there with his cup of coffee just staring. I still don’t know what he was thinking. Maybe I’ll never know.
I also remember, clearly, when my grandfather died at the start of the year. Dad didn’t say anything. He just went up to the coffin and stared at it, and I could feel the grief and the tenderness of that grief all the way from the back of the room.
My dad is a man of few words. I am his daughter, and that means that I also have trouble saying things out loud. I remember when I first met Nick and we met a client who made me so angry I literally couldn’t say anything for a long time. I just fumed in complete silence while Nick kept saying ”talk to me, talk to me”. All kinds of people sing all kinds of praises for me being able to express myself in all kinds of languages, but in my heart of hearts, at the deepest of deep, there is something that stops me from saying things.
And in that way, I guess, I am daddy’s little girl.