Took a couple shots right outside our house. Quite a lot of light coming in from everywhere because this was in a suburb and we had most of our house lights on. Photos like these are supposed to be taken somewhere far far away from civilisation, I kind of like how these turned out, though. Could be because I’m still a beginner and that the more experienced I get with photography the narrower the range of photos I like will get. But for now, I like this and hope you (kind of) like this, too. Anyway, I hope everyone’s having a fantastic holiday season so far!
I’m not okay and I’m at that point where I’ve kept whatever negative thoughts I’ve had these past couple of months and just shoved it all at the back of my mind. I don’t know when I’m going to just blow up again. But for now, all I can say is I feel so numb and at the same time know that something’s not right. Writing it down here may seem like I’m attention-seeking or whatever you want to call it but I feel like writing it in a medium that is more permanent and open like a blog is better than the the more private pages of a journal where I know for sure I would never read through again.
Dancing Elephants by Heinrich Kley
What nobody tells you as an artist is that every project starts at the beginning. Not just the blank page, the empty stage, but that you have to re-establish your credentials and your quality every time. You can coast on reputation a little, but it doesn’t last long if you don’t deliver.
What nobody tells you is that praise—a standing ovation, a good review, your teacher’s approval—makes you feel good for a day, but one line of internet criticism from a stranger reverberates in your skull forever.
Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.
(I tried to feel bad when that critic killed himself the next year, but I didn’t.)
What nobody tells your boyfriend is that writing 3000 words in a calm, soothing, supportive environment still leaves you too tired to call home at the end of the day. So does…
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One lovely afternoon, I began chatting to my grandpa. I was completely unaware he was about to say something that would change my view of happiness forever.
In the middle of our conversation, I felt a lull so I pulled out the classic question. “If you could have dinner with one person, living or dead, who would it be?” I couldn’t wait to talk about my long list of dead presidents, dead Beatles, dead scientists, and a really cute living movie star. But I was also really eager to hear what he’d say.
Then he simply answered, “My wife.”
I immediately assured him it’s not necessary for him to answer like that. We all knew he loves his wife, whom he eats dinner with every night and was currently over in the other room…
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