its 130 and i am giving up on this essay. uni is a lot harder than high school but when they tell you that you don’t believe them. there’s a bunch of kids that come into my work every saturday and muck up ralph lauren t-shirts and i wanna tell them you think you are pretty cool because you shop lift but really you’ve just got this big hole in your chest and you want your friends to think you are cool. i know they won’t listen because i never listened. i have to stop myself from getting angry at strangers - particularly the robot at the woolworths self-serve check out. some days i will spend the entire day stuck in my own head and by nightfall i am so angry at everything and everyone. my room mate said the same thing, we have no explanation. i am in a paradox of wanting to be friends with everyone and hating everyone for relying on me. another thing that i have little explanation for is the fact that i cannot look at photos from last year. for every year that i experience, the following year i feel superior, smarter, more experienced. looking back now on myself a year ago i think you were a fucking idiot. but i am the same person. i am a nostalgic sap so i will attach sadness to anything from my past. i can’t even think about my dogs anymore. it makes no sense really as i am a happy person. perhaps it is just pessimism attached to the sudden weight of reality. today i was informally offered my first job at a magazine. inside my head i am truly excited but i think if these thoughts manifest into anything verbal i may ruin my chances of making something of this. some weird karma thing. tonight i was walking home with groceries through tin alley when i bumped into lawrence and charlie. we went to rathdowne street and got shitty pizza. charlie threw artichokes on the road and i paid for the taxi home, “thanks hol, i’ll shout you a coffee this week”, he says. everyone calls me hol here even though i never asked them to.

"Our hearts beat so loud the neighbours think
we’re fucking
when I’m just trying to find the nerve to touch
your face."

— Andrea Gibson, Pansies (via nakedandreckless)

"I write because it is while I’m writing that I feel most connected to why we’re here. I write because silence is a heavy weight to carry. I write to remember. I write to heal. I write to let the air in. I write as a practice of listening."

— Andrea Gibson (via teenagedeathboys)

Charlie and I having an argument