it’s been 2096 days since i joined and nah i still won’t support you by going premium

been really emotional this week. i know when the weekend comes it’ll be
time to dive into the three papers i’ve been assigned and hope they’ll be
enough of a distraction for me to get past this odd phase. i think i’ve
found another part of self-control though, which is that when i have a bad
day, all that’s needed is a warm drink and early bedtime. perhaps because
nothing that bad has ever happened to me, but none of my bad feelings
(which are usually self-loathing because i’ve never gotten mad at anyone
as much as myself) have survived a night’s sleep. now i know to always
suspend those bad feelings for a few hours and wait for them to lose
potency.
i keep thinking about david foster wallace’s recent suicide for some
reason because it’s such a cliche. it would’ve had a bigger impact if he
was more than an author i’d always meant to read but never got around to.
i dont have enough time to start infinite jest but i checked out brief
interviews with hideous men and good god this book is a minefield of
mental illnesses. i imagine his sales will go up posthumous and people
everywhere will be like, it’s so obvious he would commit suicide no one
who wrote like this would ever die from natural causes. i know i’m not the
only one who totally relates to some of the stuff either, or have close
ones who have. and i’m convinced it’s not because i’m depressed, it just
always seems to take someone super sensitive (usually unwell) and with a
crapload of time on their hands to notice and record it and then for
everyone to relate. not just a crapload of time but also to care enough
about having other people read it and sympathize to go through the trouble
of writing it instead of getting a real job. you have to crave the
understanding and admiration of strangers so much that you’re willing to
sacrifice a normal life(?) for the chance that someone you’ll never meet
will come across a sentence you wrote one day in history and understand
exactly what you felt eons ago when you were alive and then, most likely
forget about it a few hours later, days if you’re lucky, in search of the
next author. anyway, i think brief interviews is really self-conscious,
egotistical, and crude in too many parts where i would’ve preferred
subtlety but i can’t stop thinking about it or making excuses for why it’s
an awesome book.

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