when the "i always thought i could be a good dancer* if i wanted to be" hits 😭😭😭
*be in a loving committed relationship and build a home together
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Vladimir: Did you ever read the Bible?
Estragon: The Bible... [He reflects.] I must have taken a look at it.
Vladimir: Do you remember the Gospels?
Estragon: I remember the maps of the Holy Land. Coloured they were. Very pretty. The Dead Sea was pale blue. The very look of it made me thirsty. There's where we'll go, I used to say, there's where we'll go for our honeymoon. We'll swim. We'll be happy.
Vladimir: You should have been a poet.
Estragon: I was. [Gesture towards his rags.] Isn't that obvious.
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Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot (1955)
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thinking about this stuff just made me feel so damn old (and I'm only 32). like, when I was a teenager I couldn't just look at high quality pictures and especially not videos of any celebrity I liked. if it was music related and I was lucky (whoever it was happened to be popular enough in Germany), I might have seen a music video (and recorded it on VHS so I could watch it again). if it was an actor I could buy DVDs, at least (but that's not that easy if you're poor, and you also had to get somewhere where you could buy them in the first place).
the internet still kinda feels magical when I compare it to that.
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This is just going to be me being sad and venting about my day struggling with the fiberglass dust so feel free to scroll by, I won't judge.
I've spent hours trying to vacuum up the fiberglass dust and I feel like I've barely made a dent. I'm throwing out a lot, and a lot of it I could handle, like my old comfy recliner that probably wasn't going to fit the room all that well, or my little fabric end tables.
But some, like the little paper and fur lion puppet my mom got for me when she visited China, were far too fragile to clean with a vaccuum or lint roller or damp rags. Worse, things like that are irreplacable. My mom's retired now; she doesn't travel for business anymore, so there's no getting another puppet with that kind of meaning. That's the kind of stuff I cried over while throwing away.
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