No matter how I go, I want it reported that I drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra.
Carrie Fisher
Wishful Drinking
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An Inconvenient Attachment
I think I love you. And I truly have no idea what to do with that information. So, I decided I can never tell you. I can never tell you that the smell of Blueberry Ambrosia reminds me of you. That sometimes I read our old texts whenever I search up a random word and our texts come up and cry. But I think I love the version of you I knew in December. The version of you I would stay up until 7am facetiming. The version of you I wanted to tell every intrusive thought and random little achievement to. But I haven’t seen that version in a while. I really tried to find that one throughout the semester. I gave you chance after chance, I defended you to my friends and my mom. And you did absolutely nothing wrong – you just didn’t like me the way I liked you, and that’s okay. Everyone says there is always one person you never really let go of, and I think for me that is going to be you. That sounds really gross and cheesy, but sitting here 6 months after we talked, not fully over the damage you did to me, I’m finding it to be pretty fucking true. I miss you. I miss talking to you, arguing with you about the randomest things, and listening to you complain about the MCAT. And I hope that sometime in the future it will work out, but I’m not holding my breath. Because in the end I’m the only one left unable to breathe. And that hurts more than you’d ever be able to understand. I want you to want me the way I want you, but I really don’t see that happening. I realized all the shit you did wouldn’t have hurt me – I wouldn’t have care – if I didn’t care about you. Because despite everything, I do care about you. You always said you wanted to be with someone you considered a best friend first. I think I almost considered you one of mine. But things like that aren’t always reciprocated, and sometimes that’s life. I hope your happy, even if it isn’t with me.
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I just want someone to do things with that wants to do things with me. I want to carve pumpkins on a floor covered with newspapers. I want to hold hands and go to the pumpkin patch and ride the train, drink hard apple cider while we go on the hayrack ride, and pick fresh apples from the orchard. I want to hold their hand as I lead them through the cheaply made PG-13 haunted houses. I want to make smores over a bonfire with them and cuddle up to them when the wind blows. I want to get matching Halloween costumes and take silly pictures together. I just dont understand why everyone but me gets to have this kind of thing fall right into their lap.
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“If my life wasn’t funny, it would just be true and that is unacceptable. What that really means, other than what it sounds like, is lets say something happens and from a certain slant maybe it's tragic, even a little bit shocking. Then time passes and you go to the funny slant, and now that very same thing can no longer do you any harm. So what we’re really talking about then is: location, location, location.” - Carrie Fisher, Wishful Drinking
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A Guy Walks Into an All-You-Can-Eat Fusion Restaurant...
Owner: Welcome, konnichiwa, benvenuto, and all that. Feel free to sample anything on our menu at the various food stations.
Guy: I'm craving some Tex-Mex today. Have you got any of that cuisine?
Owner: Of course. Please follow me to our "Taco-Changa" bar where you can build your own meal with a complimentary margarita.
Guy: Wow that sounds terrific!
Owner: Yes. We call it, the "Chimi Buffett."
Guy: ... *makes a beeline for the door*
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a different sort of real
i told my psychologist recently that my dsm-worthy tendency toward derealization is actually a very handy skill. sure, it's not the among the more healthy of skills but it does allow me, when i manage to conjure it forth, to protect myself in hostile environments, which also happens to be nearly all the time.
i remember walking down the hallway of my grade school while everyone else was in class. i must have been returning from the principal's office for either commendation or condemnation. i could swing wildly either way. as i walked down the hall, i became conscious of myself in the hall. it was me, walking. on this floor. between these walls. in this school. it was surreal to me. i hadn't ever realized that i was actually part of the reality that i was experiencing. there has always been some kind of distance between me and reality. the momentary "real-ization" was both shocking and fascinating to me.
and then, just as quickly as i became real, i unrealized myself.
the memory of that moment has stuck with me lo these many years, but reality? well reality proved to be much more elusive.
i both knew and didn't know that my so-called reality was different from pretty much everyone around me. they all got it. why couldn't i? and so i had to live two different lives. one in my solitary reality, and the other in "normal" reality.
and so i get when you say that your life was a bit surreal. yeah, i know you were talking about your life as a celebrity. but from your other writings, it seems that your adventures in mental health also had a surreal affect on you. in any case, that is, in my own version of reality, i like to think that this assumption is accurate. wishful thinking, perhaps, but i do take comfort in finding a bit of myself in you even if it's only in my imagination.
imagination is the realest thing i have.
so as i'm listening to you read from your book Wishful Drinking, i'm less listening and more writing my life along with you. i don't pretend to know you or have your gift of writing, but like you i do have a psychological acuity that won't quit. it lights up almost constantly when i am reading or listening to your writing. hence this humble tumblr blog, a notebook of sorts to let my thoughts tumble forth recklessly and at will.
"I understood that my life was unusual", you write, "a different sort of real".
It was the only reality I knew, but compared to other folks ... it eventually struck me as a little surreal, too. And eventually, too, I understood that my version of reality had a tendency to set me apart from others. (5)
at 51 years of age, i am nearly ready to accept that my version of reality will never align with actual reality. i think we now have a mutual respect for one another and for the distance we keep.
it was indeed wishful thinking -- on my part and on the part of others around me who didn't get me -- to believe that i could overcome the wildly tattered mess that constituted my reality and finally become velveteen real.
as it turns out, a wildly tattered mess of a life suits me. being unhinged is everyday life for me. i rather like it. it is both freeing and surprisingly verdant. i regret not owning this life sooner, and yet, to have done so would not be who i am.
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something about "the picket line against multi-billion dollar corporations refusing to pay all the people who make them money is ending early today because once again the earth is too hot for us to safely be outside (thanks in part to the private jets those same corporations use to go on their million dollar vacations)" makes me want to personally chew david zaslav's face off, actually
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