And You Didn't Ask Why

You wake with your face sticky with sweat and you shiver in the chill of the morning. You roll yourself out of bed and you pull on a sweater and you pull the hood over your forehead. And you stumble down the hall to the kitchen to make yourself breakfast. And your feet on the cold kitchen tile make you shiver in the chill of the morning. The blue light of the morning crawls through the window which faces an alley off a street you've never been to. Right behind your own home there are places you've never been to. And the building on the other side casts shadows all day long. There are squirrels eating through the plastic garbage bags on your balcony and there is a cat in the kitchen with his face pressed to the window and you eat instant oatmeal in the middle of the kitchen watching it all. And you shiver. And you shiver. And you shiver. And you know no profound things.

Things I Care About Having On My iPhone

Recently, my iPhone 3G broke. It was my second cellphone ever. I'd had it for over 3 years meaning that my contract had already expired and I'd been paying month by month.

I went to the Apple store and the guy told me that I could get the iPhone 4S for $0 if I signed a contract (the other option was to get a replacement 3GS for a fee (which was more than $100 but less than $700) but no contract). Actually he strongly suggested I get the iPhone 4. So I could, you know, take advantage of all the new technology. I said I'd had the iPhone 3G for over 3 years - do you really think I care about new Apple technology?

Basically all I want is all the basic things the majority of phones have nowadays, with a wifi connection. Why do I bother getting an iPhone then? One: I like the size and shape. Two: phone + ipod combined.

Things I care about having on my phone:

+ ability to make phone calls
+ text messaging
+ the weather network app
+ ipod
+ email app + wifi
+ calendar + alarm
+ calculator

Bonus:

+ facebook app
+ maps
+ camera
+ instagram app which I actually rarely use
+ safari

I Don't Care

I don't want to write anymore.

No, sorry, I mean, I don't care about writing. I don't give a shit if my poem is "good". I don't give a shit about the standards of "good". I don't give a shit if anybody reads my poems and thinks they're "good" or "bad" or "meh" and I don't give a shit if I subjectively think my poems are "meh" because they are "meh" and I've decided not to give a shit.

I don't care about writing. I don't care about research papers and academic articles and databases and paper outlines and meetings with the TA.

I
don't
give
a
fuck
.

I don't give a fuck.
I don't give a shit.
I don't fucking care.

Here's a degree at the expense of your mental health and desire to do anything with your life.

I want to go to sleep.

The moment when "Infinite Jest" finally began to make sense to me

"No one single instant of it was unendurable. Here was a second right here: he endured it. What was undealable-with was the thought of all the instances all lined up and stretching ahead, glittering. [...] He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What's unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. What his head could report to him, looking over and ahead and reporting. But he could choose not to listen; he could treat his head like G. Day or R. Lenz: clueless noise. He hadn't quite gotten this before now, how it wasn't just the matter of riding out the cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed."

- David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

don't ask if it even matters because both possible answers are equally horrifying and i know that you don't know what to do so either kill yourself or get through it and live better somehow

after all, is this life? up and down and your stomach bare naked on the floor. if only i could be a better human being, then i'd be a better human being. and if i were somebody else, then i'd be somebody else. you know, like, whatever. whatever whatever whatever. every second that i sit here, and, well, who cares? if it makes sense or not?

every time you hit your head against the wall, say sorry to the wall. do this in a repeating motion, sitting on a chair, in the same spot, until the egg cracks and the yolk runs.