Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas & Simon vs. The Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli. I’m loving both and hope to finish at least Crown of Midnight today. (Team Chaol!!)
It’s been hard keeping up on my blog since I started my new job. I just need to make the time to write.
Florence & The Machine’s song: Ship to Wreck
Also, One Direction’s Night Changes.
I am currently rewatching Poldark.
If this kiss doesn’t spark your interest in Poldark, then I have nothing to say.
I can honestly say that I am thinking of nothing in particular.
Coffee, that I’m drinking.
For a new wardrobe.
Pajamas, it’s Sunday aka the day of lounging in one’s p.j.’s.
#Lovewins, Cheap Pizza (Little Caesar’s) & peanut butter toast!
For my first check from my new job! I need some cash.
I’ve been watching a bunch of vlogger vacations on YouTube. Basically, it’s making me want to travel!
“Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair. But the painting has also taught me that we can speak to each other across time. And I feel I have something very serious and urgent to say to you, my non-existent reader, and I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you. That life—whatever else it is—is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time—so too has love. Insofar as it is immortal (and it is) I have a small, bright, immutable part in that immortality. It exists; and it keeps on existing. And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next.”
The Goldfinch (1654) by Carel Fabritius
“When I looked at the painting I felt the same convergence on a single point: a glancing sun-struck instance that existed now and forever. Only occasionally did I notice the chain on the finch’s ankle, or think what a cruel life for a little living creature–fluttering briefly, forced always to land in the same hopeless place.”
I’m currently obsessed with the musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch. In particular to this song, performed by the fabulous Neil Patrick Harris from the 2014 Tony Awards.
I am still reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt and to balance it out I am rereading Amy & Roger’s Epic Detour by Morgan Matson.
Nothing, except whatever is on this blog.
Brandon Flower’s newest album The Desired Effect, Susanne Sundfør’s Ten Love Songs, and the movie soundtrack to God Help The Girl.
About how much of The Goldfinch I can read today.
Nothing, my allergies have kicked in.
For my second interview on Monday to go well.
Shorts and an S.F. Giants tee.
Cookies N’Cream Pocky, Penny Dreadful, Paul Markov from A Thousand Pieces of You by Claudia Gray & Burt’s Bees Grapefruit flavored/scented lip balm.
Money of course!
Coffee & allergy medication.
I am feeling like I want to binge/rewatch Please Like Me.
The only thing that one should watch this week: Ingrid Nilsen’s coming out video.
Image/Photo by John Rawlings
Now I know grief is a whetstone. It sharpens all your love, all your happiest memories, into blades that tear you apart from within. Something has been torn out from inside me that will never be filled up, not ever, no matter how long I live. They say “time heals,” but even now, less than a week after my father’s death, I know that’s a lie. What people really mean is that eventually you’ll get used to the pain. You’ll forget what you looked like without your scars.
– From A Thousand Pieces of You by Claudia Gray