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“Where’s that apron of apathy I bought you for Christmas? How about the insoles of indifference for your birthday, huh? What’s with this cardigan of curiosity? Take it off, it’s not your color.”
I’ll tell you a secret: everybody goes through hard shit, Sherlock. Everyone on this planet stinks with it. But should the human race cease to exist? Should we give up on making babies because of something that might happen, at some point, later in life, or maybe not? There’s a difference between being responsible and being a whiny little bitch who’s afraid of making a single fucking mistake and therefore walks around feeling all superior because they never did anything to hurt nobody. Guess what, they probably never did anything to help nobody either. But they probably think those two things
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“He’s a walking red flag,” Grace seethed, much more worked up than I’d ever expected to see her about anything, let alone a TV show. Ava reclaimed her lounging position on the couch. “You know I’m color-blind.”
“Look at that guy. Seriously, look at him. Are you looking?” “Yes,” Grace answered flatly. “I’m looking.” “If bad, why so sexy?”
“She sees red flags as red carpets. Until some morally gray man in a three-piece suit finds her in the rain and gives her an umbrella, she’ll never be satisfied. We’re counting on you.”
“Some plants’ flowers bloom early, some bloom late, some plants have no flowers. It’s a spectrum, but all plants are important and good. It’s all good. You were a late bloomer.”
Incompetence was everywhere. EVERYWHERE! It was one of the constants in life: death, taxes, change, cockroaches, and incompetence.
“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
Hyperactive type is an inconvenience for everyone, thus everyone is motivated to “fix” it. Inattentive type is only an inconvenience for the person suffering from it, so it often gets written off as laziness, or ditziness, or flakiness. Good times.
He was a line-in-the-sand kind of guy. My sand had no lines. They kept getting washed away by waves, and I’d accepted long ago there was no such thing as controlling the ocean.
“Tell me, in what way has your life been boring?” “Well, not being stranded on a desert island, for one. No time travel. No contract marriages”—I ticked the items off on my fingers—“No meeting a rock star or idol and having him fall head over heels in love with me upon first sight. No ability to see the future or my past lives. No aloof and most popular guy in school pursuing me despite my nerdy and awkward exterior. No mythical creatures seeking me out to reverse their curse. No dragons. No being the Chosen One for a fantastical elven, or fairy, or angel, or demon adventure where I utilize my
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“Life is never exciting in the way you want it to be. If you want my advice, enjoy being bored. The alternative is exhausting.”
“Keeping it real, I think I’m most upset about the lack of dragons.”
“Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.” ― Vincent van Gogh, Attributed; The Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam
No one is perfect right out of the gate, regardless of whether they have a chronic health condition or not. It’s all weirdos, trying to do their best, and looking like fools until they meet that person who makes them feel exceptional instead of foolish.”
“It’s all smoke and mirrors and pretending, honey,” she went on. “Everyone is in various stages of falling apart. All the time.” Stepping forward, she cupped my cheeks between her palms, like she used to do when I was little. “Some people are just better than others with their smoke and mirrors, and how often and how well they lie to others. And to themselves.”