Today (yesterday?) I took two types of anxiety meds before an exam, which was fine. But then I had to participate in a formal dinner with professors and boooyyyy was I getting loopy and suspiciously chatty 0/10 would not recommend
My stomach is tearing itself to pieces. Oh I so want this job in Paris. I’m overqualified (but just to live in Paris for a year before giving into the real world, can you imagine?), and if I could just get the employer’s support for a work permit: boom, I’m in. Punk-ass Polish embassy, all I want is my EU passport, and it shouldn’t take me over three years to get it.
I think the only time I’ve truly experienced heartbreak is when I’m separated from a city (sorry, various boyz from my past and present). I was looking through some photos of my 21st birthday spent in Paris with my friend Felix. It’s actually entirely possible to believe that this was over a year ago. I look like a whole different person. I’m thinner now. My hair is shorter, and it’s blonde. Physically, I’m more comfortable in my own skin, but mentally, I’m far more anxious and stressed and perpetually exhausted. Time, time, time.
drinking to try and temper an anxiety attack always turns me into this awful creature whose behavior I can’t condone and regret for days. I’ll call that girl Ophelia, ‘cuz she sure as hell isn’t me.
Any advice on completely detaching yourself from your own head and not dwelling on your mistakes for years and years until you shrivel into a pathetic existence defined solely by regret?
Brief note: In case you’re curious about my /profeshiunal/ and /akademik/ life, my online portfolio is now live. I go by the name on my birth certificate for CV stuff (for now), which is Katherina.
OK, time to get two hours of sleep before another day of cover-letter writing and studying critical theory for Wednesday’s exam. YUM.
Dolly Thatchum, from Cheerful Weather for the Wedding by Julia Strachey
When I first read this book, I was critical of Dolly’s reasons for doubting marriage—why couldn’t a woman in 1932 want to avoid her wedding for her own happiness and agency, rather than her doubts being predicated on her love for another man? But then I read it again and I watched the film and lived through an experience and I got the humanity of this story, and now I am trying so desperately to study the Gawain-poet, but my God, this book is still on my mind.
If I ever get married, I’ll be drinking rum from the bottle before the wedding too.
It’s strange, the disparity between the way I am in real life and what I write on Tumblr. I come on this website when I feel melancholy and need a release—writing, for me, is therapeutic—but I’m actually quite funny and cheerful (well, when I’m not in the middle of exam season), and I laugh a lot. I love dancing and good conversation and taco/margarita night with my friends. Besides the occasional tank of gas and a bit of food, I spend my money on wine and books and clothing. For better or for worse, I almost always dress with purpose, putting together professional but fashionable outfits, which gives me the will to face the world. People regularly call me “cute” and sometimes “pretty,” and perhaps I’m falling into that awful women-need-to-be-associated-with-beauty-to-have-self-esteem trap, but I still can’t help but smile when I hear some British boy say that I’m “fit.” I’m known for the fact that I run regularly through campus and the countryside, and my jogs keep me happy.
So there. I’m all right.