I can’t express to you how much I hate food sections in the newspapers. And potlucks. God, potlucks are the worst — it’s a curse that they seem to be the easiest form of student socialisation, as they happen in my residence hall all. The. Time.
And a page-wide photo of pesto gnocchi makes me want to throw up, every single time.
Buffets? I love them, but I certainly did hate them in the past. They’re great when I’m in a stable mindset, they’re detrimental when I’m not feeling so good.
Some days it’s hard to convince myself that my worth isn’t measured in the number of miles I run.
Some days it’s easy to drink coffee and study and not worry about this at all. I like this type much better.
And I decide to only think about those days, and have those days, and keep focused.
Focus is the bluest colour, and blue is the colour of faith. Reliability. Professionalism.
Blue represents all the things that I want: health. Healing. Tranquility. Understanding. Knowledge. Power. Precision. Integrity. At least according to some website.
I don’t mind my wall having been painted blue, I actually really like it — it contrasts with the other three, white walls so perfectly well. It’s not light blue, like my baby blue bedroom at home. It’s a tough blue. It’s a dark blue. Which suits me, because I’m an adult.
I wish I could write a letter to the student newspaper telling them to stop shoving pictures of dishes in our fuccing faces, but that’s not good ethics. I would be aggressive, and I think why do people not understand that I’m not passive aggressive? I’m just aggressive.
I have three pairs of trousers that I wear outside and three pairs of trousers that I only wear inside. All of my inside trousers are patterned. All of my outside trousers are without pattern. All of my trousers are either black or blue, or both.
Let’s stick just to the colours for the time being. Let’s think that colour is all there is.