I went into work late today.

I’m not too fazed.

Popping Excedrin like its my job.

I left work early today.

I’m not too fazed.

"There, I was alone with myself. And disgusting as I was it was better than being with somebody else, anybody else, all of them out there doing their pitiful little tricks and handsprings. I pulled the covers up to my neck and waited."
Charles Bukowski (Pulp)
"Call me whatever you like; I am who I must be."
Friedrich Nietzsche (Thus Spoke Zarathustra)
"You will somehow get through the slow days and the busy days and the dull days and the hateful days and the rare days, all both so delightful and so disappointing because we are all so alike and so different."
Charles Bukowski (Gamblers All)

It’s the only thing I have been able to think about and talk about to everyone I see.
It’s my business now.
Literally. My name is on it, it’s my staff. You would probably congratulate me and think that this is what I have wanted.

Well, turns out we are both wrong.

And of course, I’m not happy. I never am, right?

Fucking ridiculous. I hate myself, because of how tiring this whole situation is.

I don’t know why I’m writing this out, it’s worthless.

"And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someone’s crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself."
(via iamcharliesangel)

Re-blogging again because it’s so relevant.