(Y)ou (O)bviously (L)ack (O)riginality

Hi! It’s past my bedtime, I’m blogging because YOLO, and I have a question.

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Is love the most important thing in the world because I think about it all the time,
or do I think about it all the time because it’s the most important thing in the world?

(IT’S ABOUT TO GET REAL THOUGHTCATALOG IN THIS JOINT)

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I mean, not, like, boys, exclusively. Just the whole damn gamut of it, anything that makes your insides dance without needing (immediate) medical attention. No matter how much I try to Most-Well-Rounded myself, how aggressively I try to negotiate my brain into namaste, my mind drifts to that sticky, warm place. Never-ending tab at the Love… Lounge. It always dips into analyzing what’s lacking, what’s possible, what’s real, ~*~*wHaT i WaNt*~*~ — even if truly nothing new is happening in any of those sectors. My brain shakes the sometimes-empty can like maracas anyway, desperate to make some noise, feel something. I turn it off by writing something very blunt to myself. Honesty usually shuts me right up. Blame it on the plethora of couch confessions taking place at 5C these days, forealsies, but is there anything more important than lurve?

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Humor me. It’s a Monday night and I’m feeling verrie Carrie.

Yes, but brown

Yes, but brown

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Dude, straight up: My brain has morphed into this whole other creature that I think me-circa-2010 wouldn’t recognize. Back then, I was all career, all the time, and I never imagined myself in any other mindset. I was—I am—an expert networker and really effing good at it. My only concern was climbing higher, growing my mentor roster, trying to be everyone’s first person that comes to mind for every opportunity possible.

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And now, I’ve let go of that and other things have taken over. My mental lineup has changed. I think about love all fecking day long, all kinds of love, every kind. I think about strangers, and how the shit relationships even happen; I think about how really, really effing weird humans are and sometimes I wonder if there’s a higher life form out there LOLing at how effing weird we are, to people we love and people we are afraid to know. I think about honesty. A lot. I think about the way my bones are growing, the morals I’m filling them with, and the ones that seem to just seep in on their own. I wonder what I won’t be able to change, if I’ll ever want to, if I’ll regret the way the cast is setting now. I think about the people and circumstances raising me here; I think about how lucky I am.

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Here is a photo of me thinking.

His favorite song is "Thinkin' Bout You," by Frank Ocean

Yes, but shaven

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And I think about how, for the first time since god knows when, I feel free from whatever bound me to be so career driven, so high on hollow achievement. I feel like I could live my life, big or small, without anxiety as to how I’m “leaving my legacy” or “making moves.” I broke up with a dream during these past two years (no we’re cool its fine we get drinks), and instead of chasing, the way I’ve always done, I think I’m standing still. Being quiet. Holding out my arms and stretching out my palms and seeing what passes through me, what slides into my fingerwebs, unprompted. I’ve never been this still in my life. This shh.

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And that’s a weird mothereffing thing to do in this city.

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But I think I’ve earned the ssh.

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(This egregiously quarter-lifey vomit puddle brought to you by my last week at Seventeen,
and all of its accompanying feels.
… I know, right? I’ll explain soon, I phromise.)

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