spring cleaning
https://youtu.be/ltPCCT1tEIA
When your little sister tells you sylvia plath reminds her of you:
You
Immediately google the poem she’s referencing and read it, because apparently she’s better read than you.
Feel an overwhelming sense of pride wash over you that the little 16 year old you have raised is casually referencing Sylvia Plath in conversation. The fruits of my labor.
Promise her you will not stick your head in the oven, which of course is the subtextual insinuation, and mean it.
This spring, I’ve been singing the praises of fluoxetine in everything I do. My therapist, I think, wishes I would attribute more of my upswing to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, but I can't feel emotional conversation going down and grabbing hold of my bloodstream. Meanwhile, my screen time diminishing, my most inward thoughts have returned to the pages of my journal and my hobbies serve as effective evocation. I often opt for a completely bare face, a rare occurrence since I purchased my trusty NARS Radiant Creamy Concealer for the first time freshman year of highschool. And while New York a year and a half later is more claustrophobic and frustrating, the return of tolerable weather serves as a visual reminder that the island is also navigating cycles and is still capable of blossoms. I listen to a lot of Simon and Garfunkel and for the first time instead of making me teary it makes me smile. I work out all the time. My fish and I are getting along very well. It’s so great to understand that a day doesn't have to be good or bad, and a morning can be weird with a fun night immediately following.
