21 de março de 2014

Outono



Ontem foi o primeiro dia de outono. Novidade dizer que eu gosto das folhas caindo, né? Mesmo assim, março é um mês tão lento, e eu me sinto totalmente ultrapassada. Um fugir de ser late-bloomer, sem nem motivo porque não tem nada de errado, e é o que de um jeito ou de outro todo mundo é. Eu fui mimada demais e hoje sou arrogante, tenho dificuldade em entender quando as coisas que eu quero não são minhas. Am I whining? Am I even trying?

Sorte que, fora desses estados, até que eu me dou bons conselhos.

"How many women wrote beautiful novels and stories and poems and essays and plays and scripts and songs in spite of all the crap they endured. How many of them didn’t collapse in a heap of “I could have been better than this” and instead went right ahead and became better than anyone would have predicted or allowed them to be. The unifying theme is resilience and faith. The unifying theme is being a warrior and a motherfucker. It is not fragility. It’s strength. It’s nerve. And “if your Nerve, deny you –,” as Emily Dickinson wrote, “go above your Nerve.” Writing is hard for every last one of us—straight white men included. Coal mining is harder. Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig."

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