Some guy on the street just told me to ‘put a smile on that pretty face’ so I lifted both corners of my mouth with two middle...
If I were to be locked away in a library for the rest of my natural life, with no human contact whatsoever, I would be more than okay with...
I received this in a very unsatisfying email from Goodreads today:
"When director Alfred Hitchcock (born August 13, 1899) was five, his father dispatched him to the local police station with a note. The officer read it and locked young Hitchcock in a jail cell for five minutes, a move that bred his distrust of authority.”
And now I am left with a burning question.
WHAT THE HELL DID THE NOTE SAY?
I’ve come to work in a hotel lounge, for a change of scenery. I sit down, and suddenly I hear foreign accents all around me. I could be in London, or New York, or anywhere. I relax. My anxiety - the annoying beast I’ve been fighting every single day for months - just melts away. I feel at home. At ease.
I had to find a spot in my city that’s filled with foreigners in order to feel the fluffy-slippers-and-soft-chair comfort of home.
My grandfather moved around ceaselessly his whole life. To the outside observer it seemed to be a compulsion. Perhaps I inherited more from him than just an obsessive need to make lists.