It’s only the start of december but I will say it: for almost 10 years we get cold rain instead of snow here. Ok, it’s snowing for a bit sometimes but, really now, I can’t call that snowing. And it usually happens in march-april. Even the cold it’s not like it was before. Somehow it feels worse for my body though.
I’m a hyprocrite to say I love winter because there’s no ice anymore. I can’t fall down thanks to that so that’s a win for me. I love winter despite the fact that it makes me crave physical affection 5 times more than other days. I love winter even if it makes me so lonely. I love winter because I love how the beach looks while it’s winter and because it makes my fingertips tingly, hungry for writing.
I’m listening to Berlin by RY X, my room that it’s not my room is getting darker and darker and I couldn’t ask for more in this moment.
I don’t have any occupation for almost 3 months now. No university, no job, no internship, no volunteering. None. Forgive me for being jobless at this time when I’m struggling financially, but it’s so, so, so good to dissapoint people. If you told me that almost 3 months ago when I was constantly terrified of this, I wouldn’t fucking believe you. Maybe I was a tad paranoic thinking some people expect things from me. Maybe I was not. But ultimately, it’s not my business what they expect from me. I’m really tired of that. And I’m tired of being sad all the time, rotting here.
Now I’m starting to feel a bit more better, enough to resist working, so next week it’s time to apply for jobs. Good luck to me, I guess. I always find a way through, right?
I realise I only say “I” this and “I” that and I find it funny. Pretty self-centered, huh? At least I’m writing. And I only like writing in English here as an escaping way from myself, from what I deeply feel. Beside that, fuck this language.