Let me tell you one thing. Waking up straight to a panic attack sucks. Breathe in. Breath out. Nope, still sucks.
Last two days were weird and almost unreal. Too much has happened. But I did not loose my integrity. My principals. I had to deal with some crap, but I did not loose myself in that process. So, I have some new knowledge about human nature and actually, about myself and all that stuff. Yeah. Well… I’m still me. And although I have met some jerks that only wanted to use me, I was able to put that behind me, close that chapter and look only forward. It could have been worse for sure.
Oh Tatyana, what the hell are you doing? Little (or not), weird and for some time suppressed rant that has no meaning at all and it’s not affected by up-to-date events.
I often feel like some heroine from 19th century Russian novel, which is actually quite disturbing and absolutely not as poetic or romantic as it sounds like. Nah, in this case my long-time prospect’s would not be that good.
I could choose between depressive train obsession, passionate (aka pathological and compulsive) letter writing, settling down with kind-of-a-simpleton, moving to freaking Siberia (because love conquers all, even freezing cold apparently), ending up like a fickle and tremendously naive girl who loves the wrong guy and idealizes the life of birds (oh, the freedom and no boundaries… moving every six months to other side of the planet, because it’s… cold again), or I could fetch up like one elderly madam, seriously unable to accept reality, stuck in the past and overly protective about her glamorous trees. Right.
So every time I have this strange feeling that my life is trying to be a piece of Russian romanticism or realism (and yes, I actually quite like these troubled authors) I quickly turn to the reality, not letting myself to dwell on jealousy, envy, love, hate, self-doubt or whatever crap is going on right then. And, of course literally, I rise, Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed, prepared to do some shit in this world. Or at least I try.