Virginia Woolf, Vita Sackville-West and two dogs sitting on a grass bank. Monk’s House (Rodmell, England), 1933.
“I try to invent you for myself, but find I really have only 2 twigs and 3 straws to do it with. I can get the sensation of seeing you—hair, lips, colour, height, even, now and then, the eyes and hands, but I find you going off, to walk in the garden, to play tennis, to dig, to sit smoking and talking, and then I cant invent a thing you say—This proves, what I could write reams about—how little we know anyone, only movements and gestures, nothing connected, continuous, profound. But give me a hint I implore.”
— Virginia Woolf in a letter to Vita Sackville-West
When I was little and had trouble sleeping—I was an extremely neurotic child and had frequent sleep issues—I would get out of bed and go into the living room, where my parents would invariably be watching The Daily Show.
As an adult—who is still extremely neurotic—nothing makes me feel better when I’m down quite like watching The Daily Show.
My point being, I’m in love with Jon Stewart. And also, it’s cool how memories work like that.
Hi, I’ve become exactly who my mother was in the ’90s. (minus three kids and a husband) #overalls #birkenstocks #whereismycrosswordpuzzle
Parents went out of town and I was super stoked for alone time and having a whole house to myself; spent most of it in my room, feeling empty and sad. Zero clue how people survive living alone :(I spent nearly an entire summer alone one year in college. Within weeks, I was reading poetry aloud to myself to quell the loneliness.
As much as I love being by myself, I should really never be allowed to live alone.
This shit is getting real bleak real fast.
Jack White and Buzz Aldrin