cream cheese pasta for dinner
- Fernanda Stocche Barbosa
- May 6
- 2 min read
what a ride, my friends, what a life.
have been giving myself some bit of vacations from my big hopes and dreams for the future and since i can't really take a break from everything. i've found some ways to do so.
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror. - this quote. i believe even before i knew it, i was already living by it. and boy, aren't i?
call it whatever you want to - rollercoaster, adventure. i can say the past couple of days, years, months, whatever. they have always been like that. do i always love it? you gotta be kidding me. does it always feel good? now, you shut up.
is it good to be me? i have no idea because i've only been me and myself only and that's already too much, i have to say. what i can also say, though, is that when, at times i tried NOT to be me, then shit went south. that's the worst and thats the most dangerous, im afraid. you can get lost.
my therapist asked me the other day - what was the worst thing i could imagine happening out of some situation? i'd done one of the scariest things the other day, and the bravest, and good lord, it hurt, oh, it did. but still, it was much better than when i tried to fit into a glass of water.
im not romanticising being me. no, i have, but im not. everything in this life comes with a freaking price and life is ruthless and unforgiving. i havent chosen my intensity when i was born with it, but i choose it daily, rock steadily - there might be a way of it, but i don't even want to know about it.
because what it gives me is, most of the time amazing. but when i cry, it feels like the ground is opening and it's going to swallow me, no, no, that's not it, because at least i might feel embraced by the ground. no, it feels lonelier. it feels like being lost in space in one of those sandra bullock's movies, or in a desert. in the middle of the ocean, except there's no fish in the sea.
in the end, i dont know what im trying to say or make sense here to be honest, this is probably one of my least poetic and most confusing piece of writing, im not trying to impress myself. im just typing. and thats it too.
i can be interesting and utterly boring at the same time. at this point, who cares? not even i do right now. im on my fake vacations from the gym eating cream cheese pasta for dinner on hot wednesday evening and thats it.
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