(korr-ee-nah)

“I don’t like this song because I can’t relate to it” skill issue. I’m mad at my husband I love my girlfriend I’m a lone cowboy I’m growing old I’m growing up I’m depressed I love my friends I’m perpetually horny I’m drunk at the club I love my husband again

fuuuuck i just realized that the future idealized version of myself cant exist without current me being the catalyst for change and doing hard things. has anybody heard about this

[gripping the sink] perfectionism does not help me avoid embarrassment or shame. perfectionism is in itself a form of shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame

cupping my hands together in the shower over my tummy letting them fill with water and spill over pretending i'm a beautifully detailed statue fountain in sicily that was modeled after the sculptor's wife that tragically passed and he considers it his greatest loss and he never remarried and wept while thinking about her every night until he died and an eclectic, sort of geeky and awkward art history student just finished his final about me in which he said that several historians consider me the most beautiful statue fountain in the world, and while that is true, he's also been obsessed with me since he saw a picture of me in a library book when he was young and i'm part of the reason for his taste in women as an adult and he's going to use the college fund money he secretly put away to go to sicily with his girlfriend to come see me because i was the art piece that made her feel beautiful and finally comfortable in her own skin after years of feeling unloved because i look just like her (she is also hopelessly in love with me) and he gently caresses the wedding ring in his pocket smiling gently glancing over at her glowing face as she makes eye contact with me and finally feels like everything is going to be okay. then i get shampoo. in my eye

deep down i still feel like a street dog with mange. but it's okay. i still find warm concrete to lay on

Every time i purchase a moderately expensive item the Karl Marx on my shoulder is like "For shame... you purchase yet another pair of jeans when you have 5 already at home, you despicable commodity fetishist? In my time, a man with five outfits would consider himself blessed beyond measure, and yet you want for more, while there are children starving in the world??" to which the second Karl Marx on my other shoulder says "Objection! Those 5 pairs of jeans all wildly uncomfortable or have holes in the ass, due to the decline of clothing quality driven by the fast fashion industry, unfortunately making this purchase a necessity... Plus, by purchasing a slightly more expensive pair of jeans from an independent brand, seeking quality over 'brand recognition', they are deliberately trying to avoid engaging in conspicuous consumption!" to which the third Karl Marx clinging to my back like that beetle from Doctor Who says "Remember, my friend; the less you eat, drink, buy books, go to the theatre or to balls, or to the pub, and the less you think, love, theorize, sing, paint, fence, etc., the more you will be able to save and the greater will become your treasure which neither moth nor rust will corrupt — your capital. Buy the jeans," to which I say "I don't know if any of you have actually read Karl Marx"

born to be an abstract concept, forced to be a percievable entity