the fuck is a resume bitch give me the job

I can’t wait to live in a flat with someone I love n just hangout in my bra n undies reading books n drinkin tea just enjoying life

sorry i’m late, professor. im disenchanted with the human experience and waking up every morning thrusts me into an instant existential crisis

In the end we are all just the souls of the damned working a terrible summer job in god’s gamestop

i hit rock bottom like every 2 weeks

art is so beautiful. fashion, music, film, literature. it’s so personal and incredible and i want to dedicate my life to it

being alive is like a whole fucking thing dude ive only been here 23 years and can only really remember like 10 of those years at most and yet im literally immobilized by fear and anxiety i have no clue what i want and yet i am mad at myself for not moving fast enough? like towards what? for who? who is even going to hand me a medal for living correctly? like what would happen if i was just content but like no one knew and i told no one. would that still count? i think it would