we are just the sort of people who want to hear good news.

i want to say the universe is patronizing me, but i don’t think it cares that much… i think it’s just shrugging its shoulders and walking away from me. from what i hear, bad news comes in succession; i don’t doubt it. from what today has told me, the sanctity of marriage is dead and will never be resurrected, every attempt at good is transmogrified into something bad, it is selfish to even think of rewarding oneself, and pitiful to try to be selfless. it is only okay to feel guilt.
i feel wholly overwhelmed by how shitty the world is, and i feel crushed and i feel like i can’t breathe. i feel ill-equipped to leave my bed and participate in my own life. the universe keeps breaking my heart, and it hurts more every time.

every scent that creeps up into my nostrils is just rotten, even if it shouldn’t be.

and the literature i get assigned keeps directly corresponding with how i’m feeling internally. it’s uncanny. right now it’s miz george eliot:

“we know very well we are all together in the hands of god. we didn’t bring ourselves into the world, we can’t keep ourselves alive while we’re sleeping; the daylight, and the wind, and the corn, and the cows to give us milk — everything we have comes from god. and he gave us our souls, and put love between parents and children, and husband and wife. but is that as much as we want to know about god? we see he is great and mighty, and can do what he will: we are lost, as if we was struggling in great waters, when we try to think of him.
but perhaps doubts come into your mind like this: can god take much notice of us poor people? perhaps he only made the world for the great and the wise and the rich. it doesn’t cost him much to give us our little handful of victual and a bit of clothing; but how do we know he cares for us any more than we care for the worms and things in the garden, so as we rear our carrots and onions? will god take care of us when we die? and has he any comfort for us when we are lame and sick and helpless? perhaps, too, he is angry with us; else why does the blight come, and the bad harvests, and the fever, and all sorts of pain and trouble? for our life is full of trouble, and if god sends us good, he seems to send bad too. how is it? how is it?”

i’m processing. it’s continuous.

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