Falling in love is a completely transcendent experience. It’s like eating pizza-flavored ice cream. Your brain can’t even process that level of joy. Deep down, our whole lives, no matter how low our self-esteem gets, we think, ‘I have a secret, special skill that no one knows about, and if they knew, they’d be amazed.’ And then eventually we meet someone who says, ‘You have a secret special skill.’
And you’re like, ‘I know! So do you!’
And they’re like, ‘I know!’
And then you’re like, ‘We should eat pizza ice cream together.’
And that’s what love is. It’s this giant mound of pizza flavored ice cream and delusion."
people tend to over-romanticize insomnia and the issues causing it in the first place, don’t they?
hope you and anyone else who reads this is getting more (better?) sleep than i am tonight.
They call us the Millennials, Generation Y.
They call us lazy, self-centered, rotten strawberries, uncommitted, unaware.
Oh yes, I read the papers, too—scientific studies show the Millennials are contaminated with unprecedented levels of narcissism.
How dare we live our lives in a manner that fucks with the needs and expectations of Generation X?
There’s an easy answer, backed by scientific proof—we plead guilty on accounts of being certifiably insane.
Yes, I read the papers—scientific studies show the Millennials are plagued with unprecedented levels of anxiety,
Levels that would’ve had us committed to asylums if we had grown up alongside Generation X.
Generation X, you were the glory days, certainly.
The sudden rise of suburbia, white-picket fences, immaculate lawns sprawling green. And then you raised us in the zeitgeist of the American Dream.
And here we are, the insolent Youth of Generation Y doing our best to do our worst by having children out of wedlock,
By indulging in the pleasures of fucking before marriage because we are uninformed, stupid children who don’t know a thing about sanctity.
Yes, Generation X, you tell us you made love as if it were something sacrilegious, oh my fucking god, you swear you did.
But no amount of prayer will glue something shattered back together. After all, some of us have grown up as the products of your mistakes.
All children bear the scars and stretch marks of growing up. Stop spearing us on a pedestal built of ill-conceived expectations incompatible with the present time.
Quit trying to buff and polish away at the marks on your tarnished trophy. Take a good fucking look at what you’ve heaped your hopes and dreams upon, Generation X.
The ugly, marked surface of the gold doesn’t make for a very pretty reflection, does it?