#or 9pm to 6am. and imagine that you yourself as you sleep now had to conform to that.

[holymistake]

morning people will straight up think they are better than you without even realizing they feel this way

be it a matter of virtue, willpower, or just skill. could be a skill you just don’t have yet. maybe get good at it sometime, then you’ll see. you just haven’t tried hard enough for long enough yet, you haven’t made the right choices enough days in a row yet. you’ll get better. like i am.

there are differences between habit and predisposition, though sometimes they help each other.

and when it comes down to honest to god clinical sleep irregularities it’s just ableism, a complete blind eye to ableism in that regard, and what follows is a complete and utter disregard for how damaging sleep disorders really are for people who are present in your life, damage that you don’t even consider. with an extent you can’t fathom.

you just quietly, so quietly you don’t even hear yourself, think they aren’t trying hard enough. or haven’t gotten good enough at their decision making yet. it’s a character flaw, for now. until they’re better.

[mabelstone]

Boy Next Door

matt stone x fem reader

i'm back. mabel finish a fic before starting a new one challenge i don't want to write Y/N anymore so for now i will use [name] as a filler LOL is that even worse? this was one of the first ideas i ever had and i'm sure its widely overused on here but i really loved writing this. will probably turn it into a series lol we'll see but at least one or two more parts to come xx

*

The removal of the sold sign and the influx of moving vans this past week was a dead give away that I now had a new neighbour. I seriously prayed for someone cool to move in, as I have an almost certain suspicion that the previous owners were drug dealers. I hadn't actually seen them yet and I wasn't planning on going over and introducing myself as my neighbourhood was notorious for keeping to itself. Unless you count that awkward wave you give to the person across the street when you're taking out your bins at the same time. It was a quiet place, all the more reason to love it. We were all living in synchronous harmony in our quiet, private little bubbles.

I had a routine of hitting the hay around 9:30pm, 10pm on a bad night, which in itself was a luxury. Tonight, I'd already set myself up. Fed the dog, fed myself, showered, watched a bit of telly, then got cosy in bed around 9pm. I turned off my TV, and that's when I noticed the repetitious bumping of heavy bass brought to life by the speakers next door. It's okay, I told myself, closing my eyes and trying block out the sound best I could. Is it getting louder? I suspected I may be paranoid or hyper focused on the sound because I have work at 6am. I ended up dozing off, thankfully.

Then the next thing I knew, I was being awoken by a loud smash of glass, and an even louder, "aw, come on, man! You're paying for that!"

I couldn't have been imagining it, because now instead of a steady thump of bass, I could now hear loud and clear the lyrics to MAAD City by Kendrick Lamar as if he were performing a live concert in my bedroom. I rolled over to check my phone. 11:45pm. That's it.

I - a bit dramatically, I must admit - threw my blankets off and threw on my dressing gown, storming out my front door in my stupid bunny head slippers. Despite the great choice of music, I was absolutely furious, the bass bumping so hard as I approached the door, I could feel it in my chest. I knocked on the door so hard my knuckles stung. No answer. I waited a moment, then proceeded to bash on the door with all my might. A few moments later, my hands on my hips and a scowl on my face that screamed, 'I don't care if you think I'm lame, you've royally pissed me off,' the door opened.

A man with kind of short, kind of long, curly brown hair stood before me with ugly oval rimmed glasses, an aquiline nose, and a bottle of beer in his hand. "...hello?" The look on his face almost read, do I know you?

"Hello. I live next door," I huffed, arms now tightly crossed over my chest. Don't get angry, compose yourself. "It's almost midnight on a Sunday. Could you please... tone it down a bit?"

“Oh absolutely, sorry, miss…?”

“[Name]”

"Well, nice to meet you," he reached his hand out to shake mine, which I begrudgingly accepted, a little gap in his teeth on display. "I'll turn it down right now." He pulled out his phone and showed me him pressing the volume down button repeatedly, the music complying.

"Thank you." I wasn't interested in chatting, instead I stormed back into my house with an emphatic sigh, slamming the door behind me. I shucked off my gown and climbed back into bed, grateful that now I'd hopefully get an okay sleep.

Nope.

Less than ten minutes later, the music is cranked back up and now theres a ball repeatedly hitting my fence. "For God's sake," I yelled to nobody, charging for the neighbours house barefooted.

I was so angry at this point, I didn't even care that I was in skimpy little Victoria's Secret pyjamas I'd owned since high school.

As I shamelessly bashed on his door, I tried to block out the little voice in my head that pleaded, just let it go, and, your actions have consequences. Absolutely livid, I waited, and waited. My fist inches away from punching a hole through the door, it opened once more.

The same curly headed man from earlier, this time more noticeably inebriated. Or high. Please, for the love of God, just be an occasional user and not a dealer. “Well, what a pleasant surprise! Decided to come party?”

“No, I did not come to party!” I snapped, my anger seemingly unleashing itself in the form of a foot stomp, similarly to how a spoilt 5 year old would. “I want you to have some respect and turn this shit down! Or better yet, off!”

One of his friends appeared in the doorway, eyes half lidded and probably the same shade of red as my face currently. "That's not party attire," he snorted, being pulled away by someone in a... Spiderman costume? What kind of party is this?

I sighed deeply, pinching the upper bridge of my nose with eyes screwed shut as tightly as my fist. I was on the verge of tears, and I think he noticed by the way he quickly dropped his act.

“Okay, okay. I'm turning it off right now.” He must've realised how much of an inconsiderate dick he was being. He reached into his pocket and turned off the music, sighing down at me. I heard a few short lived groans from the other side of the door. An annoyed, “duuuude that was my song,” before the drunken chatter quickly resumed.

“Thanks,” I muttered, yawning into my hand (for dramatic effect, of course).

“Matt, bring the lady in,” one guy slurred against the door frame as if I wasn't even there. “Wanna play basketball with her,” he professed, before stumbling back into the house.

“Oh, yeah, if that ball hits my fence one more time I'll tear it down and beat you with the wood.” I walked away after this, feeling quite proud of myself, actually. We should normalise occasional temper tantrums in adults.

Thankfully, the music remained off as I got back in bed, almost immediately drifting off.

BANG. Then that fucking ball hit my fence again, followed by followed by my new neighbour scolding someone indistinguishably. Then, in a slightly louder voice intended for my ears, “sorry, [name].”

Due to my disrupted sleep last night, I nearly slept in. I confess, I am a bit of a princess with my sleep. I spent my morning racing around like a headless chicken, spilling coffee all over my white blouse, having to change, which pushed me back another minute. I rushed out to my car, only to find, to my demise, I've been blocked in. Some random vehicle, probably belonging to one of the degenerates next door, hanging 3/4 over my driveway.

Almost with a feeling synonymous with deja-vu, I flounced to the neighbours', determined to fuck his shit up, to put it plainly. I pounded on the door impatiently with both fists, tapping my foot while I waited. A random man clad in a t-shirt depicting a stick figure humping the word 'IT' answered the door.

“Excuse me, who’s car is this?” I pointed to the car blocking my driveway, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Fuck, dude, I was sleeping,” he groaned, and I didn't even try and hide my eye roll. Karma, I thought. “I don’t know,” he rubbed his eyes like a child, thinning my already impossibly thin patience.

“Where is Matt?”

“Probably sleeping, man, it’s like, barely even morning yet.”

I was painfully close to losing my temper. To avoid combusting on the spot, I sighed and pushed past the potentially still drunk guest. Or maybe other new neighbour. I sure hope not.

I scrunched my nose up at the state of his place - beer bottles strewn everywhere, the stale smell of cigarettes and weed clinging to the furniture, guests were passed out in each corner of the living room. I hugged my handbag close to me and stepped over the scattered limbs like a contortionist dodging laser beams, adamant on disrupting Matt's slumber like he had mine. I navigated his long hallway, pushing open every door, scoffing at the half naked bloke with two naked women clinging to either side of him. I near shuddered in disgust, wanting nothing more than to disinfect my entire body after being in the war zone of his house. Maybe I was only being so judgemental because I was irrevocably angry. Maybe.

I eventually found his room, which to my surprise, was almost compulsively clean and ordered with Patrick Bateman level precision. I stood before his bed with folded arms and wondered to myself if maybe he'd think I had some kind of bone disfigurement that kept my arms bent across me. I quickly relaxed them at my side.

"Matt," I spoke sternly. He didn't even stir. I bent down close to his face, raising my voice this time. "Matt."

Finally, his eyes flung open and he jumped, clamping a hand over his chest as if to stop it from bursting through his skin. “Fuck!” he panted softly. I rolled my eyes at him as he caught his breath and pulled away. As if deliberately oblivious, he stretched and spoke halfway through a groan, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Who’s car is parked over my driveway?”

“I have no clue,” he breathed as he smooshed his face into his pillow, voice still thick and croaky with sleep. His hair was unruly, but his glasses were neatly folded on his bedside table beside a glass of water and a packet of Advil.

“I’m going to be late for work,” I exclaimed as calmly as possible, though I was on the verge of a tantrum. I was oddly self conscious that he'd only seen me furious. “Whoever it belongs to, it needs to be moved. Like, five minutes ago.”

“Alright,” he sighed, groggily pushing the blanket from his body and sliding his glasses on, only clad in pyjama pants with m&m’s printed all over them.

He lead me through the dormant chaos of his house, even scrunching up his face from the mess. Or maybe the smell. He pushed a blind to the side and glanced out onto the street, seeing the culprit; a silver Mitsubishi Lancer. He then walked over to the supposed owner, kicking him softly in the side where he was laying on the floor. “Move your car, dude.”

The man just groaned and patted his jean pocket, face smushed into the little couch cushion beneath him, weakly handing the keys to Matt. He just rolled his eyes and trudged out the front, and I followed close enough behind that I almost nicked his heels with every step.

He clambered into the drivers seat with the air of a zombie, pulling the car onto the side of the road. I wasted no time getting into my car, reversing out of the driveway and rolling down my window, pulling up beside him. “Thank you,” I smiled with genuine appreciation, watching him run a hand through his hair in my rear view as I drove away.

[chris-evans-indian-fanfic]

Across Seven Seas

Chapter 1

Description: This fanfiction series is set in the year 2022, after the horrid COVID-19 has finally come to an end. In this fanfiction, Chris Evans holidays with his family in India and meets Meera Shankar. The story explores their rollercoaster journey and raises a question, whether two people, from two contrasting backgrounds and cultures, can build their future together?

This series is Chris Evans x OFC with Chris Evans' family and friends having recurring appearances. Please find below a lot of Original Characters-

Meera Shankar - The female lead

Meera's Mother

Poppy - Meera's maternal grandmother

Rohan - Meera's elder brother who is 6 years older than her.

This is a work of fiction. The names of the hotels and companies have been changed to avoid copyright issues. Meera Shankar and her family is based on the author and her kin. No offense is intended.

Chapter 2

FIND MORE CHAPTERS BY CLICKING ON MY BIO

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

...

Chapter 1

5th September, 9pm - Boston, USA, Chris' childhood home:

Passport? Check.

Visa? Check.

Mobile charger? Check.

Airpods? Airbuds? What the fuck are they called? Pods? Buds? Whatever, check.

Dressed in a simple black Henley with blue denim, Chris checked the list for the upteenth time, making sure not to leave anything behind. It didn't help that his faithful canine was nuzzling at his knee, begging for attention. Somewhat satisfied with the list, Chris finally locked the suitcase, keeping it besides his carry-on duffle bag.

"Hey bud", he knelt down, gently petting the Mutt, "I will be back soon, you know that right? I have to leave... You know why... I'm sorry, you know I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to, right? I'm sorry, so sorry. I'm really sorr... Hahahaha get off me!!!!" Dodger had started licking his face, begging him to stay. Soon Chris was on the ground, with Dodger safely secured in his arms, dropping kisses on his furry head. Scott chose that moment to barge into Chris' room. "There you are! I have been calling you, whistling for you, yet no reply!! What do you have to say for yourself Dodger Evans?!" exclaimed Scott, hands on his hips, trying his best to mimick their strict mother. Dodger wriggled out of Chris' grip and put his front paws on Scott's hips. "Uh huh young man, your puppy eyes are not going to work on me this time. C'mon, Tara is here to take you."

With Chris closely following the pair, they headed towards the living room. "Do we really need to leave him here?", Chris asked again. "Chris we have been over this, it would not be advisable for Dodger to travel all the way to India. It can affect his health." "But why do we need to go to India in the first place? Can't we go somewhere closeby?" On hearing those words, Scott turned just enough to give Chris a knowing look. "We discussed this before, we need to go to India. YOU need to go to India." As they entered the living room, Chris muttered, defeated, "I really don't...."

6th September, 6am - Mumbai, India, Meera's House:

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Meera woke up with a jerk. Her eyes still adjusting to the darkness in her room. Fumbling for the phone, she set the alarm to snooze, hoping to get 10 more minutes of precious sleep. She could already hear activity in the house. Resting her head on the pillow, she almost fell back into a deep slumber when...

KNOCK KNOCK

"Meera! Get up! It is 6:30 already!" her mother shouted. Scowling at her door, Meera shouted back, "It is just around 6 Ma! No need to exaggerate! 5 more minutes!" KNOCK KNOCK "We will get late for the flight, hurry!" Sighing in resignation, Meera groggily woke up.

Heading downstairs for breakfast, she stumbled upon the luggage in the living room. Irritated, she scowled at her elder brother, "Rohan, I asked you to move the bags na? Why are they still in the way?" Looking up from his plate of buttery parathas (Indian bread), he flashed a wicked smile from the sofa, "Why should I move them? You move them if you want to." Rolling her eyes, Meera grabbed a small packet of cornflakes from the kitchen, shoving handfuls of the crunchy goodness in her mouth. Her mother looked at her with defeat, "Bala (meaning child in local language), at least use a bowl. I don't understand how can anyone eat raw cornflakes just like that." "I like them crunchy Ma. I cannot imagine eating cornflakes with milk or water. YUCK!" said Meera, shuddering. "Is that all you want to eat now? Won't you get acidity if you eat less?" her mother inquired. "No Ma, I am good. I hate waking up so early, and eating a heavy breakfast on top of that? Impossible. Not going to happen."

"Look at me, I already ate 3 stuffed parathas, Ma is making a fourth one now", her brother proudly exclaimed. "I don't think I have ever seen you not stuffing your face, fatty. Stop eating or you will not fit through the doors of the plane!" teased Meera. "I am not fat, I am plump 😄. Now pass me some green chutney." It was Meera's turn to wickedly smile now, "Why should I give it to you? If you want it, then get off that sofa and take it." "PLEEEEEEEEAASSEEE," begged Rohan. "Shut up! Absolutely not."

"Arey (often used as an exclamation in Hindi), give it to him, he needs it to eat with his parathas," softly chided Meera's grandmother as she entered the living room. "Only because Poppy asked me to," Meera said to her brother's smug face.

As family of four got comfortable on the sofa and the chairs to finish breakfast, Meera's mother suddenly exclaimed, "Meera! What are doing wasting your time?! Finish your breakfast and go and take a bath immediately! We will be late for the flight!" Trying to reason, Meera said, "Calm down Ma, our flight is at 12:30pm. It is 6:34am right now. It's alright. Even Rohan hasn't taken a bath yet." "I am not taking a bath," he said with his mouth full. The room was filled with disgusted "eww"s and "tsk"s at that announcement. "Bala you need to take a bath. How can you travel for such a long time without taking a bath?" said their Mother. "You are 35 years old! Do you still not know how to take a bath?" a disgusted Meera chimed in. "That is unhygienic," added Poppy. "I bathed 2 days ago, and we are going to Mussoorie, an icy cold hill station, so I am definitely not going to waste my time by taking a bath," proclaimed Rohan. Scrunching her nose, Meera said, "The whole plane will stink now." "You worry about your odor, I will wear my cologne. Now go take a bath or else we will get late," and with that, the smug smile was back on Rohan's face.

Same day, 9:45pm - Boston, USA, Chris' childhood home:

"Oh my God Chris if you repeat yourself one more time I swear to God I will throw something at your head!" shouted an irritated Tara, "I know how to take care of Dodger. This is not the first time you are leaving him with me. Just go on your vacation already!"

A myriad of emotions crossed Chris' face. Agitation, frustration, sadness, anger, helplessness to name a few. "It is not too late, we can still cancel the trip and go somewhere nearby. How about a shopping expedition to NYC? Or Disneyland? How about Disney World? We will even go to Harry Potter land if yo.." "First of all, it is called the Wizarding World and not Harry Potter land," Shanna interrupted Chris' protest, "Secondly," she continued from the couch, "Why are we still discussing this when there are only 7 hours left for our plane to leave?"

Chris' lips turned into a thin line. Shoulders slumped, hands in his jeans pockets, he tried his best to come up with an excuse. Anything at all to cancel this trip. He needed to stay here, at his home. He needed to think about what had happened. Where did it all go so wrong? How did he not see the signs? How could he have been so careless? As his mind started drowning into questions, his mother put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Remember when you went to India all those years ago? You were seeking peace and you found a way to deal with the chaos in your life. After A Starting Point...," she paused, "After everything that has happened in the last two years, maybe you need to find yourself again?" "But Ma I had gone to Rishikesh, a city well-known for yoga and meditation. We are going to Mussoorie! It is just a fancy hill station." "OH MY GOD! Not this again!!" shouted Carly from her room, "I told you the hotel has an amazing meditation and yoga course! You can do that for 3 weeks. Plus, the kids are excited about the indoor-pool and the gaming lounge AND we all love the view from the hotel! Do you know how many months it took me to arrange this entire vacation? DON'T. YOU. DARE. cancel this trip. Do you hear me?" Carly threatened Chris. Raising his hands in defeat, Chris set about arranging everyone's luggage near the door.

"Don't you pout now. I am sure this trip will change your life, FOREVAH!" said the ever-dramatic Tara. Smiling wistfully, Chris looked around his childhood home, already beginning to miss it. Chris knew that 3 weeks in a 5-star hotel in another part of the world would not change a single thing in his life.

If only he knew how wrong he was.

[elliotgoodtiger]

Chapter 6 “Royal Typewriter”

Giles came back today. Oh wait, you don’t know who Giles is, do you? Giles is the man we hired to take photo and video content during our recording session here at Middle Farm Studios. He stands 6ft 7in and runs a 6min mile with ease. I’ve only ran the 3 mile farm course twice, and both times with him. It’s the hardest course I’ve ever ran in my life. Before I get into that though, let me tell you how I became a runner, and why it’s important to me.

My dad was always in fairly good shape, but when I got to around 13 years old, he told himself “If I have any chance of still being able compete against him in basketball when he’s a teenager, I better start training now”. Right there and then he started running. Buying running books, subscribing to running magazines, buying running watches, all of it. He was obsessed. 5k races soon turned to 10k, which soon turned to half marathons, which soon turned to marathons. Hell he even did a triathlon and nearly drowned in the Chesapeake bay. When I turned 15, my dad forced me to run cross country at my High School. I wasn’t exactly thrilled. Actually, I was pretty fucking annoyed. At 15, my hobbies were basketball (poorly), playing guitar (poorly), playing video games (successfully), and, er, doing other things a young teenager does when his parents are at work (successfully). The thought of having to interact with classmates, and spend my Saturdays traveling to races that I would always finish in last, was not appealing. And thats exactly what happened. I finished last every. single. race. ‘Cause I didn’t try. Had no interest. My dad would take off from work early to watch me not try. He wasn’t too happy about that. I don’t blame him. Anyways, that would be the first and only school activity I would ever be eligible for as I continued to fail my classes. Sorry pop. I worked a near full time job all though my senior year of high school, so while he wasn’t exactly thrilled that I was on course to NOT graduating, he saw I wasn’t just sitting around doing nothing.

Anyways, years go by, I’m living on my own, blah blah blah blah blah. He’s still running, and still trying to get me into it. I still have no real interest of doing anything but going to work, coming home, drinking beer, and playing guitar. But he still tells me how great it is. I mean, he REALLY loves the sport. By the time I’m 25, I join my first band, ‘Sky Eats Airplane’. Going from working at Guitar Center, having never played in a serious band before, to suddenly touring the country and playing shows every single night, was pretty nuts. I appreciated the opportunity and experience, but I always kept the mindset of “this could literally end tomorrow”. I was sorta right. Sky Eats eventually fell apart, but as soon as it did, Of Legends was right there behind it, keeping the dream alive. After that, TesseracT was there. The TesseracT situation was a bit different though. I knew that wasn’t going to last long right after my first tour with them. When we agreed to an amicable split, I figured, “hey, I’m sure there’s probably another band right around the corner”. At this point I was 28 and felt too old to just start something new. Plus, I didn’t know the first thing about starting a new band. My buddy Zack and I had ‘Zelliack’, but him and I had no real idea how to bring our bedroom project onto an actual stage. A month after TesseracT and I split, I took a job tour managing a band over in Europe. By the time I got back to the states, I felt lost. I took a job working overnights in a warehouse because I figured I could work on music during the day while working all though the night. I never really minded the hours. 9PM to 6AM. Full time. I could dig it. It’ was supposed to be temporary, but soon the days turned to weeks, turned to months, till I was there for an entire year. Slowly withdrawing from my normal social groups.

When you work the night shift, even on your days off you still keep that schedule. So on days off during the weekday I’d be awake at 3am with nothing to do. Now THATS boring. At first I thought it was kinda nice that I could watch ’The Larry Sanders Show’ uninterrupted, but by the time winter came around I decided I needed to do something other than drink myself to sleep at 11am (Side note, when you’re buying beer at 9am, the person selling you beer has no idea that you just worked a nine hour shift. When you do this three/four times a week, they look at you like you have a serious problem. Hey man, I just want to get a little buzz while Jake and I play Grand Theft Auto, buzz off). There was a gym downstairs in my building, that had a treadmill. “Sure, why not, I’m out of beer, so I need something to do till the store opens up”. I got into full Rocky mode and put on sweats (I’m a dumb-ass) and went downstairs. My first run in close to a decade was by myself, at 3am. I ran a slow mile. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Actually, I kind of enjoyed it. “Alright, I’ll try it again tomorrow.”. I did it the next day and went a little further. Honestly, I was hooked by my third run. I decided to run every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Each time going a little further till I was doing 4 miles regularly. It was still very wintery outside, and I had NO interest in freezing my balls off, but I figured if I could get to 4 miles at a decent pace on the treadmill I’d be good to go by spring. Once spring came around and I started going outside I realized this was something I wanted to do forever. There was a park/trail right next to my house that I had basically been ignoring the previous 7 years. I realized that at 5am, I would be the only person out there. Imagine having your very own park to run in. Thats what it felt like. As the running days turned to weeks, turned to months, I would ask myself, “Why do I run? For my sanity?”. Yes, that was a big part of it. But, always in the back of my mind, I kept telling myself, “If at any chance I’m going to someday get back onstage, I need to be ready. I need to be in shape”. I was turning into my dad. I was running with purpose, with a goal. Once I felt ready enough, I told him I wanted to run together. He was floored. Excited that there was a new father-son activity in his life. He’s passed on all his running knowledge to me. Thank’s pop. Last winter when Periphery were recording their new album, Jake came and stayed with me for two months. He’d been out of exercise for awhile, and told me he wanted to give running a try. I took him to a track right down the road and watched the man take 15 minutes to run 1 mile. There was a look of intense pain on his face. I figured there was no way in hell he was gonna want to do that again. Later on, over a couple of beers, he told me how he couldn’t wait to get back out there to do it again. So I put him through the ringer. We’d be out in the park and I’d say “don’t worry, the next hill is just a little one”, when really we were going over something that even I would struggle with. By the end of his two months, he was able to do 2 ½ miles without stopping. I figured he’d lose interest in it once he went back home, but he didn’t. He kept up with it, and when he came back to visit that summer we would do four and five milers side by side. Proud of you, bud. When Dez contacted me about wanting to start a new band and asked how would I feel about playing shows again, I didn’t hesitate. I felt ready to get back out there, mentally and physically.

Well, I’ve probably bored you enough. But quickly, let me tell you about this fucking farm course I’ve been running at the recording studio. It sucks. Shit, a goddamn marine would complain about this. The first thing that happens is you run straight up a hill for about half a mile. And it’s steep. Remember when Rocky ran up the mountain in Rocky VI? Well…. it’s not that bad. But to me it feels like I’m preparing to fight Ivan Drago. Around mile 2 you start having to suck in air that is 90% cow manure. So now you’re gagging when you’re already out of breath. Mile 2 ½ is down hill. You’d think that’d be easier. NOPE. It’s just at irritating as running UP hill, just not as tiring. Also, the road is AS wide as a single car. If a car needs to pass by, you have to stop running, and sink yourself into the stalk. Nice, just what I wanted. An itchy ass back. Mile 3 is the real “fuck you”. You’re completely exhausted at this point, all you want is a little straight road to run. Not gonna happen. Have fun running your ass up one more hill. Finally once you reach the end, you’re so cold and caked in mud that all you want to do is take a hot shower. Gotta be honest, I don’t think I’m gonna be missing this run too much once I get back to New York City. The first time we went out, it was me, Giles, and Joa. I came in dead last. I didn’t even know Joa fucking ran. Bah, whatever, now I’m droning. Thanks for listening!

I’ll finish this book later

[hari-x]

19/08/18 - Cold shower.

I could put a 700 pound bet on that the clock in my bathroom ran fast, my mum always had a thing for being on time and in the shower was where I spent most of my time. At 6am I would fall back to sleep in the corner and at 9pm I would ponder over my teenage angst.

Angst, it’s a funny word... angst. I guess it’s just a modern word for moping, just like I love you really means ‘I love you when you do everything I tell you and then please go away because the other person I love will see you and I can’t have that’.

Humour me, for two seconds just imagine if I love you actually meant I love you. Just hypothetically speaking imagine if when you pricked yourself on a cactus it didn’t actually hurt. But in reality it does and you try to hide that to act brave. That’s what it feels like when your love is misused, you’re still strong but now know not to mess around by (cactus) pricks.

I talk a lot about love but I’m not sure if I’ve ever actually felt it, I’ve told myself I’m in love but what’s the actual definition because doesn’t it feel the different for everyone? I love his eyes but do I really want to be with the same pair for the rest of my life? It’s thoughts like that what send me back to sleep at 6am in the shower.

- Hari