Weed, Hash & Penis Pizza
*Theories about the universe*
"My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter
chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot have this,
because chocolate makes dogs very sick.
Madigan does not understand this.
She pouts and wraps herself around my leg
like a scarf, trying to convince me to give her
just a tiny bit. When I do not give in,
she eventually gives up and lays in the corner
under the piano, drooping and sad.
I hope the universe has my best interest in mind
like I have my dog's. When I want something
with my whole being, and the universe withholds it
from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself,
Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants,
but she does not understand how it will hurt."
- Blythe Baird
December 26, 2019
Years ago, my mom saw this trashy never-to-be-seen-on-box-office movie titled 'Eight; The Power of Shani' (Eight: The Power of Saturn) which was kinda based on the conspiracy theory that a lot of significant events that happen to Capricorns will most likely revolve around the numeral 8. This is because - my astrologer friends know this one - because Saturn is the ruling planet for the goats and is famous for handing back your karma to you.
Me, being born on a Saturday was well aware of this fact by now. Back when I sat for my law entrance exam in 2015 (2+0+1+5=8, by the way), the number of my computer system was CC-503. No wonder I could never get a national law university.
Sorry. I am going off-track again.
This day was special and one I was eagerly looking forward to. I usually do not look forward to anything, because nothing really happens to me, unless I decide to give my Netflix a rest and go make wrong decisions on dating apps which come back to haunt me and bite me in the ass - this is why I'd rather get myself a vibrator instead of inviting someone home and letting them disappoint me and my vagina.
1.32 p.m.
I walk outside my gated society and manage to get a look outside a gate. He turns around, and I see him. The first time in six months. I look at him and smile. He's already smiling. He had a big backpack and a sling bag, and as he walked inside, I noticed that he looked completely different than how I last remembered him. We met back in June, and it was a formal work environment, but he looked pretty impressive back then as well. Only now, the shirt, trousers and formal shoes were replaced with a black jacket, faded blue jeans and black Nike shoes. Very Johnny Cash.
We went to my apartment, and I let him settle. We sat down, me on a mattress on the ground and him on the carpet beside the mattress. I think for the first hour or so, I couldn't believe that he actually came, and that I was sitting down with him in the same place I wrote him long e-mails and missed him so terribly - the same place I birthed this blog - which would've never happened without him. I was happy. And low-key excited. He was here. Mr. B was here.
We decided to hit the supermarket and get some groceries. Mr. B got multigrain bread and mushrooms. I got some onion, tomatoes and capsicum. While we were in the cash-counter queue, Mr. B noticed the cashier and led out an exasperated sigh. He was already done with the lack of consideration and professionalism in the supermarket employee. I laughed.
6.13 p.m.
We sat down and talked for a while. He had brought ginger-lemongrass flavored vodka, and I had half a joint of weed. He suggested we hit it up. "The key, is to start early. That way, you don't fuck up the night and the morning after", he said. Very smart idea, don't you think? He made two pegs of the vodka and I diluted mine with some store bought ginger ale. He drank it without any embellishments. After we'd had two pegs, he made us a neat peg each which I gulped down immediately so as to avoid tasting it. I then lit up the half joint of weed and smoked it up. He said he hadn't done much of it and when he did, it didn't hit him. He then said that maybe he doesn't know how to smoke up. As he tried to smoke, I could see that he really was struggling to take the smoke in.
Let me shed some wisdom on how to figure whether someone's a noob - they usually mouth-fag the smoke i.e., collect the smoke in their mouths instead of letting it go all the way in to the lungs - noobs get mouth cancer, pros get lung cancer. Also, noobs like to moisturize the cigarette butts with their saliva. Pros know how much is too much to put in.
This dude was obviously a noob.
Anyway, I barely remember things as they happened and cannot fill you in on everything, but I remember that we made lists of things we wanted each other to see/read on a yellow big post-it. Sometime later, I remember not feeling good and before I knew it, I was puking. What irritated me even more was that all I was throwing up was probably my gastric juices and the vodka because I hadn't had anything to eat prior to drinking. I remember Mr. B holding back my hair and letting me hurl in the sink. Some time later, my sphincter decided I'd had enough to throw up, and I sat down on the toilet seat. Mr. B went outside the washroom. I was tired - from puking - and fell asleep.
Sometime later I came back to my senses - I washed up my face and went out into the bedroom. Mr. B had fallen asleep on the bed. I decided to let him be. I was already embarrassed from having almost puked in the room and having him clean it. I still wonder, to this day, what did he clean the puke with? I mean, he had no idea where the mops were. I don't know what happened next, but I woke up to find Mr. B lying down beside me. I noticed there was some spilled over pasta on the carpet beside me, but I was too tired to give a shit and clean it up. I wonder who spilled the pasta, and then passed out.
December 27
I woke up to find my guest was already up. I usually check my phone right after waking up. No, I'm not an addict. I'm usually a heavy sleeper and have trouble waking up - and looking at people's desperation to display their lives on social media horrifies me enough to wake me up. But today, all I tried was to recollect what happened last night - and the pertinent question:
Who spilled the pasta?
I surely didn't. I don't remember eating any either. It must've been him. I opened my eyes, half wanting to go back to sleep and half deciding what to do. Before I could make a decision, Mr B came and sat beside me. He smiled at me and wished me a good morning. I wished him one back. We talked for a bit and then I went to freshen up. I then went into the kitchen and noticed he'd made tea for himself. Not the usual one, the one with the fancy leaves. I then made us the regular, all-milk, ginger tea. I think he liked it, but was disappointed with the quantity - it was a 3/4th of a small cup. The reason: I'm not used to making more than a cup, if I ever make tea, and I'm not smart enough to go by measurements.
Later in the day, we went out for a walk down in the society. I wanted to get some sun. I liked the winter sun. Try taking a shower and sitting in the sun instead of getting holed up in your blanket and watching Sex Education. It'll do your skin good, get you some real Vitamin D.
Mr. B asked me about everything that was going on in my so-called 'life'. I was hesitant at first, didn't know if I should tell him everything or just, you know, the highlights. But that's the thing about some people - you think you will not talk much, but you end up not stopping. I started with the guy I was currently seeing, then went on to tell him about the guy who played me and turned my self-esteem from barely-subsisting to non-existent, and then to the guy I used to date, who lived in the same society as I did. Mr. B christened him as the 'I-Block Guy'. We then went and sat on a bench and Mr. B told me a little about his dates and the women he went out with.
"There was this one person I went out with, and in midst of conversation, I gently hovered my finger over the back of her neck. She led out a huge sigh. I think she orgasmed or something." he told me and I laughed. I could totally picture that happening. He then told me that he doubted she had ever been touched by a man before, even though she claimed to have kissed.
Later, I made us sandwiches. Again, I think he liked them, but was disappointed with the quantity. Sometime after that, we decided to finish the hash I'd gotten from a very generous friend. Mr. B couldn't smoke that well either, and I ended up hogging the most of it. I was in a good high, unlike the previous night. Mr. B decided to drink up the left over Vat 69 I was safe-keeping for my friend CrookedTeeth.
Apparently, the Vat 69 was so old it had turned bad. Mr. B claims it was trashy/unadulterated. It was possible. I'd had it for the longest time.
See, this is what happens when you don't use things in time. Like your vagina. Go out, get some of the other vitamin D, or touch yourself, or order yourself a vibrator - whatever rows your boat - and have some fun. You deserve it.
Anyway, because the whiskey was useless, Mr. B had some of the leftover vodka from yesterday and I cannot fill you in on what happened next - the details of it in my mind are a bit hazy. Although, I do remember going on a monologue about my experience when the ghost of an extrovert took over me while I was at this fashion event I participated in, and then went on to give him unsolicited details about my crappy childhood. I told him things I'd never told anyone. I mean, I had, but that was the glamorized, polished version of the actual stories. It's nice, you know, the way illegal substances make you more honest and vulnerable. They make you weak, but also, in a way, strong enough to own up to things you never normally would. That definitely explains why they're illegal. The world wants you to be a wimp. Otherwise, how the fuck else would it control you if it knew you were self sufficient? If you were already strong-willed, you wouldn't need to scroll through the purposeless, meaningless updates of your social media friends now, would you?
December 28
Mr. B was leaving tonight. Yesterday, he'd told me he was planning to visit another friend who lived in Ahmedabad before he left. But today he told me he decided to not do that. When I asked why, he said, "She's gas-lighting me". That was a new word for me. He then explained to me that it is when someone tries to manipulate a situation and tries to influence another person's actions so that things take place the way they want to, irrespective of what the other person wants. Kinda the way relationships work these days.
Later in the day, he made us both omelets of two eggs each. I was one egg short so he stole one. He's very swift that way. The omelet was good. I then told him I needed to give my laptop for repair and he decided to take a bath. He hadn't bathed in two days. I hadn't bathed after Christmas. I wasn't planning to, anytime soon. He put on a podcast and went to the bathroom. I went out, gave my friend the blanket I'd borrowed for Mr. B and then to my laptop repair guy.
Sometime in the evening, I asked him if he'd like to take a picture. I whipped out my Polaroid. We took two pictures, one for each of us. Surprisingly, the Polaroid-selfie came out very good, despite my poor picture taking skills and the dim lighting of the room. Mr. B began packing his stuff. For some reason, I started to feel heavy - more so than when he last left - six months ago, when we worked together. I didn't know if I'd see him again. I didn't know if this was the only time I'd get to spend with him again. I wasn't sexually attracted to him, but I definitely was sexually attracted to his brain, and his being. I decided to ditch all these thoughts and look at him gather his stuff. I had to go back to the laptop repair guy and get back my laptop - I was leaving for home early morning the next day. Mr. B offered to come with. I was a little scared to take him with me - I didn't know if he was heavy and I didn't know if I'd be able to balance my scooty because I myself weigh negligible.
By the grace of whatever higher power that exists, we didn't fall. While we were returning, I showed him the pizza place that I was gonna come to with my friend GujjuWithAbs later tonight.
"La pino'z pizza?" he asked.
"Yeah"
"Sounds like 'le Penis Pizza' in another language" he laughed. He had this weird laugh. Like when you stop for air while laughing every 2 seconds. I realized then, he didn't laugh much.
I kinda agreed. La Pino'z does sound like a posh Italian trying to say 'penis'
We came back home, and I realized I was supposed to go out. Mr. B offered to leave early. I didn't want him to. I called GujjuWithAbs - he was super stoned and couldn't be bothered - I decided to let him be. I still didn't know if I wanted to go out for dinner with him, but I'd oiled my hair earlier in the day, and I went to shampoo them. When I came out, I saw an old white t-shirt laid out neatly on my bed.
"So, does this mean I can have it?" I asked, eagerly. I am a sucker for men's t-shirts.
"Of course." he said
"Thank you!"
I held it in my hands. I sniffed it a bit. It smelled of him. I like it when clothes still smell of people. like, not the sweaty smell, but the smell of them. Which is why I love going out digging graves of freshly-dead people. They have the best clothes. Saves me so much money.
When it was time, I walked Mr. B to his cab. He put his stuff in the car and turned to me.
"Alright, 45. This was nice. Thanks for having me."
I smiled.
"And I'd like to invite you. To Bombay. Come visit me if you want to."
I was definitely not expecting that.
"Okay" is all I could say.
He hugged me, sat in the car and waved while the car drove off.
I waved until the car was out of sight.
As I walked back into the society, I looked back on the past three days and realized how amazingly wholesome they were. Some people, when they leave, take a piece of you with them. Some people leave you hurt. Some people leave you bitter. Some people leave you craving for more.
Me, I was happy and sad, mostly grateful, and with the want to live more fully. To make everyone I love, happy. To put the love and care I received, back into the universe.
I used to be very cynical. And afraid. And hate people. I never believed in the fact that people can be inherently good. All throughout the years I was alive, I'd never known anyone who'd go out of their way and do something for me, to make me feel like I was worth it.
But today, I felt different. I felt like life isn't unfair, after all. Yes, sometimes it is hard to fathom the reason why the universe decides to fuck you up for no fault of yours. But trust me, it gets better. Whatever happens, make sure to remind yourself- you don't know better. The universe does. When it gives you shit, you take it. When it gives you love, you embrace it.
Even in days when you feel unloved or un-cared for, remember that someone, somewhere gives a shit about you. You just don't know better.
There were days I used to think of killing myself and freeing myself of all earthly obligations. Some days, you might think about killing or hurting yourself, too. In that moment, remember that there are people who love you, and believe in you, and want you to be the best you can be.
They will check up on you, take you out for tea in the cold weather, ask you about things that keep you up at night, bring you homemade dessert, take you out even if you don't want to go, will be excited about your birthday more than you are, and read all your blogs, no matter what a shitty writer you might be. (Thank you, H.)
You just gotta have faith. In yourself, in the beauty of the human heart, and in the universe.
"My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter
chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot have this,
because chocolate makes dogs very sick.
Madigan does not understand this.
She pouts and wraps herself around my leg
like a scarf, trying to convince me to give her
just a tiny bit. When I do not give in,
she eventually gives up and lays in the corner
under the piano, drooping and sad.
I hope the universe has my best interest in mind
like I have my dog's. When I want something
with my whole being, and the universe withholds it
from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself,
Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants,
but she does not understand how it will hurt."
- Blythe Baird
December 26, 2019
Years ago, my mom saw this trashy never-to-be-seen-on-box-office movie titled 'Eight; The Power of Shani' (Eight: The Power of Saturn) which was kinda based on the conspiracy theory that a lot of significant events that happen to Capricorns will most likely revolve around the numeral 8. This is because - my astrologer friends know this one - because Saturn is the ruling planet for the goats and is famous for handing back your karma to you.
Me, being born on a Saturday was well aware of this fact by now. Back when I sat for my law entrance exam in 2015 (2+0+1+5=8, by the way), the number of my computer system was CC-503. No wonder I could never get a national law university.
Sorry. I am going off-track again.
This day was special and one I was eagerly looking forward to. I usually do not look forward to anything, because nothing really happens to me, unless I decide to give my Netflix a rest and go make wrong decisions on dating apps which come back to haunt me and bite me in the ass - this is why I'd rather get myself a vibrator instead of inviting someone home and letting them disappoint me and my vagina.
1.32 p.m.
I walk outside my gated society and manage to get a look outside a gate. He turns around, and I see him. The first time in six months. I look at him and smile. He's already smiling. He had a big backpack and a sling bag, and as he walked inside, I noticed that he looked completely different than how I last remembered him. We met back in June, and it was a formal work environment, but he looked pretty impressive back then as well. Only now, the shirt, trousers and formal shoes were replaced with a black jacket, faded blue jeans and black Nike shoes. Very Johnny Cash.
We went to my apartment, and I let him settle. We sat down, me on a mattress on the ground and him on the carpet beside the mattress. I think for the first hour or so, I couldn't believe that he actually came, and that I was sitting down with him in the same place I wrote him long e-mails and missed him so terribly - the same place I birthed this blog - which would've never happened without him. I was happy. And low-key excited. He was here. Mr. B was here.
We decided to hit the supermarket and get some groceries. Mr. B got multigrain bread and mushrooms. I got some onion, tomatoes and capsicum. While we were in the cash-counter queue, Mr. B noticed the cashier and led out an exasperated sigh. He was already done with the lack of consideration and professionalism in the supermarket employee. I laughed.
6.13 p.m.
We sat down and talked for a while. He had brought ginger-lemongrass flavored vodka, and I had half a joint of weed. He suggested we hit it up. "The key, is to start early. That way, you don't fuck up the night and the morning after", he said. Very smart idea, don't you think? He made two pegs of the vodka and I diluted mine with some store bought ginger ale. He drank it without any embellishments. After we'd had two pegs, he made us a neat peg each which I gulped down immediately so as to avoid tasting it. I then lit up the half joint of weed and smoked it up. He said he hadn't done much of it and when he did, it didn't hit him. He then said that maybe he doesn't know how to smoke up. As he tried to smoke, I could see that he really was struggling to take the smoke in.
Let me shed some wisdom on how to figure whether someone's a noob - they usually mouth-fag the smoke i.e., collect the smoke in their mouths instead of letting it go all the way in to the lungs - noobs get mouth cancer, pros get lung cancer. Also, noobs like to moisturize the cigarette butts with their saliva. Pros know how much is too much to put in.
This dude was obviously a noob.
Anyway, I barely remember things as they happened and cannot fill you in on everything, but I remember that we made lists of things we wanted each other to see/read on a yellow big post-it. Sometime later, I remember not feeling good and before I knew it, I was puking. What irritated me even more was that all I was throwing up was probably my gastric juices and the vodka because I hadn't had anything to eat prior to drinking. I remember Mr. B holding back my hair and letting me hurl in the sink. Some time later, my sphincter decided I'd had enough to throw up, and I sat down on the toilet seat. Mr. B went outside the washroom. I was tired - from puking - and fell asleep.
Sometime later I came back to my senses - I washed up my face and went out into the bedroom. Mr. B had fallen asleep on the bed. I decided to let him be. I was already embarrassed from having almost puked in the room and having him clean it. I still wonder, to this day, what did he clean the puke with? I mean, he had no idea where the mops were. I don't know what happened next, but I woke up to find Mr. B lying down beside me. I noticed there was some spilled over pasta on the carpet beside me, but I was too tired to give a shit and clean it up. I wonder who spilled the pasta, and then passed out.
December 27
I woke up to find my guest was already up. I usually check my phone right after waking up. No, I'm not an addict. I'm usually a heavy sleeper and have trouble waking up - and looking at people's desperation to display their lives on social media horrifies me enough to wake me up. But today, all I tried was to recollect what happened last night - and the pertinent question:
Who spilled the pasta?
I surely didn't. I don't remember eating any either. It must've been him. I opened my eyes, half wanting to go back to sleep and half deciding what to do. Before I could make a decision, Mr B came and sat beside me. He smiled at me and wished me a good morning. I wished him one back. We talked for a bit and then I went to freshen up. I then went into the kitchen and noticed he'd made tea for himself. Not the usual one, the one with the fancy leaves. I then made us the regular, all-milk, ginger tea. I think he liked it, but was disappointed with the quantity - it was a 3/4th of a small cup. The reason: I'm not used to making more than a cup, if I ever make tea, and I'm not smart enough to go by measurements.
Later in the day, we went out for a walk down in the society. I wanted to get some sun. I liked the winter sun. Try taking a shower and sitting in the sun instead of getting holed up in your blanket and watching Sex Education. It'll do your skin good, get you some real Vitamin D.
Mr. B asked me about everything that was going on in my so-called 'life'. I was hesitant at first, didn't know if I should tell him everything or just, you know, the highlights. But that's the thing about some people - you think you will not talk much, but you end up not stopping. I started with the guy I was currently seeing, then went on to tell him about the guy who played me and turned my self-esteem from barely-subsisting to non-existent, and then to the guy I used to date, who lived in the same society as I did. Mr. B christened him as the 'I-Block Guy'. We then went and sat on a bench and Mr. B told me a little about his dates and the women he went out with.
"There was this one person I went out with, and in midst of conversation, I gently hovered my finger over the back of her neck. She led out a huge sigh. I think she orgasmed or something." he told me and I laughed. I could totally picture that happening. He then told me that he doubted she had ever been touched by a man before, even though she claimed to have kissed.
Later, I made us sandwiches. Again, I think he liked them, but was disappointed with the quantity. Sometime after that, we decided to finish the hash I'd gotten from a very generous friend. Mr. B couldn't smoke that well either, and I ended up hogging the most of it. I was in a good high, unlike the previous night. Mr. B decided to drink up the left over Vat 69 I was safe-keeping for my friend CrookedTeeth.
Apparently, the Vat 69 was so old it had turned bad. Mr. B claims it was trashy/unadulterated. It was possible. I'd had it for the longest time.
See, this is what happens when you don't use things in time. Like your vagina. Go out, get some of the other vitamin D, or touch yourself, or order yourself a vibrator - whatever rows your boat - and have some fun. You deserve it.
Anyway, because the whiskey was useless, Mr. B had some of the leftover vodka from yesterday and I cannot fill you in on what happened next - the details of it in my mind are a bit hazy. Although, I do remember going on a monologue about my experience when the ghost of an extrovert took over me while I was at this fashion event I participated in, and then went on to give him unsolicited details about my crappy childhood. I told him things I'd never told anyone. I mean, I had, but that was the glamorized, polished version of the actual stories. It's nice, you know, the way illegal substances make you more honest and vulnerable. They make you weak, but also, in a way, strong enough to own up to things you never normally would. That definitely explains why they're illegal. The world wants you to be a wimp. Otherwise, how the fuck else would it control you if it knew you were self sufficient? If you were already strong-willed, you wouldn't need to scroll through the purposeless, meaningless updates of your social media friends now, would you?
December 28
Mr. B was leaving tonight. Yesterday, he'd told me he was planning to visit another friend who lived in Ahmedabad before he left. But today he told me he decided to not do that. When I asked why, he said, "She's gas-lighting me". That was a new word for me. He then explained to me that it is when someone tries to manipulate a situation and tries to influence another person's actions so that things take place the way they want to, irrespective of what the other person wants. Kinda the way relationships work these days.
Later in the day, he made us both omelets of two eggs each. I was one egg short so he stole one. He's very swift that way. The omelet was good. I then told him I needed to give my laptop for repair and he decided to take a bath. He hadn't bathed in two days. I hadn't bathed after Christmas. I wasn't planning to, anytime soon. He put on a podcast and went to the bathroom. I went out, gave my friend the blanket I'd borrowed for Mr. B and then to my laptop repair guy.
Sometime in the evening, I asked him if he'd like to take a picture. I whipped out my Polaroid. We took two pictures, one for each of us. Surprisingly, the Polaroid-selfie came out very good, despite my poor picture taking skills and the dim lighting of the room. Mr. B began packing his stuff. For some reason, I started to feel heavy - more so than when he last left - six months ago, when we worked together. I didn't know if I'd see him again. I didn't know if this was the only time I'd get to spend with him again. I wasn't sexually attracted to him, but I definitely was sexually attracted to his brain, and his being. I decided to ditch all these thoughts and look at him gather his stuff. I had to go back to the laptop repair guy and get back my laptop - I was leaving for home early morning the next day. Mr. B offered to come with. I was a little scared to take him with me - I didn't know if he was heavy and I didn't know if I'd be able to balance my scooty because I myself weigh negligible.
By the grace of whatever higher power that exists, we didn't fall. While we were returning, I showed him the pizza place that I was gonna come to with my friend GujjuWithAbs later tonight.
"La pino'z pizza?" he asked.
"Yeah"
"Sounds like 'le Penis Pizza' in another language" he laughed. He had this weird laugh. Like when you stop for air while laughing every 2 seconds. I realized then, he didn't laugh much.
I kinda agreed. La Pino'z does sound like a posh Italian trying to say 'penis'
We came back home, and I realized I was supposed to go out. Mr. B offered to leave early. I didn't want him to. I called GujjuWithAbs - he was super stoned and couldn't be bothered - I decided to let him be. I still didn't know if I wanted to go out for dinner with him, but I'd oiled my hair earlier in the day, and I went to shampoo them. When I came out, I saw an old white t-shirt laid out neatly on my bed.
"So, does this mean I can have it?" I asked, eagerly. I am a sucker for men's t-shirts.
"Of course." he said
"Thank you!"
I held it in my hands. I sniffed it a bit. It smelled of him. I like it when clothes still smell of people. like, not the sweaty smell, but the smell of them. Which is why I love going out digging graves of freshly-dead people. They have the best clothes. Saves me so much money.
When it was time, I walked Mr. B to his cab. He put his stuff in the car and turned to me.
"Alright, 45. This was nice. Thanks for having me."
I smiled.
"And I'd like to invite you. To Bombay. Come visit me if you want to."
I was definitely not expecting that.
"Okay" is all I could say.
He hugged me, sat in the car and waved while the car drove off.
I waved until the car was out of sight.
As I walked back into the society, I looked back on the past three days and realized how amazingly wholesome they were. Some people, when they leave, take a piece of you with them. Some people leave you hurt. Some people leave you bitter. Some people leave you craving for more.
Me, I was happy and sad, mostly grateful, and with the want to live more fully. To make everyone I love, happy. To put the love and care I received, back into the universe.
I used to be very cynical. And afraid. And hate people. I never believed in the fact that people can be inherently good. All throughout the years I was alive, I'd never known anyone who'd go out of their way and do something for me, to make me feel like I was worth it.
But today, I felt different. I felt like life isn't unfair, after all. Yes, sometimes it is hard to fathom the reason why the universe decides to fuck you up for no fault of yours. But trust me, it gets better. Whatever happens, make sure to remind yourself- you don't know better. The universe does. When it gives you shit, you take it. When it gives you love, you embrace it.
Even in days when you feel unloved or un-cared for, remember that someone, somewhere gives a shit about you. You just don't know better.
There were days I used to think of killing myself and freeing myself of all earthly obligations. Some days, you might think about killing or hurting yourself, too. In that moment, remember that there are people who love you, and believe in you, and want you to be the best you can be.
They will check up on you, take you out for tea in the cold weather, ask you about things that keep you up at night, bring you homemade dessert, take you out even if you don't want to go, will be excited about your birthday more than you are, and read all your blogs, no matter what a shitty writer you might be. (Thank you, H.)
You just gotta have faith. In yourself, in the beauty of the human heart, and in the universe.
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