|—||Bob Ross (via zenofbobross)|
the cutest lil video ive ever seen
Because I’m selfish. I’m a coward. I’m the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn’t follow to suffer and die. Inspired by this beautiful edit (x)
As I look back on all the pages I’d written so far, it was like seeing clean dresser drawers in my brain, and my heart. It’s like I’ve taken this tangled mess of thoughts and feelings and things that happened and stuff that people said and folded each one carefully into a little entry about what happened that day.
…I’m thinking about it, folding it up in these sentences and sliding it into the drawer with all my other thoughts and memories…
…I’m glad that I decided to write this down. Now that I’m finished, it feels like I have all this brain space left over to use for thinking about other things. I don’t have to worry about forgetting this either. It’s all right here, tucked away neatly for the next time I need it.
|—||Letting Ana Go, p. 21-23|
There’s something about seeing my words on these pages from the past week that gives me a feeling inside I’m not sure how to describe. It’s like when Mom tells me I have to clean out my dresser drawers because they are such a jumbled mess she doesn’t know which one is for underwear or T-shirts. I hate the feeling of dread, which starts with me basically dragging myself into my room by force and dumping out the drawers on my bed. It feels like an impossible task — like I’ll never get everything folded neatly and put back in the dresser.
But then, little by little, it just happens — one T-shirt at a time — until finally, I slide the last drawer into place, and then I feel a big wave of relief in my chest. For the next few days at least, I try to keep the drawers as neat as possible. I become extra-diligent at folding things up when I put them on and don’t wear them, and I make sure to put everything back in the right drawer, tucked away just so. Having a clean dresser affects my whole room, too. It makes me not want to leave my clothes on the floor at night. I always try to put them in the hamper, or hang them back up. I guess it sounds ridiculous, but I love the feeling I get in the morning when I open my eyes and everything is put away.
Of course, eventually, I get in a hurry, or I’m running late, or I can’t decide what to wear on the way out the door and change twelve times, and then I come home with an avalanche of stuff to deal with. If I don’t do it right away, the dresser gets messy in a hurry — I just start shoving things wherever they’ll fit. But while it’s clean it seems l have all this space and freedom in my room, like the bedroom itself is bigger and has more space and air.
|—||Letting Ana Go, p. 19-21|