We’re adults, but, like…adult cats. Someone should probably take care of us, but we can sort of make it on our own.
— my roommate, on the question “are we adults” (via disjunct)
You really truly annoy me. The way your mood changes at the drop of a hat. The way that talking to you is like walking on eggshells. The way you snap at me when you’re in a bad mood just because I dared try to converse with you. The way you use your position of power to boss me around. The way you’re only nice when you want to be. The way I feel useless and unworthy around you.
The way you only seem to act like this with me. What did I do?
The way you see me as a coworker and not a friend, or even an acquaintance. I guess the times we hung out don’t mean anything. I must’ve made things too awkward. Is that why we don’t talk anymore?
When I see you interacting with other people you always look so happy. Your eyes are bright and you laugh that stupid laugh of yours every 3 seconds, and I wonder what you are conversing about. I wish I could be as interesting as those people you talk to.
Perhaps I shouldn’t say that. I know I’m interesting. You just don’t get me. You haven’t dug deep enough.
What annoys me the most is the way I still like you despite the fact you completely annoy me. The way my eyes follow you around the room for no reason at all. The way I stand a little taller and work a little faster when you’re around. The way that being told what to do by you is actually a guilty pleasure, since I’m submissive. The way that I even give a fuck about you.
You seriously suuuuuuuuuuuck.
You are the sky; everything else is just weather.
— Pema Chodron (via graceandpranayam)