stop suffering, stop being afraid of happiness, feel alive and forgive myself

and finally I can say it’s done.

I’m the kind of person who can hate herself because she sometimes underestimates the gap between narrator and author.

In somebody else I’d find this trait endearing. In myself, it’s exhausting, and not a little self-destructing.

in life is that the Erinyes never let me alone.

about typography on a website for linguists and translators. I feel very strongly on the subject (French rules for capitalizing words). So does my worthy opponent. I can see her point, but I still think she’s wrong.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s just a capital letter!

Well, my cheeks are flushed, my heartbeat rose to 120 bpm, and I’m… angry? hurt?

I just saw La Môme, the new movie about Piaf starring (an amazing) Marion Cotillard (and Pascal Greggory, yummy!). I cried my heart out, and now the question is: will I be able to live with all my ghosts?

I think people believe I’m much stronger than I really am.
I am strong, right.

But… that’s not a reason not to help me. I want to be weak sometimes.
I’d give anything to hear someone tell me “Hey, come here, curl in my lap, I’m turning off the light, cry, you need it, I know these last few months have been tough, and please don’t stop crying unless you really don’t feel like crying anymore.”

considering this goal Done. I definitely feel alive. I stopped suffering some time ago. I’m not afraid of happiness—I am happy. I have forgiven myself. I’m even forgiving people around me.
But I’m afraid if I do this everything will come back. Let’s wait a bit and see what the next months will be like.

I could replace it by something about my weird habit of falling in love with work-addicts who want me to change my lifestyle to suit theirs but won’t do the same for me.

I know being alive is wonderful.
I know a lot of things.
I also know that LIFE SUCKS.

^{please don’t comment on this. please.}

I have three weeks left instead of three months to translate the last parts of the book.
My boyfriend could need me in Paris very soon.
I’m really broke at the moment.

But I need rest, I deserveneeddeserveneedwhatever to have fun and feel good.

So I’m going back to London for the week-end. Because I want to. Because I love London. Because I’ll stay with a dear friend. Because I haven’t been to the Tate Britain in years. Because Christmas shopping will be much nicer there than here.

Because I’m alive, now, and shouldn’t wait to celebrate it. I also have to stop thinking “[insert anything nice here] is too good for me, it’s only for people who are better than me”.

I’m making progress.

wasn’t really a big deal. an adrenaline rush, a un-injured friend (I’m so sorry, dear!), nice paramedics (they’re not so good! people from the red cross work better than these three), a painful hand for the next few days…
but i don’t feel so good. i need rest.

(sorry for the lack of capital letters. hitting the shift key hurts.)