Terminal Boredom

Ever since I’ve been old enough to really understand the world (these past two years or so), I’ve never once cried at a scene in real life. Whenever something serious happens, I just convince myself it’s no big deal. I do my best to avoid any kind of shock. I’ve been fooling myself this way for long enough that it’s become a habit, and now nothing

There were things in this life she didn’t have a clue about. But it’s precisely because they don’t know about the dreadful stuff that ignorant people are able to be so confident.

No matter what we do for them, we get no gratitude, and when someone does say thank you, they don’t really mean it. The men are all infected with a terrible indifference. Nothing to be done about it, though, that’s just how men are.’ Hang on. That doesn’t seem right. I’m pretty sure if I was locked up in a place like that for my whole life and neve

She was convinced that everything that matters is revealed in big melodramatic moments. She was disappointed to be deprived of her precious climax.

She wasn’t interested in what I had to say. She was just talking at me. But that’s the way we’d talk: duelling monologues, each of us in a bubble all her own, no hope of ever going anywhere.

She was always so quick to agree with everything I said. What a way to live. Were her own thoughts so nebulous they couldn’t resist the pull of other people’s opinions and ideas?