"In the best possible way, I feel like you have a chip on your shoulder like, you’re this independent single lady in the city and you get it done. You get shit done."
"Decide you want it more than you’re afraid of it."
Bill Cosby (via para-dox-soul)
I’m broke. And money is easily made for a girl like me who was born into the slimmest amount of privilege and has a building full of doors she can tap into. Yes, they all open to a life of hard work. Everything is hard work. But in the hard work lives the love, and if you work that hard at something you better love it. So I psych myself up. I give myself a good talking-to in the shower.
"Listen", I say to myself, inside my messy head, "you’ve got to cut the shit. Cut it out. You’re a dreamer on a budget, you’re a dreamer on a Bill Collectors call list. Cut the shit and get down to business. Pick a door, pick a smart door, pick a door that leads to money doing something you don’t totally hate. Pick a fucking door already. Make the money, live the life, have fun and be happy cause you know you can make it good if you really want it."
And I do want it, dear smart Brain of Logic that is trying so hard to take control of this ship and steer it away from the storm. There’s calm seas somewhere, and we can drift in peace, always on course, but let’s just choose an easier one this time, with pretty sights to see and a good chef on board. I do want it, Brain of Logic, I do want this life. I want to be happy and I want to exist well, with people and love and life and good food and babies and puppies, I want it all.
But then I go on tumblr, and these fuckers around here put shit like this into the world, quoting our dear Bill Cosby, not knowing how haphazardly these simple quotes can throw off a persons very decided brain. I was so close, but the door I want is at the end of the longest hallway, in the darkest corridor, and it makes me the most nervous, so clearly it’s the one I’m supposed to go for. Fuck you, tumblr. The Brain of Logic was so close.